MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) (17 page)

“Big,” she whines for attention. Maybe Gunz was right;
she is kind of stupid. Still hot though. Hot trumps smart nine times out of ten
for a biker and for most men, if you really want to get technical. “Big,” she repeats,
patting his leather clad chest. He doesn’t move a muscle except maybe his jaw
as it locks itself into place while our eyes collide, battling like two
powerful lasers.

No one makes a peep for what feels like hours. In
reality, it’s only a minute or two. My breathing accelerates, as my heart
pounds in my chest, punching my ribs like a piston. Every muscle in my body is
taut, my teeth ache as my jaw clenches, teeth shifting over teeth like tectonic
plates. My tongue swipes the back my teeth, and my nostrils flare with
aggression. Big’s flare in silent retaliation. I shift, moving to bounce my
other foot. He shifts, uncrossing his ankles. My eye twitches as they shrink
into tiny slits. His eyes pinch near shut, following by example. I can see the line
of sweat wetting his forehead, as errant strands of his gorgeous long hair
clings to his dampened flesh. Harley kicks me hard, yet I remain still and
unaffected. Big wets his lips with a long languid stroke of his tongue. My
breath hitches. I yearn to squirm as my clit sparks to life, and a wave of
goose flesh sweeps down my body, forcing my nipples to harden into sharp
points. The sex magician has done it again. I’m wet because of him.
Dammit.

Ramming my hormones into a tiny
indestructible mental box through sheer will, I lock it up tighter than Fort
Knox. Swallowing hard, I flex my toes in my shoes to help shake this
uncomfortable sensation. There is a microscopically thin line between love and
hate, and at this point, we are dancing on it. I hate to love this man, and I
sure love to hate him.

“You,” he growls, so deep and potent
my body feels its resonating presence in every cell. My spine tingles, fingers
contract, and my heart deceptively flutters without logic. Chewing the inside
of my cheek, I muster the internal strength to dominate this blowout. The
boiling point is breaking the surface. It’s dog eat dog, and I’m going to
prevail.

I swallow hard. It’s show time.

“You,” I blurt weakly.

Straightening my spine, I try again.
“You,” it comes out fiercer. Thank fuck! “You’re an asshole and a chauvinistic,
sanctimonious pig. You stop me from dancing with my
boss
and
friend,
even before one song can play. Yet you can wet your filthy overrated cock in
some over-fucked adolescent in the middle of
my
brother’s pre-wedding party on top of the club’s pool table, no less.” I cock
my head to the side. “Don’t forget to use bleach. God only knows what kind of
dissssgusting
filth you’ve left behind.” I
fake a sardonic, over-the-top shudder to cement my cruel and unrelenting speech
into its proper place—under his impenetrable skin. It might be a low blow. But,
not for nothing, I am one of the few who can push the right buttons to creep
undetected under that beast’s thick flesh. One of the many bonuses I have from
being raised in the clubhouse by the ruggedly handsome president himself.

Marylou, who is standing to the
wayside, gasps at my rudeness. Shame she has to be caught in the crossfire, but
all is fair in love and war, right?

“She’s my
girlfriend
,” he emphasizes harshly, with an uptight, over
exaggerated grunt.

Yes, it’s official, I have made it
under his skin. Good. He hasn’t reduced himself to yelling quite yet. Shifting
his weight to his other boot reveals his internal itch to do just that. If only
he knew how much I know his body and all of his tells, even the subtlest ones
nobody else would pick up on.

Time to go in for the kill.

“You would think being the
president
of the club with all of these guests,” I gesture
toward the awestruck bikers, who are fixatedly staring at our pathetic show,
“That you, of all people, would show some restraint not to fuck a child in
front of them. Or disrespect a pregnant lady, who happens to be the VP’s
daughter and groom-to-be’s sister. That’s rather disappointing, and here I
thought they should look up to you. Pity.” I force my tone to remain smooth the
entire way. It’s difficult. I know this isn’t my typical technique that I use
to attack him. But in this case, it’s the smartest tactical choice. It shows
that I am unaffected by his sad, sexual display and that I am merely pointing
out his decorum, or lack thereof. Hitting him where it really hurts — his club
rank and sexual proclivities.

