The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1) (8 page)

Swallowing hard, I turn and face him.
His body steps forward to meet mine. My pulse skyrockets, and my pussy dampens
when I feel the thickness of his hard cock press into my belly through his
jeans. Vipers hand slips into the back pocket of my cutoff shorts, possessively
holding me to him.

“What’s your name, sugar?” His voice
is smooth like melted chocolate.

I want to fuck him. There are no
bones about it. I want to climb his six-foot frame and tug that lip piercing
with my teeth. Fuckin’ A, it’s been far too long since I’ve had a dick slamming
into me.

“My…” I blink and swallow down my
raising nerves. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this tongue-tied when
meeting a guy. “My name is—”

A thunderous growl echoes in the
courtyard, forcing my heart to leap into my throat. I freeze, my eyes widening
as the entire lawn goes mute, including the joyful sounds of the children
playing.

“You.” I hear Big Dick’s words loud
and clear. I tightly close my eyes, wishing this moment away.

“Me?” Viper asks, surprised. He’s yet
to take his hand out of my pocket.

“Who in the hell do you think I’m
talking to dumb-fuck?” Big replies, growing angrier by the second. I can hear
the edge of malice in his words. The edge that tells me he’s about to pull his
gun. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know him as well as I do.

“Let go of Bink,” I hear somebody
whisper. Only Viper does the opposite, he grinds his erection harder into my
stomach. I groan lightly in my throat, as the walls of my pussy pulse their
reply to his blunt attraction.

I have a serious problem. This
shouldn’t be turning me on.

“What can I help you with, Prez?”
Viper inquires, with an air of cockiness.

An even deeper growl erupts from
behind me as the sounds of boots stomping across the solid ground close in. I
silently pray—
Dear God, please don’t let
Viper die. Please let this end on good terms.

Thick fingers painfully dig into my hip
bones and yank me backward out of Viper’s grasp and into a massive wall of
flesh and hardened bones. Those same arms wrap around me, enveloping me. My
plate drops to the ground at my feet, spilling food onto the lawn. I pry my
eyes open to see Viper staring at me, confused, and a little hurt. I don’t have
to turn around to know, I don’t have to even look to know who’s holding me.
Whose arms are securing my body to his. I can smell him. I can feel his warmth
seeping into my back. I can hear the deep rumbling of fury, like rocks
violently battling in his chest.

“This,” Big hugs me tighter. “This
woman is off limits.” He booms like a vicious beast, heaving for breath. Viper’s
eyes nearly bug out of his head in fear. Big’s scary as hell, I’ll give him
that.

“But…she’s not wear…ing a property
cut, Prez, I’m… I’m…sorry, I didn’t know,” Viper trips over his words.

“She doesn’t need a property cut.
Everybody knows who the fuck she is. Every motherfuckin’ brother knows her
pussy is off limits. And just so we are crystal fuckin’ clear, so are her lips,
her ass, her tits, and her time. Unless you want me to beat you to death, piss
on your corpse, and dump your body in the river, then I suggest you apologize
for groping our queen and pissing off your president, before I sic Tripper and
Gunz on you, then when they’re done, I’ll take my turn.” Big pauses briefly and
takes in a deep breath, “Get on your
knees
,”
he malevolently orders Viper.

My mouth falls open as Viper doesn’t
even hesitate to drop to his knees before us, spewing a fumbled paragraph of
apologies. I could give two shits and a fuck. This is beyond stupid. The longer
Viper kneels and apologizes the more irate I become, no longer paying attention
to the sad display of a pissing contest. I’m an unclaimed woman for cryin’ out
loud. I don’t see the boys treating Big Dick like shit for bringing Linda
around, even though he promised she’d never be allowed back. I don’t see them
defending me when their Prez murdered my dog. Why do I put up with this stupid
shit? Why do I sit back and let the control freak determine what I can and
can’t do with my life? Why am I not allowed to fuck or date or do anything with
a brother? My mother grew up in this club, and she was allowed to marry my
daddy. She wasn’t forbidden to date brothers. Why am I? Why does it fucking
matter who I date or fuck? I’m thirty, I’m single, and I am sick and tired of
being protected from shit I don’t need protecting from; for instance, people like
Viper.

“Bink.” Big shakes me and turns me
around to face him.

“Fuck off,” I snarl at him and hear
the women gasp.

