The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1) (19 page)

Easing the door open, body perched on the wall, I
shuffle around the corner and crouch by the entrance, running my hand across
the glass panes on the door, I realize its bullet proof. Big is a smart man.

My phone buzzes again.

I sigh, and once more I check my phone.

Big: I knew it! Get your ass back downstairs! Now!

How in the hell does he even know where I’m at?

Me: No! And how in the fuck do you know where I am?

Big: I have hidden cameras all over my house. I see
you by the front door. Don’t you dare unlock it! I fuckin’ mean it.

Another gunshot rings out, and I ignore him. The truth
that he’s probably been watching my every move in his house, which is quite
sick, if you ask me. But I ain’t got time to sit around deciphering another one
of Big’s weird fuckin’ idiosyncrasies.

Flipping the first lock open as quietly as I can, my
phone vibrates in my pocket, again.

Yeah, I know, motherfucker I’m not listening. That
shouldn’t be surprising. Hello, look who you’re talkin’ to. I’m not an old
lady. I don’t follow rules. I make my own. Get over it.

The next lock goes, and I peel the door open just
enough to scurry out the door. Just as I do, a very pissed off Gunz snaps his
head over his shoulder, pinning me with a death gaze.

“Get back in the fuckin’ house, Bink,” Gunz commands
in a harsh whisper.

“No,” I whisper back, standing up and re-locking the
door with my key from the outside.

Walking up to stand beside Gunz, who’s on high alert,
scanning the grounds, another shot goes off. It’s coming from the front of the
property. The sound waves are breaking off the houses, making it sound closer
than it really is.

“Who is it?” I whisper.

“None of your business. You are not a brother. Now get
back in the damn house before I have to drag you in myself.” Gunz yanks the
empty sucker stick from his mouth and drops it on the step, crushing it under
the heel of his boot.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I stand firm, my eyes
darting around the openness of the estates, checking for anything out of the
ordinary. The stars are muddled under a thick cloud cover. It’s nearly pitch
black. The shadows are plentiful. Good thing there isn’t a single way into the
property except the front gate or scaling these monstrous walls of thick brick
and mortar.

Gunz’s phone violently vibrates in his pocket, and he
pulls it out to answer.

“Yeah?” he snaps.

“Yes, I fucking know I told her to go back inside. You
of all people should know she won’t leave,” he explains to who I assume is Big
on the end of the line.

“Bink,” Gunz turns toward me. “Go back inside.”

“No.” I step down to the bottom step to prove a point.

“I told you,” he speaks to Big. “Sure, here she is.”

Gunz taps his phone to my shoulder, and I tuck my gun
into the back of my jeans and step back onto the porch to ready myself for the
severe tongue lashing I’m about to get.

“Yes,” I calmly answer, pacing the porch.

Yelling from the front of the compound that echoes
through the receiver of the phone. “Listen, you better fucking leave!” Big
growls angrily at someone.

Another gunshot goes off, and Big howls in
excruciating agony, dropping his phone to the ground with a scratchy thud.

I don’t even think. I just act. Barreling at top speed,
I drop Gunz’s phone to the porch and shoot down the street. It doesn’t take but
a second for me to register heavy boots pounding into the blacktop behind me.

“Stop!” Gunz yells.

“Fuck off! Big’s hurt!” I keep running, my breath
heaving in and out of my lungs, my arms pumping fast at my sides, feet pounding
the pavement.

“I said stop.” A massive bald man plows into me from
behind, like a linebacker. My arms raise up instinctively to protect my face, but
I still hit the asphalt, hard. My knees feel like they shattered into a million
pieces. My ribs ache, and I cry out in misery. My arms burn like they are on
fire. Tiny pieces of gravel dig into my flesh as my body grinds to an agonizing
halt.

“Oh shit, oh fuck.” Gunz lifts off my back and flips
me over. His hands fly over his mouth, “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” He
stands over me.

Blood runs down both of my arms. My entire body aches
like I’ve been hit by a Mac Truck. Lying flat on my back, I grunt and grind my
teeth as the intense pain courses through me, branding me like a hot iron.

Goddamn this shit hurts so fucking bad.

Tears sting my eyes, but I take in a deep painful
breath and I will them away. I will not cry.

