MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) (7 page)

“What’d ya do to him?” Big finally
speaks calmer than before, still holding that same razor sharp, no nonsense
edge that he imparts whenever he’s pissed.

“Why did
I
have to do anything to him?” I run my hands through my
short hair, before kicking my legs onto the edge of my desk, willing myself to
calm down. My hand goes to my belly, and I rub my daughter, pressing slightly
on the side where she’s been kicking and moving for the past minute.

“Because, you mouthy bitch, you’re
the only woman on this fuckin’ planet who can wind that man up that fuckin’
tight. I know the look of Bink’s pissed at me. Bink won’t talk to me. Bink is
being a fuckin’ bitch.’ I’ve lived it myself and seen Gunz live it too. So
don’t give me this shit about it not bein’ you. You are the only fuckin’ woman
on earth he cares enough about to give a damn. So… I’m gonna to ask you again.
What. Did. You. Do
?”

It’s kind of sweet that Gunz could
get this wound up. However, it’s also kind of fucking stupid that his president
is calling me to find out. Gunz is a big boy, and he can tell Big himself. This
all boils down to the brothers never doing a goddamn thing wrong. Always making
it the female’s fault. Puh-lease… Team leather and cocks isn’t
always
right.

I’ve lost my patience with these
faulty accusations.

“I. Didn’t. Do. A. Fucking. Thing.
You barbaric control freak. Is this your excuse to call me, Big Dick? Radio
silence for months, and now all of a sudden you want to call and bitch me out?
Over what? The fact that Gunz saw me this week, acted like an idiot, and now
I’m supposed to be the problem? No, you are well aware that Gunz can tell you
this shit if he wants to. Which tells me this phone call has zero to do with
that and everything to do with you wanting to speak to me for whatever reason.
Spit it out. Because I don’t have time for your childish growling…”
that makes me wet....
.

“…Or your blatant disregard for my
employment, and new life that has nothing to do with you or the club. If this
has anything to do with this old lady bullshit, we’ve been over it. If this has
to do with me movin’ back home, not on your life. Now spill it or shut the fuck
up and let me do my job,” I hiss. My mouth is spitting words out so fast I am
left out of breath and am forced to heave for a breath of air, as my heart
vigorously slams in anger against my ribs.

Wooo! I’m on fire! Sexual frustration
can surely bring out the bitch in me. Plus, I do not play ping-pong with this
shit. Forward and straight to the point or nothing at all makes life easier. He
knows what I said is the truth whether he wants to admit it or not.

“You are such a fucking bitch. I’m
sure as shit
glad
I didn’t claim
you. This isn’t about that. If I want to make it about that, I would.
I have an old lady now
.”

Whoosh.
There went the air from my lungs,
like a swift punch to the gut.

He keeps at it, “and I am happy with
her. Gunz is moping ‘round here and has since he rode back, and he won’t talk.
So I am askin’
you,
the source of
everyone’s goddamn problems!”

“Listen,” I speak softly. Carefully.
Ignoring the weird ache in my heart, “I am happy for you.”
No I’m not,
and I am going to murder my Sacred Sisters for not telling me.
“Sorry I assumed this was more than it is.”
It
is more than he states. He just won’t admit it. I’m no dummy
. “Gunz
acted like a fool when visiting me, and I won’t talk to him,
because
he acted irrationally. I’ll get
over it eventually, but it won’t be today or tomorrow. He messed up some things
for me that I gotta fix, and that is all I’m gonna say about it.”
You can argue with me more if you want to asshole,
but I will hang up.

My phone buzzes on my desk, just as
Big heavily sighs into the phone.

Gunz: Is Prez on the phone with you?
I heard him yelling from his office. Sorry if he is. And sorry that I did the
shit I did. Please don’t take my grandbaby from me for this.

Oh god! Why didn’t I think of that
sooner? My heart cracks a bit at his admission. The baby. Of course!
Stupid, Bink
!

Me: Is that what you’re worried
about?

“Sorry I called ya a bitch,” Big
lowly grumbles. “I’ll let ya go. Later.”

--
Click
--

The phone goes dead before I even get
a chance to reply. Well shit, that was way too easy.

I place the phone back into cradle.

Gunz: What do you expect? I find out
my girl’s pregnant, dunno how far along, but I know it ain’t a month or two.
Then I act like a fuckin’ fool ‘cause I don’t want that dickless lawyer to
raise my grandbaby. I was in shock about it. What did ya expect? I don’t do
emotions very well, Baby Doll.

