The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1) (6 page)

I’d need a brain bleaching to rid my
mind of half of the shit that is stored in there. Men are pigs, they are horny,
they are foul, and they don’t take kindly to the word
No
. Gunz that night was sloppy drunk out
of his ever lovin’ mind. Probably why he doesn’t remember a damn thing. Or the
fact that I was the one who tucked him into bed at the clubhouse, removing his
boots and socks beforehand. It was just another party night at the S.S clubhouse. One of many where I’ve played babysitter for the drunken fucktards
and let’s see who cops a feel first. For obvious reasons my tits seem to be the
private area of choice. Although, through all my years helping scrape a
sloppily drunk Gunz from the clubhouse floor, not once has he crossed a line,
which would be a record. Most men when you add excessive amounts of booze and
big tits, it’s like a fly to shit. They can’t get enough. Sad but true. Well, I
guess me being the proverbial shit wasn’t my smartest analogy, but you catch my
drift.

Gunz: I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say here.

Big: Why are you texting Gunz? We’re in church. Cut it
off, you’re fuckin’ distractin’ him.

Arg!!!! I roll my eyes. I can’t help it.

“Big, you are such an asshole!” I yell aloud, glaring
at my phone, gripping it in my hands with the force I’d love to use to squeeze
the shit outta Big’s throat. If my hands were large enough to do that.

Me to Big: Then tell him to stop talking to me about
his dick.

My phone instantly starts to ring. It’s Big.

Should I answer it or not?

I take in a deep breath, and center myself.

“Ye—”

Oh shit!

A ferocious demon growl interrupts my train of
thought. In fear of losing my hearing, I yank the phone from my ear, holding it
out a few feet from my head.

“Bink!” Big snarls into the phone loud enough that I
can still hear him and I cringe. Maybe I should just hang up.

Kill him with
kindness. I need to steel my emotions and kill the bastard with some kindness.
I can do this. I can be nice.

“Yes, Big Dick. How may I help you on this glorious
evening?” I transform my voice into something so sickeningly sweet I nearly
gag.

“Cut the bullshit,” he harshly barks, loudly huffing
into the phone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

The bile rises in my throat; the vomit is going to
come.
This
is the purest form of
torture.

The timer dings in the kitchen. The cookies are done.
I have been saved by the motherfucking bell. Thank you Jesus!

I’m greeted with more grumbling and heavy breathing
into the receiver as I stand and slump my way into the kitchen. Grabbing a pot
holder and opening the old stove door, a wave of moist heat blows into my face,
and I quickly squint, my eyes watering, as I mutter colorful obscenities under
my breath. Reaching into the oven, through eye slits, I crane my neck to the
side, pushing my ear to my shoulder, holding my phone in place.

“What—”

“Son of a bitch!” I screech in pain, cutting him off,
burning my wrist on the edge of the cookie sheet. Unable to control my bodies’
reaction, I accidently drop the phone to the ground and the sheet onto the lid
of the oven with an echoing bang.

Fuckin’ A, I have another burn. This is just great!

“You stupid fuckin’ bitch,” I admonish myself,
carefully picking up the tray of unharmed cookies and heavily dropping it on
the stove top. Beyond agitated I use my foot and kick the oven door closed, then
walk to the sink, turn on the water and run my seared flesh under the cold tap,
for a mild sense of relief. On closer inspection of my reddened burn, I see
that it’s already started to bubble into a nasty blister.

Sighing, I dry my hands on a kitchen towel and lay in
on the counter. Lying face down on my tiled floor is my cell so I pick it up.

“Bink! Hello, answer me, goddammit! Bink! Bink!” Big
is frantically yelling through the phone.

“Yeah?” I hold it to my ear.

“What the hell happened? You whole?” he demands, the
sound of wind blowing into the phone makes it difficult to hear him clearly.

“What are you doing? I can hardly hear you,” I ask,
walking out of my kitchen and back into my living room where I drop down into
my couch, totally over this baking bullshit.