“Fuck off, Gunz,” I seethe through clenched teeth, extending
my forearms outward and resting them on the asphalt, wounds facing up. All the
while, praying the inferno that has sprouted across them would dissipate just a
fraction. To offer me some sense of relief.

Gunz reaches out to offer me a hand. I don’t take it.
I can’t. Swallowing hard, I wet my dry lips with the tip of my tongue.

“Fuck off,” I growl.

“Stop being a pain in the ass, you’re bleedin’. We
gotta get you inside.”

No fucking shit, Sherlock. The anger that flows
readily through my throbbing veins has me seeing red. Once more I don’t think,
I act. And swiftly kick Gunz right in his dick and balls, immediately dropping
him like a sack of potatoes.

Gathering my internal strength, I haul my own ass off
the ground and limp toward the front of the estates. Leaving a whiny,
dick-kicked Gunz in my wake. Serves him right!

The more I walk, the better I feel. The pain dissipates
a tiny fraction by the time I reach a group of brothers’ standing around a
puddle of fresh blood in the dirt parking lot.

Then I hear it. The wail of a woman crying profusely.
The men don’t even try to hold me back when they part to let me pass. I find a
woman restrained and not just any woman. It’s Linda! She is being held by two
brothers, and Big sits on the ground, Dallas by his side, applying pressure to
a wound in Big’s shoulder.

The fucking bitch shot him!

“You!” I boldly point to her, losing my shit. “You
fucking shot him!”

My body moves quicker than my mind. The brothers
release her, shoving her toward me, and she scrambles to retreat. No such luck,
you stupid whore. I grab hold of her hair, throwing her violently to the
ground. My fist slams into her face. And it fucking hurts like hell, as it
radiates all the way into my shoulder. I don’t give a shit; I brush it off, and
I attack her again. I sock her in the stomach. The weak bitch does nothing to
fight back or defend herself. So I let loose. Blow by blow, my aggression and
years of pent up anger toward her unleashes in a single instant. My own inner
beast arises, and all I see is blood red. My heart thumping wildly in my chest
is all I hear, besides the grunts and vile curses of hatred that I expel, with
each merciless strike. I don’t know how many times I hit her, slap her, or yank
out thick chunks of her hair. But I never stop. Not until a voice cuts through
the air and slams overwhelmingly into my heart, taking my breath away.

“Stop,” Big, growls.

And I do. Blinking rapidly to clear the fog, I glance
over to him, a proud expression, mingling with his own pain, written across his
blood-spattered face. Then I glance down at the woman who used to be Linda, who’s
knocked out cold. Her nose and cheek are sunken in, and her chest is beginning
to bruise. Her missing hair floats across the pavement with the gentle breeze.
Blood is everywhere. Hers, mine, and Big’s. It’s impossible to know whose is
whose.

“You need a doctor,” I state as I stand up and move
away from Linda. I feel no remorse for what I did. In my opinion, she’s lucky
Big didn’t let me kill her in cold blood. I would have. I don’t think I could
have stopped.

“So do you.” Big’s eyes pin my knuckles and forearms.
My knuckles are ripped to shreds. But I feel no pain. I feel nothing but pride
for putting that whore in her place and fear for Big.

I go to him, kneeling next to his uninjured side. My
hand naturally runs through this matted hair and he looks at me. I mean really
looks and our eyes lock and bolt together in a passing of electrifying
emotions.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, “I need a kiss.”

The world as I know it erupts into the most amazing
moment of my entire existence when Big roughly grabs the back of my neck and
smashes his warm succulent lips to mine. Electricity sparks, and I am sucked
into a whirlwind of desire I never knew existed. Passionately, our lips
intertwine in haste. Big’s thick tongue juts forward, claiming my mouth, and
twirling fervently with mine. I lose all sense of time and thought. All I can
do is feel him. The taste of his sweet mouth, melding with mine. The coarseness
of his stubble brushing excitingly against my sensitive skin. The way he
lightly growls in his chest each time I deepen our kiss and pull him closer, using
my efforts to convey how much I need and want him.

The clearing of someone’s throat breaks our monumental
kiss way too soon. I’m left panting and willing to beg for more. To taste his
lips. Tongue. Everything. I want it all.