I’m not going to pretend and hang
onto that immature notion that he still has these suppressed, romantic feelings
towards me, like he did all those months ago. I’m not some delusional child. I
am merely a pawn in his clubhouse that he itches to hold dominion over. Simple
as that, except I refuse to partake in his power trip game. Surprisingly, I
feel better right now than I have all day. Releasing this pent up tension
through words is a natural opiate in itself. Damn, this feels amazing.

“You know what?” he takes a bountiful
step forward. I don’t move an inch. “Who I fuck and where I fuck them is none
of your business,
bitch
,” he
hisses.

Ouch, that stung.

“You show up here with
that,
” he points to my belly, a repulsive
expression twisting his handsome features.

“
That
,”
I annunciate, rudely speaking over him, and uncrossing my arms to rub my belly,
“is
my
daughter. She is not an
it
or a
that
.
She’s a baby.” Now I am about to lose it; I am pissed. Especially since I am
the only fucking person in this room besides Candy Cane and Deke who knows the
baby that resides in my belly that Big is giving a repugnant glare at is his
very own flesh and blood. That alone hurts more than everything combined. Damn
it all to hell.

“Whatever the fuck
it is,
is your own fucking fucked up mess.
Not mine. So don’t come in here acting like you matter. You left and took your
high horse with you,” he takes another step in my direction. My throat
constricts.

He’s not finished, “And you show up
here at
my
club thinking you can
just waltz right in and have a say? No, bitch. You don’t get a fuckin’ word.
This is
my
motherfuckin’ club
where you are no longer wanted. So tomorrow after you get prissied up into the
fake bitch you’ve become and sit at your brother’s wedding with your sissy boy,
you can get into his high priced junk, and go back to where you belong, with
all the other slutty self-righteous bitches,” he snarls.

Stab, maim, gut, sploosh
…my heart has been
dissected and sliced wide-open. My quivering entrails are poured at my feet.
He’s just killed a part of me. A part of me has died. Maybe I’m not cut out for
this badass routine.

Sucking back a sniffle, I blink
rapidly to rid my eyes of the tears that are threatening to wash down my cheeks
in a waterfall of heartbreak and agony. I knew he was angry; I just didn’t
realize how much. I deserve it. I know I do. I brought this on myself for
showing up pregnant and with Marshall. It doesn’t change the gut twisting it’s
caused. How could he say those things to me? God it hurts.

“You fuckin’ asshole!” a deep, savage
voice roars, and Gunz strides across the common room heaving for breath as he
stops in the middle between Big and I.

“You do not fuckin’ talk to Bink like
that,” he forcefully shakes his finger and head at Big, like he’s scolding an
insolent child. “She is pregnant. I don’t give a shit what kind of baggage
you’ve got over her leavin’. This is not the place and it sure as fuck isn’t
right time to take it out on her, pregnant, in front of the whole fucking
brotherhood. You better take a good look around, Prez.” Gunz is past the pissed
off stage; he’s into murderous territory, as he faces off with his President.

Big glances around the room, but he
doesn’t say a single word.

“You gotta history, you two. Doesn’t
mean you can’t hash it out in private where you aren’t putting her health in
jeopardy. I’ve done my research, and I know stress, especially the kind she has
to be feeling because of you, ain’t healthy. If anything, Prez, and I mean
anything happens to her or my granddaughter because of your fucked up
retaliation, I won’t stop until you are put in the ground. You got me?”

Holy shit! Gunz just openly
threatened his president.

“He didn’t mean that,” I speak up,
stepping forward to close the gap. I can’t let him get in deep shit for this.

“I did too. Now hush,” Gunz gently
orders, raising his hand for me to be quiet, still facing Big, as his cut
covered shoulders bunch with tension and bald head glistens with a sheer layer
of sweat.

Big takes another step forward,
coming toe-to-toe with his Sargent of Arms and friend. Glowering down at Gunz,
their eyes connect. The obvious height difference between the two almost makes
you fear for Gunz’s life.
Almost
.

A guttural grumble rattles in Big’s
brawny chest. I want to speak and stop this, but I can’t. They are brothers.
I’m not.

“What did you say to me?” Big snarls
lowly in Gunz’s face.

“You heard what I said, Prez, and I
stand by it. You want to take me outside for threatenin’ you? Then fuckin’ do
what you gotta do,” Gunz shrugs indifferently. “I’m only doing what
you
would be doin’ if you had the fuckin’
balls to let your personal vendetta go and see this for what it really is.”