“That better?” he queries, as the phone goes silent
except for his breath that’s surging through the phone, almost like it can
touch me.

“Yeah, what are you doing?”

“Coming over to check on you. I’m pulling out of the
gate now,” he replies.

What?!

“I thought you were in church.” I level my tone. “I
don’t need you to check on me. I only burnt my wrist. It’s nothing.” Resting
wrist up on my knee, I gander at the inflamed flesh. It hurts - a lot. I don’t
want him here, and I surely don’t need someone checking on me for something as stupid
as this. I’m a grown ass woman for cryin’ out loud.

“I could bring you an Italian Ice. Those always help,”
he offers in a curious tone.

What in the hell? Grumpy, rude Big, has done a one
eighty, and his voice is soft and deep, like a silky caress gliding
romantically over my most sensitive areas. If I didn’t know any better, this
man almost sounds sweet.
Almost.

“I’m fine. You’ll see me tomorrow, and if it makes you
feel any better, I’ll even let you put a rainbow Band-Aid on my burn when I
arrive.”

“You remember those?” he asks in a husky whisper.

“Of course I do.” Laying down on the couch, I tuck my
hand under my head for support and cross my ankles, closing my eyes in attempt
to relax. And somehow with his voice seeping into my soul, I retreat back to
all those feelings as a child when Big would care of me, making me feel safe.
Like nobody could hurt me and if they did, he’d be the one to scare the
monsters away. Even if that monster happened to be my mother or girls from
school.

He breathes into the receiver for what feels like
forever, and I just listen to him inhale and exhale. Wondering if he hears me
the same way I do him.

“When you were three and Steel had me watch you, I took
you to the park,” he explains, breaking the silence and sighs, pausing for a
moment before he continues. “I was so scared I’d fuck up, so I became your
shadow. Always two steps behind your every move. Up the jungle gyms and down
the slides.”

The thought of his massive size on jungle gyms forces
a wide smile to slide across my face.

“You turned around on your way over to the big kid
swings with this innocent smile on your face. ‘I want to swing, Big,’ you said.
All the swings were taken, but we made our way over to them anyway. Do you
remember that?” Big asks, his tone taking on an air like quality.

“No.” And I don’t. I don’t have a lot of fond memories
of my childhood before I moved into the clubhouse. Even afterward, my life
wasn’t a typical child’s.

“Go on, please,” I whisper, eager to hear the rest.

“You stood watching the big kids, mesmerized. And then
you reached out and held my hand. Like it was the most natural fuckin’ thing
for you to do. And to refrain from sounding like a complete bitch boy, I’ll
just say that moment touched me.
You,
touched
me.”

The sound of his gentle breathing filters into my ears
once again as silence envelopes us. I somehow feel like we’re sharing a special
moment and as much as I want to, I can’t ignore the gooey mushy sensation that
has me feeling weird, yet, eerily calm inside.

“Go…on,” I stumble breathlessly, not having realized I
am almost panting. He prolongs a rich sigh.

“I held onto your tiny hand, Bink, and had to keep my
shit together so I didn’t toss one of those damn kids off a swing. I wanted to
give you the goddammed world at that moment. Something about your innocent face
and your miniature hand gripping mine…” He clears his throat.

Sharpening his tone, he continues,
“Yeah, well, you swung, and I pushed you. Every time you laughed, demanding I
push you higher, my heart seized, petrified you’d fall off. You didn’t though.
Afterward, on the way back to my truck, you tripped over a rock, and skinned
your knee. You didn’t cry, but I freaked the fuck out and tore my bandana from
head and wrapped your knee with it, then I threw you in the truck and tore out
of that damn parking lot like a bat outta hell, headed to the nearest drug
store. Where I carried you inside and purchased ten times more shit than I
needed to, just to clean your boo-boo.”

Softly I chuckle.

“Don’t you fuckin’ laugh,” he growls, half-seriously.

