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

by Bink Cummings

  Glancing around the room taking in surroundings, the urge to call out surfaces just in case it is the brothers. I think better of it, dismissing the thought entirely. I don’t want to draw attention to myself just in case someone else is out there, someone far worse than my cunt of a mother.

  Heavy footsteps near my door, and a key is inserted into the lock from the outside. Dammit, I have nowhere to hide. I grab my covers and anxiously ball them at my chest, waiting as my heartbeat rushes through my ears and my hands slicken with sweat.

  A second later, the door is thrown open by a red-faced Malcolm, with sweat beaded on the brow of his detached face. He takes a step forward, filling the doorframe like a normal man does, not like Big. “Come on,” he orders waving me forward. “Let’s go.”

  What!? Go where? What the hell?

  “What?” I question warily.

  “Your mother just got done talkin’ to your brother Brock.”

  Tilting my head to the side and assessing Malcolm, I ask, “Brew?”

  “Is that what you call him?” Reaching his hands above his head, he grips the top of the doorframe, flexing his corded muscles. His eyes never leave mine as I remain seated on the bed.

  Nervously chewing my lip, I nod, “Yes.”

  “Then yes, Brew,” he pauses to take a deep breath and cracks his neck from side to side.

  The need to yell at him and make him tell me what the fuck is going on claws at my insides. I stomp the bubbling need and continue to chew my lip, whist pulling at the blanket to relieve a bit of tension. I’ve got to calm the hell down. I’m too jumpy.

  It feels like forever once he finally speaks again. “Your mother set up an exchange,” he breathes deep again, catching his breath.

  ‘Come on, Malcolm spit it out!’ I want to scream in frustration.

  Instead, I prod impatiently, “And…” my attitude comes out in spades, even if I wish it wouldn’t. Doesn’t he see I’m freaking out here? My hands are clawing at a blanket for Christ sake, and if I don’t stop chewing this lip of mine, it’s going to bleed, or worse, fall off. I realize he’s sweating and catching his breath like he just went on a five-mile hike through the Appalachians, but I’m a nervous fucking wreck. I don’t like being near my mother in any capacity and waking up to that kind of noise has my mind churning. This is killing me.

  “And…” he drawls, smirking at me like my impatience is adorable. Men… “They were supposed to meet at your hotel in two days,” he replies.

  “Were?” I eye him questionably.

  His cute smirk widens to a full smile and his eyes glitter. “That was until I decided that your mother ain’t gonna fuck me over no more,” he drops his hand and gestures to the bed. “And I sure as fuck don’t wanna end up dead. So after she got off the phone, I knocked her out and tied her to one of the kitchen chairs.”

  He did what? Knocked the Cunt out? That’s the best damn news I’ve heard in months! Still doesn’t tell me what the hell he has planned for me though. I’m not letting go of this blanket till he does.

  “Now,” he winks, still smiling. “Get that pitiful look off your face, Sweetheart, and quit chewin’ that doggone lip. You’re liable to make it sore,” he insists lightly, using his deep southern accent to hug each word and by doing so somehow lessening my tension. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was harboring and smirk, my teeth still trapping the corner of my lip.

  Eyeing my lip, he rises a brow while inclining his head toward me, silently gesturing to my mouth. I take the hint and release my lip. The relief is instant, and my lip throbs its thanks.

  “That’s better. Now come on,” Malcolm waves me forward again as he turns to leave.

  I frown at this back, “Why?”

  “’Cause I’m gonna take ya home,” he states glancing over his shoulder.

  “Like, home-home? No ransom needed home?” It’s impossible to withhold my skepticism when it oozes out of every word.

  “Yep,” he nods, “compound home. You’re just gonna have to tell me how to get there. And we can’t call ‘em or they might kill me as soon as we pull in.”

  “What? I have to call them. The compound is gated, and if you show up without me talkin’ to them, they’ll shoot first and ask questions later,” I explain, because it’s the damn truth. White Boy mans the gate, and there is no way he would let a threat through the gates. Especially of the male variety.

  “Alright,” he sighs, speaking to me over his shoulder. “Good point. You can call ‘em on my cell once we get close.”

  That’s good enough for me.