Gunz’s voice lowers, “Our girl….
our girl
, Big, that’s who you just spoke
to like that. Get that shit into your head, man.
Our girl.
Not some club whore, not some two-bit bitch who
ain’t worth shit. Naw, it’s
our girl
.
Don’t you think she’s worth more than your disrespect in front of the club? She
didn’t start this fight. You did by throwing your weight around. You gotta make
a choice, brother,” Gunz reaches out, clasps his hand on Big’s shoulder, and
gives it a brotherly squeeze.

“You stop talkin’ to her like she
means nothin’ and leave her be. Or you do what you know you want to do. Both
won’t work here, boss. It’s time to let the past go and make a serious
decision. Ya feel me?” Gunz explains.

Big remains still, unmoving for
nearly a minute. Then he shakes his head, his hardened face softens, and he
steps back from Gunz, slumping his shoulders in defeat.

“I feel ya,” he mutters dejectedly
under his breath. Turning on his heel, he grabs a panicked, wide-eyed Marylou
by the elbow and swiftly exits the room, by way of the hall. Everybody turns
and watches him powerfully stride away, the heels of his heavy boots scuffling
the floor along the way. Now that was weird as hell.

Gunz swiftly comes to me and wraps me
into his protective arms. I feel my entire resolve wash away in an instant, and
I can’t help it as I start to sob into his chest, my arms clinging to him for
strength. All the emotions that have been bottled up come pouring out. The
anguish of Big now hating me. The wanting to claim me. Finding out I was
pregnant. Moving to a new city with nobody but myself to count on. Being scared
out of my mind, all the time, without having my family to back me up. I may
make is sound easier than it was, but it hurt every day when I couldn’t just
ride over on Black Betty to see my family.

Marshall is a nice guy, he’s a sweet
man, and he treats me so well. But I could never love him. Not like I love the
brash, hardcore biker who just tore me apart, shattered my heart, and spit on
it, like it was yesterday’s trash. I can’t say I blame him. I don’t. I can’t
imagine how hurt he felt waking up in an empty bed, believing that maybe things
were headed into a good place, where I would willingly accept his claim of
taking me as an old lady. I ran though. Like a coward, I bolted. I can’t stand
here wrapped in Gunz’s arms and say I regret it. I don’t. I met some amazing
people. I became independent, and I stood on my own two feet. And I met a man
who I will selfishly hurt in the end because I am not equipped to love. A man I
should have let go many months ago. But once again, a man I am too cowardice to
say goodbye to. He makes me happy, and he is a good person, who deserves all
happiness and love in the world. I am such a horrible person. I know it. How
can I even look at myself in the mirror? I am like Big said, a fucking fucked
up mess. God! How did life become so complicated?

I need to go to bed and forget today
ever happened. Fucking Big! Fucking family! Fucking fucked up life.

Saturday: March 22, 2014

“Come on, Bink. You look great,”
Debbie calls from the other side of the bathroom door. I’ve been in here for
the past twenty minutes refusing to come out until my makeup is perfect. The
photographer wants family photos with my sisters, Lindy Sue, my daddy, and
brothers. I have to look perfect. Okay, so that’s not why I am really in here.
I don’t want to face Big or Marylou in her hot new dress that Big helped pick
out for her. I’m most dreading the fact that I can’t escape my bitch ass mother
or her two angels—my sisters, Elise and Elizabeth, that I haven’t seen or
spoken to in years.

My Sacred Sisters have already stolen
Marshall and dragged him to the ceremony site, which happens to be behind the
clubhouse. They got lucky today; the temperature is pushing mid-fifties. Who
decides to get married in March outside when you live in the Midwest? That is
just dumb. Half the damn time, it’s still snowing in March. Leave it to my
brother to want a shotgun wedding outdoors. Idiot.

I slide my hands down the sides of my
black wrap dress that clings to my every curve, complete with a plunging
V-neckline. It’s subtly sexy and hits me just above the knee. I’ve opted not to
wear the ugly maternity pantyhose I bought; they are a hideous contraption, and
with how much I always seem to have to pee, they could be considered a hazard.
So freezing bare legs it is.