I laugh louder. “I hope your boys don’t hear big bad Prez
sayin’ boo-boo’, they might yank your patch,” I tease.

“Can you stop bein’ a bitch for ten minutes? Is that
too much to ask?”

I sigh, deflated. He’s right.

“Sorry,” I murmur, rubbing the fresh crease
between my eyes.

“
Like,
I was saying before some pain in my fuckin’ ass opened her trap,
that day I bought four different kinds of Band-Aids. When I carried you back
out to my truck, I sat you in the passenger side seat and stood next to you
with the door wide-open. I cleaned your boo-boo and let you pick out the
bandage. The only one you wanted was the rainbow kind. That’s why I’ve had a
pack of them in my glove box, my medicine cabinet at the clubhouse, at home,
and in the clubhouse kitchen all your life.”

I think I just melted. Melted into a
puddle of sappy, pink girly goo all over my damn apartment. What in the world
is wrong with me?

“That’s one of the sweetest things
I’ve ever heard,” I admit honestly.

“Yeah…well… It’s Steel’s fault,” he states
matter-of-factly, with a grunt.

“How?”

“He’s the one who knocked up that disgraceful cunt you
call mom and she popped out the cutest fuckin’ blonde haired, blue eyed kid. I
was a goner from day one.”

What does that even mean? A goner from day one? I know
Big’s known me since I was born because my daddy and he grew up club brats
together. That’s why Big became the president, younger than any president
before him. His pops died on a routine run; drunk driver ran a stop sign, and
Big was immediately handed the gavel. Big’s dad had groomed him to be club
president since he was a kid. I’ve heard the stories; Big Dick’s pop, Boss Man,
was a hard ass prick with no heart and a deep seeded hatred for anything with a
pussy. Probably has a lot to do with why Big has never claimed an old lady.
Although, from what I hear, Big’s nicer to women than his father ever was.

“Bink,” Big says, breaking me from my musings.

“Uh?”

“Where’d you go?”

“Go?”

“In your head.”

“Ah… I was just thinking about how much you drive me
crazy…”

“I drive
you
crazy?” he harshly interrupts, apparently I’ve just insulted him.

“Yes, now please let me finish.”

He grunts, twice.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I lightheartedly chuckle,
and smile. “So yeah, you drive me crazy
a
lot
of the time.
But
, sometimes
I forget how much you’ve helped me, and the shit you’ve been through in your
life. I wanna say thanks for being there.”

The line goes dead silent.

“Big?”

“Yeah?” he answers in a low husky tone.

“Did you hear me?”

“What time is it?”

I glance over to the oversized clock hanging on my
wall. “A quarter past eight, why?”

“I’m marking the date and time in the calendar. That
Bink, the most important and infuriating woman of my existence, said something
that was sweet
and
said thank
you. I want to remember this day forever.”

I roll my eyes. What a sarcastic asshole. Back to the
Big Dick I know, go figure.

“I’m hanging up now,” I warn, seriously.

“Alright…but no more texting Gunz during church and no
more cock talk with Gunz…
ever
. Ya
got me?”

“Yes, sir.” I roll my eyes again like an errant child,
and mock salute him, even though I know he can’t see me. He’s lucky I’m
refraining myself from unleashing a rather juicy retort. I keep them bottled up
and one of these days they are all going to explode out of me like a ticking
time bomb, and I won’t be able to control the disastrous word vomit or the
devastation it may cause in its wake.

“This is killing you, ain’t it?”

Of course it is.

“What is?” I play stupid.

“Not yelling at me, and tellin’ me that Gunz was the
one who texted first and that he was the one who started the cock talk. You
don’t think I already know that shit? I do. And trust me, he and I will have a gentleman’s
talk once we’re through here. I’ll see ya in the mornin’. I got to get outta
this truck and handle my shit. Now be careful this time and finish baking me
those delicious cookies. You got a long-ass day tomorrow. I’m countin’ on the
Sacred Sisters to corral the new old ladies. Later.”

