The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 3 (MC Chronicles #3) (16 page)

“Where to, boss?” I ask Gunz as he merges into traffic.

He reaches across the center console and lays his hand on my belly, “It’s time to feed my girls.”

Awe, grandpa Gunz is too damn sweet for his own good.

Laying my hand over his that’s on my belly, I smile contently as I gaze out of the passenger side window, taking in beauty of the city. I hope he picks out a good place to eat; I’m starving.

Leaving Gunz and Niki to their raucous bathroom time, I write a quick note with the hotel’s pen and sticky notes, telling Gunz where I’m headed so he doesn’t worry, and sit it on the desk. I can’t stand another night of the loud porn show. I need some air, and I’ve got to call Big. It’s already well past dinner, nearing midnight, according to the clock radio on the nightstand between Gunz’s and my bed.

We took much longer at the mom and pop pizzeria Gunz had taken us to then I had anticipated. It was ladies dollar beer night. I’m sure ya know what that means. Four hours later and a slew of wasted sisters barely able to stand, we finally made it back here without injury. Hurray!

Niki, who hadn’t rejoined us, was climbing the walls by the time we returned. She attacked Gunz within minutes of our arrival. They’ve been at it in the bathroom like a bunch of ravenous sex beasts for the last half hour, and I can’t take it anymore.

Slipping out of the hotel room, I quietly pull the door shut behind me. Phone and room key in hand, I make my way down the long gaudy corridor to the elevators. I press the down button and patiently wait, already feeling temporarily relieved leaving Gunz and Niki to their devices.

One person can only handle so much ‘Fuck me harder’ and blissful relief cries before going clinically insane. I know they aren’t meaning to, but it’s like they’re rubbing their unruly and highly kinky sex life in my sexless face. I’ve already got over a month and a half to wait out on top of recovery before I can fuck again. It’s gonna be a long ass time before I’m satisfied.

The fourth elevator bay dings open, and I enter the car. Hitting the lobby button with my thumb, I rest my back against the wall and wait. Eight floors down and I’m exiting the car, one step closer to peace and quiet.

Passing the concierge at the reception desk, I give him a small wave and nod as I head outside. The cool night air soothes me the instant it fills my lungs, and a wave of relief crashes through me. It feels fucking amazing to be out here. I desperately needed this alone time, away from the constant chatter and go-go-go. Don’t get me wrong, I love my sisters and Gunz but their loud drunken antics tonight was a lot over the top. Between flashing tits, stupid jokes, one sister crying, and a whole lot of other shit, I need to disconnect for a moment.

Out front under the entrance bay, I slide my phone on and call Big.

Phone pressed to my ear, head down watching my feet so I don’t trip, I begin to stroll on the sidewalk that surrounds the perimeter of the hotel.

On the third ring, the call connects.

“Hello?” A velvety feminine voice answers.

What the hell?

I’m stunned into silence, and I stop in my tracks. Pull the phone from my ear I check the display to make sure I called the right number. Yup, it’s Big’s.

“Hello?” The woman repeats.

Placing the phone back to my ear, I clear my clogged throat. Big better not be up to no good.
Don’t jump to conclusions, Bink. Get the facts first.
I give myself a weak pep talk and return to my journey around the hotel. Walking will do me some good. Hopefully it works out some of this building anger.

“Is Big there?” I finally speak keeping my tone nonchalant.

“Is this his old lady?” the woman inquires.

How would she know what? The itch to reply like a bitch voraciously claws at my insides. I have to muster all the strength I retain not to reply, ‘
Fuck yeah, I am bitch. Now hand him the motherfucking phone.’
Nevertheless I’ve got to stay cool, even if I don’t want to be.

Taking a deep breath through my nose and slowly out my mouth, I reply, “Yes why? Where is he?” There, I sounded smooth. Thank fuck.

She makes a small noise of discomfort, “He’s in the bedroom conducting some business. I just heard his phone ring.”

Something’s not adding up. What kind of
business
are we talking about here?

“Why are
you
answering it?! And who—,” I pause to calm my nerves, I’m just about to go off, “are you?” I finish levelly. That was a close one. I just about cussed her up one side and down the other. Answering the prez’s phone ain’t cool at all.

Holding the phone to my shoulder with my ear, I wipe my clammy palms on my pants before grabbing the phone again. I’m already sweating like a whore in a church, and my breathing is erratic. I’m trying not to get worked up and pissed off, but it’s not working. I’m all kinds of bent out of shape. Like Big would say
, I need to chill the hell out
. And maybe I would if asshole would have picked up his own fucking phone. Or if it wasn’t a chick who answered it. Or maybe all of this wouldn’t be an issue if I trusted the controlling bastard. I don’t - not in the capacity of keepin’ his cock to himself anyhow. He better not be dickin’ some whore, or I’ll murder him and dump the body where nobody can find it. I’m tired of the ‘what ifs.’