“You ready to get stitched up?” the doctor we have on
payroll chides, kneeling next to Dallas and removing the towel that was being
held to Big’s shoulder.

Big hisses momentarily as the doctor peels the fabric
away. I grab hold of his hand for support, and he accepts it with a sad smile.

“Good news,” the doctor explains. “The bullet passed
cleanly through.” Leaning in, the doctor examines the wound closer. “Bad news
is you’ve been shot.”

Now that provokes the entire group of tense bikers to
laugh. Even Big and I join in. It doesn’t take but a minute or two for us, my
hand still folded in Big’s, to be escorted back into the clubhouse and taken
into the small surgical room. I stay with Big the entire time. Even when Gunz
suggested I take the seat outside the operating room, I hissed at him. I refuse
to leave Big’s side.

Before any procedure starts the doctor uses local
anesthetic to numb his shoulder. Attentively I observe the doctor’s methods of
decontaminating the wound, his precise stitching technique, and Big’s reaction
to each pass of the needle as it pierces through his tough flesh.

Once his hole has been thoroughly stitched and
bandaged on one side, Big is flipped onto his stomach. Upon the second pass of
the needle through his bullet wound I see his body twitch.

“You need to give him another shot,” I advise,
standing next to the operating table.

“Shut it, Bink,” Big grumbles, face down, hands
gripping the edge of the operating table.

“No, you big lug, I will not.” I pat his butt for him
to keep quiet and let me take care of this. Thankfully, he takes the cue and
shuts his pie hole.

The doctor doesn’t argue with me, he nods, and sinks a
small needle into Big’s shoulder. Then he waits thirty seconds, and resumes his
decontamination and stitching of the wound.

Twenty minutes later, the doctor is scrubbing out and
tossing his used scrubs into the metal biohazard trashcan beside the door.

“How ya feelin’?” I ask, now that we’re alone.

“Like I’ve been shot.” Big tries to sound funny. Instead,
it makes me frown. Linda could have killed him, and I would have killed her. I
wouldn’t have had to; she would have probably already been dead if she’d
inflicted more damage.

Rubbing my hand along his arm, standing beside his
bed, I open up a touchy subject. “What happened out there?”

He sighs, “She came to the compound just like she
threatened she would. White Boy put himself between her and entrance, but she
pulled the little handgun on him. It didn’t work; he didn’t back down. That’s
when you probably heard the first shot go off. She shot into the air a few
times as a warning. Eventually I got tired of her being a bitch, and I dealt
with her face-to-face by letting her in through the gate. That’s why I didn’t
want you coming up. I didn’t want her shootin’ you. That’s what she wanted. She
wasn’t looking for me. She was drunk, frustrated, and hell-bent on hurtin’
someone.”

Big’s hand wraps around mine. “Help me up? So I can
finish tellin’ you. ”

Knowing damn well my own arms need a thorough
cleansing, and the quick washing my knuckles didn’t fix them. Plus, my body is
hurting basically everywhere. Between Gunz’s asinine tackle and me beating the
hell out of Linda, I am physically spent, which means there is zero way I can
help a six foot eight, nearly three hundred pound man off an operating table.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial Tripper and
Dallas to come and assist. It takes them less than a minute, and they’re in the
room, helping a nearly naked Big Dick off the table. The doctor cut off his
shirt for better access to his wounds and I suggested doing his jeans too.
Since I was pretty sure they would be considered unsanitary. They too were
deposited into the biohazard bin.

“Let’s go to my room,” Big painfully groans, gritting
his teeth.

I don’t argue with him. I follow behind the brothers
as they shuffle him out of the O.R. and down the hall to his room. The walls
are lined with brothers, showing their President the utmost respect.

“Bink!” I turn to look over my shoulder and see my
four Sacred Sisters headed straight for me.

I stop, torn. Do I go to my friends? Or do I tend to
Big in his time of need?

I don’t get a chance to decide because Big collapses
onto the floor with the assistance if two brother and passes out cold. Running
to his side, I drop to my knees on the tiled floor.

“Big.” I slap his cheek. No response.

The brothers surrounding us scramble, yelling for the
doctor.

Dropping my head to Big’s chest, I keenly listen, and
I press my fingers to his carotid. His pulse is rapid, lungs functioning
consistently.