  Climbing off the bed, I do a quick stretch and follow Malcolm out of the room with my eyes peeled. You can never be too careful. I want to trust him, I really do, but I’m not sure if I can. My gut says yes; however, in my head, there’s a flashing yellow light — caution.

  Malcolm strolls with that sexy gait through the tiny cabin. We pass the makeshift kitchen on our way to the door. I catch a brief glimpse of my mother expertly tied to a chair, head hung low, eyes averted. She’s out for the count. Not wanting to pause and examine her further, I quicken my pace and follow Malcolm out of the creaky front door and into the dusk fallen wilderness.

  Malcolm trots down the front steps and crunches his way across the long gravel driveway to the white van. Looking down at my sock clad feet, I frown. There is no damn way I can walk that far on these sharp rocks. It’ll kill my feet, and those assholes stole my fucking shoes.

  Peering over his shoulder, Malcolm finds me planted on the rickety bottom step and shoots me a curious stare. “Are ya comin’?” he asks, with the sweep of his hand toward the van.

  Nodding, I glance down at my feet and point to them, wiggling my toes, “No shoes and too many rocks.”

  He nods as if understanding. “I’ll pull up so ya can get in,” he replies, walks the last few feet to the van, climbs in the driver’s seat, and pulls the van closer. I’m only forced to walk ten feet into the sharp rocks that relentlessly stab me the entire way.

  Opening the passenger door and placing one foot on the edge of the floorboard, I grab the oh-shit handle and pull myself into the cab.

  “Sorry about that,” he apologizes, as I get seated and strap on my safety belt, which takes some effort to get remotely comfortable.

  “No worries,” I reply.

  Driving, Malcolm navigates down an overgrown tree lined gravel path. The van jerks at every slight turn and turbulently sways when we hit uneven terrain, which happens to be about every thirty seconds or so. If I didn’t want to get out of here so badly, I might complain about the travel conditions. It feels amazing to be free.

  Keeping my eyes forward on the horizon and not the blur of greenery helps keep me from becoming nauseous. I keep my left hand curled around my belly for support, as I hold the oh-shit handle with the other.

  Damn this road is rocky as fuck!

  Just as I think we’ve hit a clearing of smooth terrain, the left rear tire goes off course falling into a pit. I hold on for dear life, whilst clenching my jaw to keep from cussing up a damn storm. Malcolm seems unfazed when he revs the engine of the cargo van just a bit harder to propel us out of the rut. We break loose of the hole and lurch forward, as my chin bounces off my chest. I let out a hmph, holding onto the handle until my knuckles ache and my forearms burn. Fuck.

  This’ll all be over soon. I give myself a pathetic pep talk to keep from screaming at the driver for his Fast and Furious stunt moves, van edition. Malcolm seems pleased with himself as he begins to hum, ignoring me in the passenger seat. I am about one second away from reaching over and strangling him to death. If I wasn’t pregnant and felt like I was about to go into labor any second, I might actually enjoy his little devil-may-care driving. Right now though, I hate him and his stupid little van too.

  The sun is nearly set by the time we hit a paved two way road out in BFE. I want to jump for joy from the immediate relief on my ass and hands, as I finally pry my fingers loose from the handle. Slouching ba
ck into the seat, I let out a long sigh before revealing the address to the compound. Malcolm plugs it into the onboard GPS, and instantly the annoying woman’s voice starts barking directions.

  One step closer to home! Hell yes!

  Twenty miles from the clubhouse, Malcolm hands me his cell, and I dial the only halfway sane person I can think to call—Deke. Dialing then placing the phone to my ear, it rings twice before he answers.

  “Hello.”

  “Deke, it’s—” I barely make out when he cuts me off.

  “Bink!” Deke shouts over me. “Where are you?! Are ya whole? I’m gonna gut that sick bitch! Have ya been hurt? Is the babes alright?” he questions speedily in one continuous breath, which makes me smile and my heart warm. It feels great to hear his voice.

  “Deke, calm down.” I know I sound amused. He’s just too damn cute talking that fast.

  “Are you laughin’ at me?” He doesn’t sound pleased.

  Unable to swallow my chuckle, it just sorta pops out. I cover my mouth to keep from breaking into full laughter. Malcolm shakes his head and grins but says nothing.