“Peace.”

Once I hear his truck door open and a blast of wind
hit the phone, I hang up.

It’s back to cooking in my small apartment, and this
time I swear won’t burn myself.

Saturday, September 6, 2013

Being of a world, within a world, I lie here in my
plush bed, contemplating whether I should roll out of it and shower, shave, and
start my day before the birds themselves awaken or if I should continue to
stare at the ceiling I’ve grown accustomed to. The ceiling that keeps me
company when my insomnia awakens me far too early for any normal person.

It’s four a.m., just another morning that I slept very
little. And today I will be entertaining a group of foul mouthed, leather clad
bikers, and more specifically the women they’ve claimed as their old ladies.
Not sure how in the hell I get roped into these sorts of jobs. I just do. When
considering the alternatives to help accommodate and educate woman from all
over the country to learn our own chapter’s customs, I guess I’m the perfect
woman for the job. Candy Cane having been claimed as an old lady for many years
easily qualifies her as my copilot. Helping me navigate these often times
experienced old ladies into a different chapter and the rules that many of the
other Sacred Sinners MC's aren't accustomed to.

We are the original, the chapter that all other S.S. chapters look to for inspiration, leadership, and ultimately a brotherhood
that offers protection and alliances, when those smaller and less developed
come calling. This means we are unremittingly strict, with little to no wiggle
room to bend the rules. Big Dick and the club’s ten-man committee vet and hand
pick each member that we patch in our chapter. For many of the brothers, it is
a year-long process with many trials and tribulations along the bumpy road.
Only one in five prospects ever make it into the brotherhood. The rest drop
out, are kicked out, or a mixture of the two.

Checking my phone for the time, I see that I’ve been
awake for twenty minutes. The sandman has abandoned his post, and I’m wide
awake. Turning over, I roll off the side of my queen-sized mattress and land on
my feet. Standing up tall, I stretch my arms high above my head and moan,
allowing my inner porn star to surface. As I lower my hands, I rub the sleep
out of my eyes to culminate my morning ritual and pad my bare feet into my
attached bath, where I adjust the shower temperature before undressing and
finally climb under the hot spray. I wash, shave, exfoliate, and accomplish all
the needed girly bullshit, finishing my shower unnaturally slow due to the
absurd hour.

Drying off is quick, as my hair is short and dries
within minutes. One of the bonuses to having short hair. I finish and stagger
back into my bedroom to rummage through my disastrous closet, where more clean
clothes are piled on the floor, than hung on those annoying things they call
hangers. I’ve never understood the need for them anyhow when half the damn time
my clothes fall off.

Crouching, I grab my black Harley t-shirt with pink lettering
to wear and a pair of cut off jean shorts to accompany it. I always wear modest
attire for work, even though I hate every bit of it. It’s club time now, and
that’s the one place I will never be judged on my outfits. Unless of course it
was frilly or some shit.

I dress quickly, foregoing my panties
and opting for a black lace bra. Stepping into my mid-calf combat boots that
sit against the wall outside of my closet, I leave them loose and head back
into the bathroom, where my makeup is applied in an understated, less is more
fashion, and my hair gets a quick blow out to straighten any wildness.

Once finished, I stride fully awake and raring to go
out of my bedroom, and I hit the kitchen to pull together all the crap I need
to bring with me. As much as I’d love to ride Black Betty to the compound to
show her off to all the old ladies and cocky bikers who believe women only
belong riding bitch, I’m stuck driving my kick ass grocery getter, Kitty, but
that’s no consolation prize. She’ll be sure to drop a few jaws.

Pulling to a stop at the compound’s tall wrought-iron
entrance gate, I slip my keycard into the slot, and the gate swings open.
Normally when I arrive, there is a prospect manning the gate, but it’s five in
the morning, and they don’t take their posts until closer to eight. Driving
onto the compound is almost like its own little village. The clubhouse takes up
residency at the front right portion of the property. Since I am carrying in a
few armloads of supplies, I opt to park out front by the double door main
entrance.