I was 100% angry with him, and now
I’m down to like 40% after this. It’s impossible to stay mad at Gunz for long,
especially when he’s all soft and emotional like this. It’s adorable.

Adorable?
Fuckin’ A, having this baby in
my tummy is making me puss out. I’ve got to get a handle on this shit.
Adorable? Oh Dear God… help me now.

Me: Gunz I won’t keep your grandbaby
away from you. Promise. I am angry with you, but I do love you and so will your
granddaughter.

Glancing down at my big belly, I tug
my red t-shirt up, over it and snap a picture with my phone, then I send it to
Gunz. With the title ‘
your grandbaby’s
kicking her mommy today’
and a smiley face.

Gunz: You’re beautiful. Keep ‘em
comin’. If I can’t be there, I want updates. When are you due?

Should I tell him the truth? Or lie.
I guess I could tell him the month and it would still leave the conception date
open for interpretation.

Me: I’m due in June.

Dropping my phone onto the desk, I
turn my attention back to Deke or the statue that resembles the man.

“Deke?”

No response.

“Deke?” I raise my tone a bit louder.

No response.

“Yo! Deke!” I yell, my voice bouncing
off the walls in the small concrete box. He fidgets, eyes darting up, catching
mine. I smile at him enthusiastically. “So… about that movin’ thing.”

Shaking his head, he stretches his
legs forward, and slumps his back into the couch with a morose groan. Running
his hands through his messy hair, Deke fully emerges from his gloomy haze.
“Gunz said I could move whenever. But I’ve got this place.” He stomps his boot
on the concrete floor. “Larry said he’ll run it, but I’ve owned it for six
years. It’s kinda hard to let go of.”

“What about your kids?”

He waves me off, “I know… I know…
when you gettin’ together with the girls again? Maybe you could talk to ‘em for
me? I mean, I hate to pull my kids from school. But yeah, the coke and the
fuckin’s not good for ‘em to be ‘round.”

I nod in agreement. “I’m headed out
for a girl’s day tomorrow…” I pause, “Fuck!”

I am an idiot! Why didn’t I think of
it sooner? When I go out with the girls, I always borrow Marshall’s car. Can’t
do that now. Shit!

“What?” he asks.

“It’s nothing,” I wave him off.

Bunching up my nose and kicking my
feet off the desk, placing them on the floor, I try to think of a plan on how I
can meet up with the girls without having to spend a hundred bucks or more on a
cab ride.

“No, tell me,” he insists.

“I am getting together with them
tomorrow… and we usually meet half way… about an hour and a half from here. I
drive Marshall’s car most of the time. Since we aren’t speakin’ right now, I
have to find a different form of transportation, and I’d hate to pay for a
cab.”

“I’ll let you borrow mine,” he shrugs
like it’s not a big deal. “I mean, you’re scratching my back by getting a good
word to Gunz and talkin’ to the sisters. The least I could do is let you drive
my car.”

“Which car?”

The grin he cracks from his lips
reaches both ears, and those gorgeous green eyes of his spark to life, encased
in his thick illustrious lashes. “Which one do you
want
to take?” he enthusiastically bounces his eyebrows.

“Is this a trick question? Hummmm,” I
tap my chin, trying my best to play a smartass. Not a hard job for me. “A 2013
Jeep Commander or a 1957 Silver Hawk? That’s a toughie,” I wink and chuckle,
grinning like a shy schoolgirl.

“The Commander?” he teases.

I shake my head, batting my
eyelashes, and innocently bite my bottom lip. “Nope, wrong guess.”

“Ohhh…” he drawls, “so you want the
Hawk?” Deke winks, still grinning. “I think I can arrange that.”

I nearly squeal in my seat…instead,
my eyes light up, and I smile so hard my face hurts.

Oh my god! I get to drive his Hawk.
You know some girls get all hot and bothered and overly excited about jewelry?
I feel the same about fully restored cars and bikes. Deke’s custom 1957 teal
and white Silver Hawk - it’s like I’ve just died and gone to heaven. I miss
Black Betty and Kitty deeply. Working here has dulled the ache of their loss.
Now this all but made my entire month! Eeekk!! A Hawk! With white walled tires
and winged fenders. It’s like a pinup model’s dream come true. Or in this case,
the dream of a fat pregnant lady with massive jugs, short blonde hair, blue
eyes, and a fat ass that has its own zip codes. Hell yeah!!