  “You are!” He’s offended. “Does that mean you’re alright?”

  “Yes, I’m good. I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Anything,” he blurts sincerely.

  “There’s a man here. His name’s Malcolm, and he’s bringin’ me home.”

  “When?” he interrupts.

  “I should be there in about half an hour. That should give you plenty of time to warn everyone and tell ‘em to stand down. Malcolm isn’t to be hurt,” I explain in my best biker bitch don’t-fuck-with-me tone.

  On the other end of the line, I hear wind brush over the receiver and Deke’s heavy breath, like he’s walking fast. The sound of doors closing ceases the wind sounds and rock music replaces it.

  “Deke,” I call, wanting to make sure that he understands the rules. Something covers the phone, and all I hear is a series of muffled exchanges. He’s gotta be at the clubhouse talking to somebody.

  After a moment, he returns with his voice a few octaves firmly lower. “I’m sorry, Babe, but what we do or don’t do with this Malcolm or your mother is not up to you.”

  The hell it ain’t.

  “Fine,” I cross my free arm over my chest with indignation. “If you don’t give him safe passage, I’m not coming home,” I huff.

  There is no way in hell Malcolm is going to bring me this far only to get beat the fuck up. That’s not happenin’. If the brothers think he’d bring me there knowing they aren’t giving him a pass, they’re idiots. Nobody is gonna willingly hand themselves over to a bunch of roughneck bikers, unless of course they are women looking to get some dick. In this instance, you’d have to be insane to show up at a Sacred Sinners compound without a truce.

  “What?!” Deke yells before the phone is torn from him and Gunz’s sweet voice fills the receiver. “Hey, Baby Doll. Come home and we’ll work it out once ya get here,” he soothes misleadingly. He must think I’m dumber than a motherfucking ho handle, if he thinks I’m buyin’ what he’s sellin’. He’s full of shit. I’d be lucky to get Malcolm through the gate before they gunned him down.

  Fuck this! I hang up on Gunz and turn the phone off before I turn to Malcolm with a sad smile.

  “They’re still gonna kill me, aren’t they?” He doesn’t sound surprised.

  “Yes,” I nod solemnly. “But not if I can help it. Now pull over at the next exit and find some woods with a dirt road that we can park in for a bit to get off the road. I gotta make a call.”

  Promptly, he obeys without question. He must trust me, which is good. He should.

  Once we’re off the main road and Malcolm has driven the van partway up a hunter’s path in the middle of a woodsy area, I roll down my window. The fresh air is an immediately relief. Malcolm shuts off the van, killing the lights, and we are consumed by darkness, lit by the faintest streams of light glittering through the budding trees from the moon and stars on this clear evening.

  “Now what?” he probes.

  “Now I call the boss.”

  “Richard?”

  “Yes, he’s the most hardheaded, unrelenting man I know. But what he says goes, and maybe I can convince his stubborn ass to trust his woman.”

  Malcolm accepts my explanation with a single nod that I can barely see, reclines his seat back, and threads his hands behind his head in a relaxed spread-eagle position as he sighs, settling in.

  Making quick work of it, I turn on the phone, dial Big’s number, and place the cell to my ear as I perch my elbow on the open window ledge, using it as leverage to hold the phone against my head.

  Big answers on the first ring, “Sugar Tits?” He sounds relieved.

  “Big.” A sweep of my own sweet relief washes through me at the sound of his voice. Damn I missed him.

  “Please tell me you’re on your way home,” he states, obviously already having talked to Gunz.

  “I was…” I trail off knowing damn well this isn’t what he is going to want to hear. Not that I can blame him, but I’m on a mission.

  He growls, “What the hell do you mean you was?”

  Tilting my head back, I close my eyes. “I called Deke and told him Malcom was bringin’ me home. I wanted to be assured y’all weren’t gonna hurt him when he did.”

  Big scoffs a snide humorless laugh, “That motherfucker kidnapped you, and now you’re defending him? What’s he got - a gun to your head or a hand in your pants?” he snaps.

  Hold the fuck up!? He did not just go there! Did he? He did, didn’t he? He just fucking went there!? Oh my God, he’s so damn lucky I’m not there to kill his stupid ass!