Getting out of my car is a breeze, and I pop the trunk
to gather my belongings. Reaching inside, I am halted when a voice breaks the
serene sounds of the birds singing their lovely morning melodies.

“Can I help you with that?” Candy Cane asks, sidling
up beside me and reaching into the trunk.

“Here,” a male voice adds, flanking my other side and
dipping into the trunk as well. It’s one of the prospects, and I can’t remember
his name. Although, he should be rightfully named stinky because his cologne is
way too strong. A spritz is good, but this boy smells like he’s doused himself
in the entire bottle of cheap dollar store stench.

“Um…thanks.” I fill my arms full of cookies, as the
other two gather up bags of chips, the meatballs, and other things I purchased
for the family gathering. There is never such a thing as too much food. Not at
events like this anyhow.

Debbie, Dallas’s old lady, holds the door open as we
enter, and I’m sure to thank her as I pass and head into the industrial sized
clubhouse kitchen. Now before you go putting two and two together or wonder how
in the hell a biker named Dallas ended up with an old lady named Debbie, let’s
just say that Debbie’s real name isn’t Debbie. She was given the name to
compliment his when they were caught many, many, many, years ago, making a
rather explicit porn video in one of the clubhouse bathrooms. Like most road
names, they are given for a reason, and she’s no exception.

“What are you all doing here so early?” I ask, while
lining the cookies up, on the nearly full stainless steel island, and clearly
giving Candy Cane the once over to be sure I didn’t under or over dress. She
seems to have gone with her usual getup of bejeweled jeans, ‘property of’ cut,
and a black fitted tee. Her hair is its everyday bright red bob, with a white
streak framing the left side of her face. It’s not a dye job, it’s natural, and
the reason she was named Candy Cane. Well, that, and the fact that she wears
peppermint scented lotion. Not sure if that came before or after she was road
named.

“Candy Cane called, said she knew you’d be in early,
and we didn’t want you to go at it alone. Plus, she and I had our old men to
wake up. They crashed here last night after they drank themselves into liver
failure.” Debbie chuckles, and I shake my head. I can never understand how they
put up with their old men’s nonsense. It’s like looking after a rebellious
child. Except with children you hope they grow out of it. With their old men,
they’re stuck with the same shit different day. Even though out of all the
brothers in the club, Dallas and Tripper are of the milder variety that I just
so happen to love and enjoy spending time with.

“I didn’t look. Do we have straggling club whores out
there to scrape up off the floor?” I sarcastically inquire, as I find my way
around the kitchen and begin to run down my mental to-do list for today.

“I’ll go check, ma’am,” the young prospect says,
standing up straight, with his hands by his sides, appearing to be completely
out of place.

“First, buddy.” I round the corner of the island to
walk over to him and firmly pat him on the shoulder. “Loosen up. I am no ma’am
to you, I’m just Bink.”

“Yes, ma…Bink,” he stutters, which I can’t help but
smile at. I am making him uncomfortable. In a strange way, I find that
empowering.

“Do you know who I am?” I ask.

“Yes. You’re an old lady of the club, and the VP’s
daughter.”

I shake my head, cocking it to the side as I look him
in the face, flashing my if-you-only-knew expression. “I’m not an old lady. I
have no man. I’m just Bink, and that’s Debbie.” I point across the kitchen to
the woman with long, curly brown hair, oversized fake boobs, and a tall, thin-as-a-rail
body. She turns and flashes him a faint smile, raising her hand in greeting
before returning to whatever it is she’s doing in a bottom cupboard. He
nervously waves back, quickly returning to his militant stance.

“This is Candy Cane.” I reach out and grab her
forearm, tugging her towards me until our hips bump and she laughs, like a kid.
Reflexively, I throw my arm over her shoulder and she does the same. “Do you
remember her?”