Using the lip of the desk, I push up
from the chair. Grabbing ahold of my lower back for stability, I round my desk
and wave Deke up from the couch. He does. Bending slightly forward, my butt
sticking out, I wrap my arms around his neck, and hug him tightly. “It’s going
to be alright, and I promise I’ll take care of your Hawk,” I whisper into his chest,
as he hugs me in return.

“I know,” he tenderly pats my middle
back. “And her name is Tallulah.”

My smile broadens even more than
before, with my nose stuffed into his toned chest. “Tallulah, that’s a great
car name.” I whisper.

We release and the room somehow seems
lighter, or maybe it’s just me. Deke, with a closed mouth smile, exits the
office with a wave, shutting the door on his way out just as my phone begins to
ring again. I stroll over to my desk and pick it up.

“Son’s Customs, this is—.”

“I love you, please don’t hang up.”
Marshall cuts me off, speaking exceedingly fast. “Just hear me out.”

Rolling my eyes, I sit back down at
my desk. “Fine.”

“Listen, I miss you, Eva, and I love
you so much. Please don’t break up with me. I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have
judged you because of Gun.”

“Gunz,” I snippily correct.

“Right,
Gunz
, sorry. I don’t know anything about your past, and from
what I’ve gathered it was a rough one. Tattoos, biker gangs—,”

“Motorcycle club,” I cut him off,
already becoming exceedingly frustrated by his lack of proper details and
ignorance. So much for my cheery mood. “Not gangs, there is a huge difference.
And it wasn’t rough, I loved my childhood.”

“You did?” He sounds surprised.

“Yes, of course I did. I had a bunch
of brutish bikers who loved me and raised me. I had more than one father figure
growin’ up. What’s not to like about that? I was spoiled, and treated like a
princess. Sure, shit was fucked up sometimes, and I saw some shit most kids
shouldn’t. It doesn’t mean I didn’t like it. I loved it.”

This is case and point as to why I
didn’t tell Marshall about my past. I am not embarrassed by it. I just know
it’s hard for those looking from the outside in to see the beauty and love that
the Sacred Sinners share. They can’t wrap their single-minded brains around it.
Kind of like narrow-minded people not understanding gays, interracial
relationships, or polygamy lifestyles. Anything outside of their ‘
normal
’ is simply wrong or viewed that
way. It’s something I’ve been faced with my entire life growing up in a
motorcycle club. Not saying what we face is the same as all those others I’ve
mentioned. What I’m saying is we are all different. Not worse, not better, just
different. As a society who bases everything in life off what is classified as
normal
, anything outside of that realm is
absurd and frowned upon.

“Then, Darling, why didn’t you tell
me?”

“Do you think you could have
understood? That I moved from a club that I loved but still wanted to move
from? Doesn’t make much sense, huh? There were factors as to why I left. It
doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate and love the lifestyle. And there is no way a
lawyer raised in Chicago his whole life could even understand how I was raised
and
not
get all judgmental on me.
I know we are opposites of the spectrum. That is why I like dating you. You are
nothing like the men I grew up with. You’re classy, have great tastes, are
refined, you don’t cuss, and are still a loving, caring person. All those
things I like about you.”

“I love you, Eva, and I’m sorry. I’ll
try not to be judgmental. It was just a shock for me, okay? So when are you
coming home? I miss the baby and your warm body beside mine in bed.”

“You miss me and the baby?” I try to
stomp down the disbelief in my voice, but it’s hard to do.

He lovingly chuckles, which brings a
soft grin to my face. I love his voice; it’s not as deep as Big’s, but it’s
still sexy with a slight midwestern accent. “Of course, I do, silly. Why
wouldn’t I? I started dating you right when we found out you were pregnant. If
I didn’t care for her and you, I wouldn’t be in this relationship, now would I?
You’re a package deal, and I am fine with that. Just like I’ve been fine with
you keeping her father’s identity a secret, and allowing me to take on that role.
Which I am happy to take.”

I’ve understood that Marshall loves
me, and he’s accepted that I am pregnant. I never actually thought about him
wanting
to take on the responsibility as a
pseudo father. I can respect that about him, it’s undeniably sweet. Although,
that’s not what I want or expect. She is Big’s daughter, and up until now I
never thought about someone else taking his place. Not that I want him to be a
dad, but someone else adopting that role? That just seems… wrong.