  “What!?” I screech.

  “You heard me. Why you defendin’ a kidnapping drug dealer, eh? Does he eat pussy that good? Is that why?”

  What. The. Fuck?

  “Did you seriously just say that shit to me? Of all the things to ask me about… like how I’m doin’? Is your daughter alright? Am I whole? The first fucking thing you ask me is if he’s good with his mouth!?” I can feel my blood pressure rising, as I grip the phone harder, picturing it as Big’s throat. What a bastard! Why… why would anyone say that right now? Leave it to Big to up the ante of being a complete and utter pain in my motherfucking ass! Gah! Why do I love this man!? I have no damn clue. And I thought I missed him.

  Huffing with fury, I continue. “Have you lost your goddamn mind!?” I yell.

  “Yes!” he growls back. “I have! My old lady gets taken under my brothers watch. I haven’t slept since I got the call you were missin’, and I’ve been out of my fucking mind! Then that stupid cunt calls Brew tellin’ us she has you, which I kinda already figured. But fuck, Sugar Tits, I didn’t know if she’d beat you, killed you, had ya raped, or what. All I could do was ride to get the hell home and wait. Wait to know what the hell Lindy Sue was up to. Wait to make sure you and my fucking daughter are alright. Wait! Wait! Wait! That’s all I could do!!” he roars full of emotion, breathing erratically. “Now I finally hear your sweet voice, and you wanna help out this douchebag. I gotta know why!”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I will the tears that are welling to go away. It doesn’t work as they start to drip down my cheeks, and I swipe them away with the back of my hand. Swallowing hard, I reel in my crazy emotions. Big missed me. He really was fucking worried. I knew he would be, but the way he’s breathing and the way his voice is cracking with every word is killing me. My heart aches from our distance. I just want to be home. I want to lie in bed, curl up in his arms, and forget everything that’s happened the past week. No more Lindy Sue, no dick sucking, no two week run. I want my fucking life back to normal. Is the so much to ask?

  “Bink,” Big says calmly.

  “Yeah?” I pout.

  “You okay?”

  I nod and pout my bottom lip even though he can’t see me, “Yes.”

  “Ya sure, babe? I just need ya to be okay. That’s all that matters. This run is fucked no
w. Pointless. But none of that matters as long as you’re whole. Yeah?” His voice is like smooth dark chocolate. Delicious, addicting, and soaked with love.

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  “I love you, Sugar Tits. We’re on our way home now.”

  His sweet words take my breath away. He really does love me, doesn’t he? Underneath all the secrets and fuck ups, he really does love me. I don’t think until this very moment sitting in this van, eyes closed, tears spilling down my cheeks, my lip quivering, and our daughter moving in my belly, did I really understand the weight of how much I love him too. How much he means to me. We use our anger and our sarcasm to hide our centers and to shield ourselves from pain. I know I do at least, and I suspect he does it for the same reason. We’re so much alike sometimes it’s hard to fathom.

  I can taste the words on the tip of my tongue and want to express those words to him. To really tell him how I feel, but I can’t. Not until we are reunited and our lives are put back together. Where there are no more secrets, no more half-truths, where we can be just us with nothing holding us back from our future.

  To steer myself away from my rampant emotions, I wipe my tears away as I listen to him speak to someone there. When he’s done, I ask, “Who’s coming home?”

  “All of us. I told the brothers to finish what we needed to get locked down with this new club that wants to patch over. But they aren’t fuckin’ listening. All of ‘em are with me except Blimp who’s taken over delegation duties till we can get that shit taken care of. We’ve already put a call out to all the other chapters, puttin’ ‘em on standby just in case we need ‘em, which includes the new one,” he explains, all business.

  I open my eyes and stare out the side window. “Tell them to stand down. If you’d just calm down, I can tell you everything,” I try to reason with him even though my hopes for that happening is slim.

  “You need to get home right fucking now,” heavy desperation clings to his words. “Now. You hear me? Get home. I need you to get the hell home. I need our daughter home. Goddammit, Sugar Tits, you…,” his voice cracks with emotion. He coughs, “Fuck… I thought….”