“It was sitting on the kitchen counter, and I’m Bridget.”

At least she sounds nice enough. Better than the alternative of dealing with a mouthy, disrespectful bitch. God knows there are plenty of them.

“Well Bridget,” I sigh heavily, “I don’t know who you are, but Big told me to call him.”

“I can relay a message,” she sweetly offers.

Sure, she can. But I don’t trust anybody, sweet or not.

“Are you an old lady?”

“No,” she states like it’s not a big deal. Must be one of those whores who are only there for the fun, not the catch. Good for her. Still not going to give a message to a whore I don’t know though.

“Then no, you can’t relay anything.” Rounding the corner of the hotel, the lampposts in the parking lot safely guide my way.

“The brothers have been busy most of the night,” she explains.

“Are any of them not engaged?” Meaning who isn’t busy fucking, sleeping, or conducting legitimate business.

“Ummmmm,” she pauses, and I listen to her walking to another room. The sounds of rock music and fucking register through the receiver. They’re busy men tonight.

“I think they’re all busy, except someone playing a video game on the couch getting a blowjob from Tammy. Want me to get him for you?”

The woman is very kind. Most club whores wouldn’t care enough to ask, or they would have hung up on me already.

“What does he look like?”

“From here… it looks like he’s got brown hair and a hula girl tattoo.”

Runner.
Blech,
no thanks.

“Yeah, not him, but thanks. I know ya shouldn’t tell me this, but….can you let me know if Big is fuckin’ someone?” I don’t really want to know the answer, but I have to ask anyhow.

“Is Big the giant brother with long hair and light blue eyes?”

“Yeah, he’s the president.”

“That’s what I thought. Just had to ask. I’m not really sure if he is or not. I wasn’t invited to their private party. I’m too fat,” she sighs sadly. “But two old ladies and three of the whores that I don’t know very well went into one of the bedrooms with him and some of the other brothers.”

Can’t I catch a goddamn break? Seriously? And why isn’t Bridget good enough for the party? She’s probably nicer than the rest of the women there. Fucking men, they’re dogs.

Clenching my jaw and balling a fist at my side, I shake my head in anger. I know I shouldn’t have asked and them going into a room doesn’t actually prove anything. But, fuck, my entire body is riddled with stress, and all it’s telling me is that I got my hopes up for nothing. I’m just a stupid bitch for even believing otherwise. Big is a dog just like the rest of ‘em.

“You okay?” Sympathy pours from her lips.

Just as I am about to reply, a rich male voice interrupts me from behind.

“Ma’am,” the deep whiskey voice drawls.

Startled, I flinch and whip around to face him.

“Ye—,” I barely make it mid-turn when a strange debilitating pain unexpectedly strikes my neck, robbing me of my voice. Before another thought can process in my swirling brain, my body loses all function and I’m plumping to the ground as my world goes inky black.

Easter Sunday, April 20, 2014

My eyes feel like they’ve being held down by lead weights as I pry them marginally open. They immediately slam shut. Moving my tongue in my mouth, it feels like sandpaper. I groan deep in my throat. My body aches everywhere, and my head feels like it’s being split in two by a rusty axe.

Discombobulated, my mind fumbles through hazy thoughts. What the…fuck… happened to me? Where am I? Suddenly, my heart rockets in my chest with recollection. My daughter! Is she alright!? I try to lift my unbearably heavy arms that are stretched above my head. I need to feel my stomach now! They lift only an inch then drop back into the softness of whatever I’m lying on. The texture of something rough digs into my wrists. Dammit, I’m restrained. This can’t be good.

I hear the faint sound of footsteps in the quiet room moving further away. Then the sound of a faucet turning on and off, and more footsteps again as they near. A man’s voice in another room is muffled as he speaks to someone. Somebody bumps the edge of whatever I’m lying on, jostling it. A hard stick like object is stabbed to my dry lips. I scowl at the discomfort and hold my mouth firmly closed, curling my lips inward, teeth clenched together. What the hell do they want with me?

“Open up, Eva, and drink some water. I know you’re awake.”

Oh my motherfucking God! That’s my mother speaking to me. I’m not drinking a damn thing she tries to give me. It’s probably poison. I don’t really care if she kills me, but if I die, Harley dies, and I can’t have that. As if she knows I’m thinking about her, my stomach jerks with a kick, and I instantly relax, letting out a relieved breath through my nose. All the tension in my body melts away, and tears well behind my closed eyes. She’s alive! Harley’s alive.

“Eva,” my mother speaks gently. “Please open up, it’s just water from the tap. You need to wake up to eat and drink something.”