“Excuse me?” He smirks, clearly
amused with my outburst.

“You heard me. Fuck. Off,” I
enunciate, glaring at him.

“What’s your problem?” he asks in a
hushed tone, reaching down and grabbing my wrists. I wince, screwing my eyes
shut in agony, jerking them away.

“Fuck,” he mutters, as I take in a
few deep breaths and inspect my burn. I knew it; he popped the blister that had
formed, and the fluid is running down my arm. My wrist feels like it’s on fire.
“Fuck, Bink, I’m sorry. I forgot. Let’s get you inside. I laid the Band-Aids
out on my desk and everything. Shit... I’m really sorry.” Sympathetically, he
grabs hold of my shoulder. I jerk away from him.

“You’ve done enough.”

“Shit… Come on…Sugar Tits…please let
me—”

“Is that what you call her?” I cut
him off, frowning deeply, looking up at his face.

Big mechanically scrubs the stubble
on his chin. “Call who? What?” His brows knit together in confusion.

“Your woman, Linda. Is that her
nickname? Sugar Tits?”

“No,” he snaps. “Why in the hell
would I call her that?”

“No, the better question is why would
you call
me
that? And, it
wouldn’t surprise me one damn bit, if you called her that.” I forcefully poke
his chest with two fingers. “Considering she was here this morning, sucking
your
dick, and fucking
you
in the clubhouse. The place I was told
she’d never be allowed in
ever
again. Then you show this piss poor display of bullshit about me not being
allowed to fuck a brother. I used to understand why. Now I don’t anymore. Why
in the hell should it matter when you break your promises all the time? Lead by
example, Big,” I pause to gather my thoughts. “First…” I hold up a one, using my
pointer finger. “You kill Pretzel and then a few days later are sleeping with
the enemy. Then Viper’s the first man in a month to give me any attention, and
I’m not allowed to fuck him. Why is it alright for you to do whatever the hell
your controlling ass wants to, and I get left with nothing? Not a goddammed
thing. I am not an old lady. Couldn’t be, even if I wanted to.” I take in a
deep breath and continue.

“I’m expected to cook for your
picnics, to be at your beck and call, and for what? To show appreciation that
you helped raise me when my stupid ass mother decided I wasn’t worth a lick of
her time? I do appreciate that. I’ve shown that for
years
. Doing things that no other old lady or club whore
does. Except I’m not even officially a part of this club, am I? If I were, I
would have been able to settle down years ago with a brother instead of wasting
my time with half-wit wannabe bikers. Do I want to have an old man who fucks
other women? No. But some of them don’t. Tripper has always been faithful to
Candy Cane.” I glance over to her watching this terrible display of my
emotional vomit and she nods at me, with a half-smile, running her hands
through her bright red hair.

“Your controlling he-man complex is
giving me whiplash. I get that you think of me as a daughter of sorts. But a
father wouldn’t murder his daughter’s puppy.”

Big firmly shakes his head. “Ya
done?”

I nod.

“Good…and I didn’t kill your fuckin’
dog,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“You heard me. I didn’t kill Pretzel.
You pissed me off, like you always do, so I fibbed and sent him to North Dakota
to get further training that Tripper doesn’t have time to teach. He’ll be back
in three weeks. You need a guard dog that obeys, and he wasn’t cuttin’ it. He
will once he gets back.”

“You—”

With the wave of his hand and a stern
look, he shuts me up. “Quiet,” he harshly demands. “I’m not done... You want to
have all this shit out in front of the club? Then they’re going to hear my side
too. First off…” He holds up a number one, mocking me by flipping me the bird,
his S.S. skull ring on his middle finger emphasizing his point.

“You may not be part of this club
because you aren’t claimed as an old lady. But the men in this club see you as
one of us, more so than any other female. True?” He waves his hands around to
the men and they all nod, muttering ‘true’ under their breaths. “See? So that
shit has got to stop. No more, ‘I’m not part of the club’ bullshit. Ya got me?
It’s gettin’ old.”

I solemnly nod, like a dog with a
tail between his legs.

“Now, the Linda thing is none of your
damn business. If I wanted to fuck her wet pink pussy in front of you, that’s
still
none of your fucking business. You
ain’t my old lady, and if you were, I would expect you to show me more respect
than you are right now. I am the president of this club. If you can’t respect
that, if you can’t hold your mouthy little tongue and shut the fuck up, then
you can walk.” He points to the road, and tears form in my eyes, my bottom lip
quivering.

