Jiggling the knob, he tried to come after me. I refused to let him inside. Sliding to the floor with my back to the white door, I tugged two terrycloth towels from the small linen closet, one for my head and one for my body, and curled into a ball. For over an hour, Marshall banged repeatedly while he tried to turn the knob and yelled for me to let him in, just so I could make love to him. For the rest of the night, I silently cried to myself. Just as the sun was peeking over the horizon and glimmering in the windowpanes of the bathroom, I solidly tuckered out for an hour or two.
The next morning, after he’d slept the booze off, God knows where in the apartment, Marshall woke me up by banging on the door again. Except this time he was dripping with apologizes about how he didn’t remember what happened last night and how sorry he was. I didn’t buy a lick of that bullshit and kept quiet, ignoring him until he exhausted his efforts and finally, with an exaggerated huff, used the spare bath to get ready for work. After he’d left and I was sure he’d gone, I unlocked the bathroom door, dressed, packed a small bag, and left. I arrived to work a few hours late, but nobody seemed to care. Larry was the only one who commented on my sunken eyes, and I brushed it off by telling him I hadn’t slept much, which was the truth.
Around noon on Wednesday, the calls started pouring in. First from Gunz for acting like a jackass, and then from Marshall for the same reason. I hung up on both of them. Wednesday night, because I had arrived to work late, I stayed late and decided to crash out on crappy office couch, which turned out to be a good choice and a bad one. Good, because the years of wear and tear made the couch a fairly decent bed for the night. Bad, because Deke came in early to find me asleep and scolded me for staying at the shop. Not that he expected me to go home, but he lectured me about staying with him, instead of at the shop, if the time ever presented itself again. Well, it did. Thursday night, which was last night, I decided to take him up on his offer, and I slept at his pad. His daughters Cherry and Ginger were so sweet and accommodating. We even baked my famous chocolate chip cookies that I haven’t baked since I moved here. They were a huge hit.
This morning, Deke drove me to work with a big Tupperware container overflowing with the extra cookies I made last night. Guess I forget that I don’t always have to make so many. But it’s something I’m so accustomed to doing for the club, it’s like second nature to me.
Sitting down at my office chair, I wheel it under my desk ready to get back to work, following the early afternoon flower guy blowout.
“Hey,” Deke reenters the office, shutting the door behind him.
“Hey,” I glance up from my computer screen with a grin.
“Would you like to explain why you are throwing a three dozen rose bouquet in the trash? What happened?” he heavily drops onto the couch, clad in his leather cut, jeans, and grease smeared t-shirt.
Last night when Deke agreed to let me crash at his place, he was too preoccupied with handling Vivian and her being high on coke, acting crazy. My purpose for staying with him was pushed to the back burner as I took care of his daughters, and he corralled the drug addict in the bedroom.
Saddest part of the whole evening was when Ginger, who’s six, decided to give me the elaborate run down of her mommy snorting some white powder off the kitchen table while daddy was at work. When I’d asked her how many times she’d seen mommy doing it, she innocently shrugged and said, “I dunno, lots, three times this week.” She craned her head to look at her older sister, Cherry, who solemnly nodded in agreement, which chilled me to my very core. Poor, poor, poor, little sweeties.
“No, I wouldn’t like to explain that. But I would like an explanation as to why your daughters saw your old lady snorting coke from the kitchen table three times this week. And when are ya plannin’ on leavin’ her? Because now is as good a time as ever. Shit, send the girls to the compound and let Candy Cane and Debbie care for them till you can move there.” I know turning the tables is a dirty trick, but I’m certain his wife being a coke head is way more important than my measly relationship scuffle that is sure to work itself out one way or another. I’m not stressing over it, why should he?
Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands in his hair, Deke sighs long and hard. “Fuck, did they tell you that last night?”
Even the words leaving his mouth sound pained. I know this isn’t easy, but shit, he’s got kids to worry about.
“Yeah….yeah, they did.” I’m careful when I express it to keep him from imploding with guilt. I can definitely understand that the truth hurts sometimes. “So, when did Gunz say you can patch over and move?”
Raking his hands through his hair, Deke remains quiet, and as if on cue, my office phone rings. I answer it, leaving him to stew with his own guilt-ridden thoughts.
“Son’s Customs, this is Bink speaking, how may I help you?”
Oh shit! A deep hellacious growl erupts through the phone. The same growl I haven’t heard in months reverberates deep down into my soul and straight to my loins, making me insta-wet. Clamping my hand down on the edge of my desk and sitting straight up, I wait for his voice. Swallowing hard, I bite my lip, my body high on fear and excitement seamlessly meshed together. How can he affect me this way?
“Would you care to explain to me why Gunz is moping like a fuckin’ dog with his tail between his legs?” his gravelly voice interrogates.
I inhale deeply to steady my nerves and reply with a flawlessly smooth tone. “No, sorry, that’s not my place to discuss.”
“The fuck it ain’t!” he yells.
A wave of goose flesh flares across my body, and my daughter at that very moment decides to kick. It’s like she knows it’s him. How is that possible? I have no idea. I swallow down the guilt, ignore my pounding heart, and the light fluttering of nervous butterflies that I haven’t felt in months, battling in my stomach, and wage on.
“If this isn’t a professional call, I am sorry but I need to get back to work,” I state.
“Fuck!” he growls. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
I don’t hang up. I stay on the line, listening to him breathing heavily into the phone, like his hot breath is caressing over my skin, down my stomach, between my thighs, and straight into my needy core.
Oh god, the thought even feels good.
Dropping back into my chair with a sexually frustrated sigh, I glance at Deke who remains impassive, wedged in his own drama bubble. He is oblivious to the animal I am having to listen to on the phone, and the way that animal is making me so wet. I can feel my panties sticking to my pussy lips, soaked in my juices.
“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 che
st, 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.
MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) Page 5