The defiant urge to tell her to
rot in hell
and
fuck off
pounds through my veins. But I keep quiet. If she has kidnapped me, there is a reason for it. I’m not really sure I want to find out why right now. Flexing my feet to stretch them, I feel abrasive shackles around my ankles — rope would be my guess. I’ll find out soon enough.

“Eva, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re my daughter. Now please stop being stubborn.” A soft warm finger smoothes the tense creases between my eyes. “Calm down, we need to talk.” The finger continues to rub over the bridge of my nose, my eyebrows, and back again. “You’re not going anywhere for a while, so why don’t you make the best of a bad situation.”

I know she’s trying to be reassuring but all I hear is ‘
I’m a lying cunt
,’ ‘
I’m a kidnapping bitch
,’ ‘
I hate you and that’s why you’re here
.’ Her soft voice is nothing but nails on a chalkboard to me. Her fingers touching my flesh feel like putrid acid, scorching me wherever she touches. I don’t want her anywhere near me. The last time my mother willingly touched me I was just a child, and even then I don’t remember it. This is her backstabbing, fake, I’m-a-liar voice. It’s not sincere. She wants to talk? Who kidnaps someone and
then
wants to talk? Nobody. Not unless they want to interrogate you and torture you for information. That’s probably why I’m here. They can try all they want to dig for information, but I got nothing. If she’s going to kill me, she might as well get it over with. I’m not buying into her phony bullshit.

“Eva,” she clips, frustrated. “We have a lot of talking to do before this situation gets ironed out.” She moves the cup and straw from my lips, and I feel her retreat, giving me much needed space to breathe.

Situation ironed out? Those words battle in my pounding brain. There wouldn’t be any sort of situation to fix, if she hadn’t done this to begin with. Big never told me what her threat meant or how it might actually affect me. He never does. He’s always trying to protect me from everything. That’s apparent in the things he did to buy my mother out when I was a child. I can’t imagine what else there would be for him to have to hide. Guess there’s plenty, which is why I’m here. Or maybe she’s just being a manipulative bitch and trying to hold me for ransom. Yes, that’s probably more like it. More money for a daughter she never loved. Pathetic, isn’t it?

As if her getting excommunicated from the Sacred Sinners wasn’t bad enough, she has to go pulling this stunt. Before this, I could see why they protected her. She was my father’s old lady. They’re getting divorced now, and he has no assets to take or children to use as pawns, so she’s up shit creek without a paddle. Everything my father has is technically owned by the Sacred Sinners, not him. The brothers do that with all of their vehicles and other assets to keep money hungry whores like her from getting a cent. I used to find it sorta sexist and disrespectful. Now it makes perfect sense. It protects them from cunts like her.

A chair creaks. “Whenever you’re ready, I have some stuff I need to tell you about.”

Will she quit this already? Either come out with it or shut up. How many times does she have to repeat herself? It’s annoying as fuck.

“Did you hear me? I need to tell you some stuff, before this gets underway,” she whispers.

First it needs ironed out, and now it’s underway? What’s underway? My kidnapping? Well that happened a while ago, hours, or maybe even days, not sure.

“Eva,” she pleads, desperate.

That name and her mouth saying it is like icing on the cake of hell. Being kidnapped and tied down is the proverbial cake. And I don’t like it one bit.

“Eva,” her desperation persists, and I can’t take it anymore.

“Shut up, will ya?” I snap bitterly. “I’m not Eva. If you’re gonna kidnap me and tie me down,” I yank on my arm and leg restraints for effect, “Then I suggest ya use my name. Stop fucking callin’ me Eva; I’m not gonna respond to it. At least show me that ounce of respect. Are you even capable of that?” I laugh humorlessly. Of course she’s not capable. That’s a joke even thinking otherwise. Once a backstabbing thunder-cunt always a backstabbing thunder-cunt. Write that bit of wisdom in your diary boys and girls; it’ll do ya some good.

“I don’t like your tone,” she admonishes.

Melodramatically, I scoff, “And I don’t like that my mother’s a fucking bitch who kidnapped me either. We can’t get everything we want.” This time I pry my eyes fully open. With a bit of effort, I keep them that way.

Tied to a bed, a stiff pillow under my head, I have a small blanket strewn over my legs. Glancing down at my body, my eyes widen in horror. My clothes have been changed! What the hell happened to my clothes? And why am I wearing a men’s light blue t-shirt that’s stretched over my huge belly? I can’t even see my bottoms; they’re hidden under the thin burgundy blanket. My toes are covered in socks, I can feel the plushness when I wiggle my toes.

The room has a single window across from the bed, and it’s barred like a prison cell. Not like I could climb through it anyhow, not with a belly like mine. I wouldn’t fit. The walls are made up of stained logs. Must be a rural cabin. Inhaling deeply, the scent of pine and evergreen invade my senses, confirming my assumption.