“You can get your ass in your pink
bitch car and drive the hell outta here. I’ve taken care of you and protected
you since you were born. But I won’t stand by and let you disrespect me, the
brothers, or this club. No matter how important you are to me. You questioning
me and acting like a little bitch ain’t gonna to fly. No way, no how. So you
make the choice. Stay here, teach the new old ladies the rules and ropes of our
home.” His hand cups my chin and forces me to look him in the eyes. “Our home,
Bink.” His voice softens and tear breaks free from my watery eyes. Big swipes
it away with his thumb.

“This is our home, yours and mine and
the rest of the brothers. Now let this shit go. Let’s move on. Forget becoming
an old lady. I made that rule because there could never be a brother that me,
Tripper, Gunz, Jizz, Brew, or your pops would approve of to marry you. Shit
outside of the club we may not like, but we hold little jurisdiction. Here, in
our home, your home, I’m the president and you’re our queen. Get used to it, and
quit your bellyaching.” I nod, and he lets go of my face and bends down from
his six foot eight frame to kiss my cheek. His lips brush over my skin and run
until he meets the shell of my ear.

“This is
our
home, Sugar Tits, remember that. And I’m sorry I had to
sound like an asshole, but you’re pushing my fuckin’ buttons, like always.
Linda won’t be back, I can assure you. Now do me a solid and quit cryin, you’re
killin’ me with those tears. Pull up your big girl panties and turn back into
the hardened badass I know you to be and show those old ladies the ropes. I’m
getting’ the Band-Aids to fix up your wrist,” he whispers in my ear, kisses my
cheek once more and stands up, flashing me the biggest ear to ear smile. Dimple
and all.

“Yeah?” His hands rest on my
shoulders, his eyes boring into mine, etched with a firm resolve.

“Yeah.” I nod and head over to the
table where the new old ladies sit. Probably bored out of their ever lovin’
mind, while Big yells, “Shows over, time to get drunk,” and disappears into the
clubhouse, a fresh bottle of Bud clutched in his hand.

Candy Cane comes to stand beside me
as I stand before the group of three old ladies, all of them distinctively
different in appearances.

“Sorry about the show,” I mutter as Candy
Cane sits down at the picnic table beside a miniature woman, who is sleeved in
tattoos up one arm and down the other. I can’t see the rest of her body, but if
I’d have to guess, she’s probably covered head to toe with some beautiful pieces
of art.

“Here.” Big Dick returns, touching my
arm, “I told you I’d bring them.” He flashes an opened rainbow Band-Aid and I
smile sweetly at him. My guilt for lashing out at him begins to eat at my
insides. I hate that I was so mean, especially now that I know Pretzel isn’t
dead and will be home soon.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, watching his
clumsy fingers try to place the colorful bandage over my burn.

Shaking his head, he diligently works
on completing the task. I know I could interfere, but it’s cute watching him
try so hard. Plus, if I tried to help it would be a straight shot to his
manhood. “It’s water under the bridge. I knew it was coming. Shitty timing, but
I shoulda told you Pretzel was alive last night when we talked.” He pulls away,
letting my newly bandaged wrist fall to my side and with a smile animatedly
dusts his hands off in front of him. “Piece of cake,” he snickers.

Glancing over his shoulder, Big nods
to Gunz using the strange ESP connection he and his Sergeant of Arms share.

“Ladies.” Big steps up to the picnic
table, and I watch all of the women take him in. He’s huge, so it takes a
minute. I’ve seen this happen time and time again, and I find it amusing that
women, even though they have an old man, always seem to look at Big like he’s a
piece of meat that they want to take a bite out of. He has that fine wine trait,
where he gets better with age. His hair doesn’t show an ounce of gray, even
though his fiftieth birthday is just around the corner. The fine lines around
his eyes make him appear more distinguished, yet his soulful ice-blue irises
reel the women in by the boatload. Probably doesn’t hurt that he’s as tall as
the Eiffel Tower and built like a brick shithouse. His status as club president
is just the icing on the cake for most women. Too bad all those ladies who
openly stare and drool don’t know how much of a complex pain in the ass her
really is. They just care to see if he lives up to his name, which he always
does. The stories are legendary. And all of it makes me want to roll my eyes
and slap a bitch for being so transparently stupid.