He nods with a bit of hesitation, looking back and
forth between the two of us. “I’ve met Tripper’s old lady a few times.”

This boy is one meek prospect and if he plans to be
patched in, I sure as hell hope he toughens up. There’s no room around here for
softies.

“That’s good—” The door to the kitchen opens, breaking
my train of thought and I turn, my eyes instantly widening and the fury I
didn’t know I still possess, surfaces.

You have got to be fucking kidding
me!

Candy Cane takes a step in front of me as I reel in
the need to eat this stupid fucking bitch alive! She stops in her tracks as she
notices me, and we lock eyes. A cocky smirk curls from the corners of her puffy,
reddened lips. What a whore! I am going to kill her. I take a step forward, and
Candy Cane holds me in place with the palm of her hand, pressed between my
breasts.

“Leave,” Candy Cane snarls over her shoulder, scowling
at the woman I didn’t realize I loathe as much as I do.

The door to the kitchen opens again and the giant
asshole himself strolls in, shirtless. I grimace at the sight of him and the
boiling hatred in my veins becomes venomous as I catch a true smile on his
face.

He’s smiling! The bastard is smiling!
Ugh! I hate him so much!

Once he realizes what’s happening and that I’m
standing here, my hands balled into tight fists at my sides, grinding my teeth
to near pain, staring daggers at the evil Linda herself, his smile fades and a
readable expression of remorse replaces it. I can’t speak; I just glare through
tiny slits that shrink in size, the angrier I become.

Candy Cane, with one hand pressed to me, has her head
turned over her shoulder. “Big.” She gives him a warning tone. “You better make
her leave, you know—”

Candy Cane is cut off, when the door opens again and
Gunz in blue pajama pants and sleepy eyes strolls drearily into the kitchen.
Glancing around for a few agonizing moments that feels like years, he assesses
the situation.

“Ah…fuck…it’s five in the morning. I ain’t got time
for this shit.” Gunz digs into his pocket and retrieves a sucker, peels off the
wrapper, and pops it into his mouth. Turning to his Prez, he shakes his head in
disgust as his eyes flicker to Linda and back to Big.

“This is some fucked up shit,” Gunz continues shaking
his head.

The tension in the air thickens, the longer I glare at
Linda and she glares back at me.

“Let’s settle this outside,” I demand in a harsh growl
through clenched teeth. “You are in my motherfucking club.”

“Sucking your president’s big cock,” Linda replies
dryly, with a triumphant smile spread wide across her face, as an unbidden
flicker of erotic fulfillment sparks in her eyes.

Oooooo, I am so gonna murder her!

Reaching over to the island, I grab
my purse.

“Oh no you don’t.” Gunz quickly yanks it from my
hands, and I briefly break my stare on my nemesis to turn and frown at Gunz.

“Give it back,” I harshly demand.

“No. Not when I know you have your gun in there.” He
straps my leather purse over his shoulder, “Prez are you gonna stop staring at
this shit and do somethin’?” Now Gunz is full on annoyed. Welcome to the club.

Big looks awestruck, like he’s torn at what to do. Or
maybe he didn’t think I’d find out she was here. I can’t believe he brought her
back to this place. Lying to me is the biggest kind of betrayal. After the
fight with her years ago, he promised she’d never be allowed back at the club.
Now here she is, red-lipped, with just-fucked hair, and a skimpy little outfit.
Did I mention Linda and I are the same age? That we went to school together?
That she became a club whore right out of high school? That Big and her have
been fuck buddies for almost ten years as she tries to claw her way into his
life to become his old lady. How she’s never liked me, even when I tried to be
friends with her. Even when I took her aside early on to tell her she was
wasting her time with Big. That he has never taken interest in claiming and old
lady and that it would only end in heartbreak for her. She shoulda listened.

“Yo, Prez?” Gunz stomps his bare foot on the tiled
floor, standing next to me. It’s like he and Candy Cane are the impenetrable
barricade between me and Big and his slutty club bitch.