Still dark outside, across the small bedroom, my mother sits on a wooden rocking chair, next to a small nightstand and lamp with a burgundy shade, which is turned on creating a soft glow in the sparse room.

Devoid of all personal touches, it’s clear this cabin isn’t a family place. There are no pictures hanging on the walls. No knickknacks on the small antique dresser. Not even curtains covering the window. Even the bed feels too new. The pillow too firm.

“Are you done yet?” my mother retorts, grandstanding her flagrant attitude.

She’s just darling, ain’t she?

“If you call me Bink, then I’ll attempt to act civil. Although I must admit being knocked out and brought here against my will isn’t really boding well for this tea’s and crumpets mother-daughter bonding time you’ve concocted.” Sarcasm drips like maple syrup from my every word.

The Cunt sighs, “Alright…Bink…Let’s act civil, and I’ll explain.”

Yanking on the ropes around my wrist, I jiggle them above my head, “Do these have to stay? I’d really like to sit up, and maybe pee.”

“Are you going to behave and not try to escape?”

“What the fuck do you think I’m gonna do? Run barefoot and very pregnant outside in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere? Without shoes, a coat, or any way of knowing where the fuck I am? Get real,” I try to sound as convincing as possible, even though I am lying straight through my teeth. Of course I’d run barefoot and pregnant into the wilderness to get away from her. If I had to pick between wolves or my mother, I’d choose wolves every time.

“Alright,” my mother stands from her chair, crosses the room, and opens the bedroom door, leaving it cracked after she exits. Moments later, she returns holding a hunting knife.

“Be careful,” a man cautions from just outside the bedroom. It’s the same deep southern accented man who kidnapped me. I’d know that voice anywhere. If only I’d gotten a better look at him.

“I will,” she makes her way to me, and the man pulls the door shut until I hear the distinct click. Climbing on the side of the bed by my head, she instructs, “Don’t move. I don’t want to cut you.”

Complying, I remain still as she makes quick work of my ropes and discards the trash over the side of the bed. It thumps hitting the floor. Being smart, I don’t move until she slides back off the bed, knife in hand.

Sitting up, I rub my sore wrists, and she returns to her rocking chair, laying the knife on the stand beside her. Crossing her legs, hands in her lap, she says, “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”

That has to be a rhetorical question. If it’s not, she’s an even bigger moron than I ever presumed.

Nodding without my cocky attitude flaring, I continue to rub my wrists and remain quiet. Better not to talk if all I have to say is going to make things worse. Not even sure if I could remain civil when all I want to do is beat her to death with my bare hands.

Keeping myself occupied, I lift the edge of the blanket and peer down at my legs. They’re clothed in a pair of men’s striped pajama pants.

“I changed you when you arrived. You were dirty,” my mother explains. I don’t reply so she continues talking, “Malcolm knocked you out using pressure points, and he laid you on the floor of the van. That’s how you ended up here.”

I want to ask whose clothes I’m wearing except I won’t. I cup my hands around my belly instead and keep my eyes downcast, looking at my belly and my colorfully striped pj bottoms.

“I know this isn’t ideal, Ev—Bink,” she recovers quickly, “But I can tell you what is going on, should you wish it.” She pauses for an answer, only she doesn’t get one. “Fine, don’t talk to me. I’ll tell you anyhow.” Her snobby attitude resurfaces.

“I’m going to tell you a story about a young girl,” she starts, and the rocking chair begins to move, lightly creaking with each motion. Forward—
creak
. Backward—
creak
. Forward—
creak
. Backward—
creak
. Slow and peacefully the chair rocks, it’s almost a hypnotic sound of comfort.
Almost.

“Your father grew up with Richard on the compound,” she sighs, nostalgically lost to her thoughts. “We all did…. actually.”

This is something I already knew. Mom is nine years older than daddy, and they married as soon as he turned eighteen. Mom was already pregnant then. Both of them grew up on the compound, along with Big. My grandfathers were both founding Sacred Sinner members. Boss Man, Big’s father, was the first president of the club. He’s where everything started.

“What you don’t know,” my mother draws me from my thoughts, “is that my mother groomed me from childhood to be a proper old lady. To serve my biker like a good old lady should. She wanted me to be the president’s old lady someday.” She rocks faster in her chair.

“She wanted me to marry Richard…and shamefully I wanted that too. But he never wanted me. Never looked at me. Never seemed interested. I tried many times to get him to like me… This was well before he grew to be six eight. He was a shrimp back then but still handsome as can be.”

My mother had a thing for Big? Hmm… interesting.

“Unfortunately, the boy was clueless. Even after I’d started seeing Rodney, I tried to flirt with Richard and continued to do so until I got pregnant and married your father.” The loud thump of her feet hit the ground, and the rocker abruptly stills.