MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) (5 page)

“I dunno,
Ev-ah
,
should I leave? Or does Marshall want to learn more about this past you never
seemed to have
enlightened
him on?”
Gunz taunts, licking his lips before placing a bottle of Bud to his mouth, with
an arrogant smirk permanently plastered on his face.

I have had enough!

“Marshall,” I ignore the barbaric Neanderthal and
address my nice normal boyfriend, if I can really call him that any more after
tonight. “I am so sorry about this and what I am about to do, please don’t
think any less of me.” I sweetly say, pushing up from the couch, cradling my
baby bump and wearing the same clothes I wore to work this morning. I changed
before I came home, like I always do.

Turning my attention to the biker on the couch, I
seethe, “Listen, you asshole,” stalking across the floor, straight for him. I
don’t even think as my hand instinctively reacts, and I swing at Gunz. The air
crackles, echoing in the room, and Marshall gasps as my palm connects with firm
flesh. Sudden pain spikes up my arm and my hand burns, like thousands of tiny
needles pricking me at once. Gunz’s head forcefully shoots to the side. He
laughs, grabbing my hand, and holds it to his cheek with a grin. Not caring
that I’ve just smacked him across the face, turning his cheek bright red.

“
Thank fuck
,”
Gunz blurts triumphantly. “I knew my Bink was in there somewhere. Shit, woman,
you had me goin’ for a minute. Thought you woulda blown up on me already. It’s
been like three hours, Baby Doll.” Gunz reaches out in front of him and
strong-arms my hips to drop me onto the couch to sit beside him. Then his arm
reaches out to drape over my shoulder, forcing me to cuddle into his side. I
try to tug away but he won’t let me, so I grunt a frustrated curse and elbow
the asshole in the ribs instead. It barely fazes him.

“See, Marshall,” Gunz twirls a lock of my hair with
his finger, “this sweet, hot blonde, you think you’re with. She’s sweet
alright, but she’s also a fuckin’ smartass biker bitch who don’t take shit from
no one, including a man who has two guns sittin’ in his lap with the safety
off.”

I roll my eyes, bumping my shoulder into his. “Fuck
off Gunz, you’re the last man I worry about shootin’ me, especially with a baby
in my belly. Think you learned your lesson of what happens when you touch me,
the one and only time you ever did.” Glancing at him out my peripheral, I can
tell that statement pains him by the remorse that clouds over his eyes and the
twitch of his lip.

It’s true though. He learned. Big
beat him for it, and I nailed him in his junk. The scars he’s given me never
went away, just like I knew they wouldn’t. Both of my forearms are littered in
tiny light pink and white scars. While they’ve lightened over the months, even
though they’re still present.

“You touched her?” Marshall
suspiciously glares through tiny eye slits at Gunz, and I leave him to it. This
is the first time all night Marshall has sought information forthright from
Gunz without it being offered to him through forced chitchat.

“Yeah Gunz, you touched me?” I
devilishly grin, elbowing him in the ribs again. He grunts a curse and stops
twirling the tendril of my hair.

“Yes, it was a while ago. Bin—Eva
wasn’t listening to some orders she’d been given, and I tried to make her by
thinkin’ on my feet. Banged her up good.”

I raise my arms in the air, turning
them out to show the scars. “These are from him,” I nod my head sideways toward
Gunz. “Plowed me over like a freight train.”

“It was an accident,” he mutters
under his breath, his guilty form slipping down into the couch. As if by
shrinking himself, his guilt would dissipate along with it. Fat chance.

“How long have you two known each
other?” Marshall asks next, which surprises me to say the least. He’s
officially taken the offensive position in the room, and now the tables have
been turned. Not only on Gunz, but on me as well. This sucks!

Patting me on the shoulder, Gunz
sweetly nudges his head to mine, in a loving gesture. “Her whole life or nearly
her whole life,” Gunz fondly states.

“Have you two, you know?” Marshall
awkwardly asks, shifting in his seat.

My nose bunches up in repulsion, and
Gunz chokes on his spit before replying. “No fuckin’ way. I love this girl.” He
pats my shoulder, pulling me tighter to his side. “But I don’t wanna fuck her.
I changed her diapers as a child and took her to school and shit. There ain’t
no way I could see her as anything more than my daughter.”

My heart warms. Aww, Gunz, I think I
might cry. Damn these hormones!

That is the sweetest thing I think
I’ve ever heard Gunz say about me. He loves me like a daughter? Well, I love
him like a dad, so I guess it fits. Doesn’t it? But then I get to thinking
about it and his admission and then the way Big views me, or the way I think
Big views me, and it skews this whole father daughter thing off its axis. Big
has known me as long as Gunz, done more for me than Gunz… and yet, the man
doesn’t view me as his daughter. Men don’t fuck their daughters or impregnate
them. Granted, he doesn’t know he impregnated me, but that’s not the point.
They don’t lick their pussies or kiss them with tongue either. How does one man
in my life feel one way and the other is the polar opposite? It’s weird, and
something there is zero way to understand or decipher without being inside
their heads. Which is impossible. So I guess I will just have to go on
guessing. It’s weird how the world works, don’t cha think?

“Ahhh…” Marshall drawls with a contemplative
expression. With his lips pursed, and brows knitted together, as his finger
ticks the side of his wine glass. “So you came to town to do what? Scare me
away? Play the protective father role? What is it you expected to happen? That
I would stop dating Eva because you told me things she was too
embarrassed
to do so herself?”

That last sentence has Gunz trying to pry himself from
the couch with anger. I hold him in place. “Don’t,” I warn, and surprisingly
Gunz complies with something between a gravely growl and a huff.

Gunz leans forward on the couch. “Your lawyer ass
don’t know
shit
about your woman.
And you’re here tellin’ me she is embarrassed about her past? Naw, she’s not
embarrassed by it. She’s just afraid to tell her rich boyfriend the truth.
Probably scared you won’t like her as much if she told you that she owns a hot
pink Chevelle that she’s named Kitty. Or she likes to wear combat boots and
black instead of this shit,” Gunz tugs my on my pants. “Or the real reason she
left the compound in the first place, was our…”

Oh hell no
!
I don’t think. I react and grab his balls over his leathers to shut his mouth.
I’m done with this.

Gunz’s eyes go wide as I squeeze.

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap at him,
gripping his balls even tighter. “This shit is over. I am here, I am happy, and
you need to leave.” Twisting my wrist just enough for Gunz to take in a sharp
breath and wince, I think I’ve proved my point, so I release his junk.
Immediately he jumps up from the couch, shaking his right leg to make that ache
in his balls dissipate.

Gunz faces me, his back to Marshall. “This ain’t even
close to bein’ over. That rich bitch, conservative, prissy, antigun toting
motherfucker you’re tryin’ to date, or whatever the fuck you call this,” he
waves his hand around the room with zeal, “ain’t good enough for your past or
your jeans and t-shirts, then his ass ain’t good enough for our girl.”

Flipping around to face Marshall, Gunz glares the most
disgruntled menacing expression I’ve ever seen on his face. His eyes pour like
liquid lava ready to incinerate anything in its path, as his lip curls like a
demented hellhound ready to strike. Gunz is frightening. I hold my breath
scared of what he might do next, my skin prickling with my own sense of fear
for Marshall.

I sit in complete silence and watch
him tug his wallet from his back pocket. “Listen, I hate to do this in front of
my girl, but I don’t see us gettin’ ourselves any alone time.” Gunz flips open
his wallet, “How much is it going to cost us for you to stop seein’ her?”

What?

What?

“Excuse me?” Marshall shifts uncomfortably in his
seat, uncrossing his legs and setting his wine glass on the stand beside him
.
“What did you just say?”

“You’re pretty fuckin’ stupid for a lawyer. Do you
want me to spell this out for ya? I don’t fuckin’ like you. You ain’t good
enough for our girl. And don’t ya think for one second when I say
our
, I’m talkin’ about you. I’m talking
about,
our,
as in,
our
club,
our
family,
our
life,
our
Bink, which ain’t got shit to do with
you, or this fancy fuckin’ apartment.” Gunz pauses, casting his eyes to the
floor with a blustery frown.

“What this cost ya?” he scuffs his
boot heel on the Persian rug. “Fifteen grand?” Gunz mocks, rolling his eyes,
and yanking a sucker from his cut. Ripping off the wrapper, he tosses it on the
floor before grinding the heel of his boot into the discarded trash, as if he
needs to rub in his dislike for Marshall any further. I think he gets the
point.

The man who had briefly gathered his
inner manhood to ask questions has shrank down into a tiny man-child, with wide
eyes and a I-might-piss-myself expression. I can’t decide if I feel sorry for
him or not. I have to be honest, Gunz is the scariest I’ve ever seen him, even
if his anger isn’t directed at me. Another part of me, one that resides deep
down to the very core of my upbringing, wants to flatly call Marshall out, tell
him he’s being a pussy, and real men don’t act like pussies. If that’s not Big
and my daddy talking, I don’t know what is.

‘Buck the fuck up.’ ‘Rub some dirt on
it.’ ‘Bitches get dealt with.’ ‘Men aren’t pussies.’ All mantras that were
commonplace when I grew up and most could be attributed to this situation.

“Well? How much?” Gunz sucks on his
sucker, twirling it in his mouth like he’s got all day.

“I…ummmm… I don’t need any money… and
I… love… her,” Marshall’s stammers, his ashen face flashing from me and back to
Gunz.

Gunz sighs, irritated. He’s not even
angry, as the vein on his forehead is very much its normal size. “Alright, well
I tried. Guess I best be off then.”

I feel a sense of relief that he is
finally, after hours of torture, going to leave me to my peaceful, or I should
rephrase that, once peaceful existence. Doing the polite thing, I push off the
couch and see him to the door. He wraps me in a giant bear hug, peppering
kisses into my hair. “Love you, I’ll be in touch,” he whispers releasing me.

“Love you too,” I groan, feeling a
deep sense of loss as I watch him saunter down the hallway his wallet chain
jingling on his way to the elevator, where he waves with a dubious grin, before
entering the metal box and walking back out of my life.

Turning back around with a longing
sigh, I lock our apartment door before I pivot to see Marshall has already
retreated to the bedroom. Instead of bothering him, I leave him to process all
this shit, and grab a blanket and pillow from the hall closet to make myself a
bed on the couch. I don’t think I could handle any more emotional word vomit
tonight. I need a break, if not for me, for my pregnant body to recover. Stress
is not good for anyone, especially a pregnant lady.

Curling down into the couch, I text
Candy Cane back, telling her I’ll speak to her in the morning, and I settle in
for the night. I hope I can actually get some rest. Night night.

Tuesday: February 18
^th
,
2014

Candy Cane: So what you’re saying is that you’re
avoiding this talk with Marshall?

Me: I am not avoiding it. I am saying that he left
this morning without a word.

I am sitting here at work, trying to get shit done on
the computer. Deke has been MIA, Larry is his normal charming self, and we have
two cars due to be completed by Monday next week, so we’ve got a lot of work
ahead of us. I haven’t spoken to anyone this morning about last night’s typical
craziness that always comes along with Sacred Sinners brothers. Or more
specifically, Gunz and Big. Although Big is usually the antagonist, not Gunz,
he’s like the sidekick in most aspects. Robin to Big’s Batman or Chewbacca to
Big’s Hans Solo. You get the point.

This morning I dragged my ass off the couch about
seven, and Marshall had already left. I can only attribute that to being a bad
thing. I haven’t texted or called him all day. I’m not a clingy or desperate
woman, and if he wants to give me the cold shoulder, then so be it. I have
enough on my plate to handle besides him.

Larry raps on the door, pushing it open. “Did you
order those parts yesterday?”

Glancing up from my phone, I try to smile but it falls
a bit short. “Yeah, I did. They said they’d be in by Thursday. That cool?”

“Yeah, that’s great, just wanted to make sure you
were… you know… okay… since you’ve been less peppy this mornin’,” Larry
nervously picks at his teeth with his toothpick. I must be making him
uncomfortable.

“You mean I’ve been less of a sassy bitch?”

Larry leans his shoulder against the wall. “You’re
never a bitch anything. The boys and I like havin’ you around. Do you want us
to get you anything from Panera today?”

Unintentionally, I scowl, “Panera? Since when do you
boys ever eat from there?”

“Since we have a pregnant office lady who needs to get
her fill of vegetables and chocolate cake.”

Aww! Now that makes me light up, lifting some of the
sadness from heart, and tugging a real smile from my lips. “That’s sweet,
Larry. Sure, I’ll take some sort of turkey sandwich, salad combo, and a big,
extra chocolaty brownie.”