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

by Bink Cummings

  Neither of them acknowledge me when Gunz states to Big, “I sure hope you’re right, brother. If not, you know what’ll happen.”

  “Yeah, I do, but this is somethin’ I’ve been thinkin’ about for a while. It’s the only way to show I mean fuckin’ business. That I’m the man here. That I’m in charge, and I can’t take this no more. Somethin’ has gotta break, and this is the only way she’s ever gonna fuckin’ understand,” Big explains.

  Oh god! This doesn’t sound good. Not at all. Understand what? What do I need to understand? I haven’t done anything wrong.

  “So be it,” Gunz agrees, as they unlock foreheads, standing upright, patting each other on the shoulders. Running his hands through his hair, Big’s hair falls over his shoulders as Gunz shakes his head in my direction lips drawn tight. “I’m sorry, Baby Doll,” he says.

  I open my mouth to ask him what he’s sorry for, but soon realize I’m fucked, when both of my arms are seized at my sides by Dallas and Tripper, who seem to materialize out of nowhere.

  “We’re sorry about this,” Tripper apologizes genuinely at my side, as I watch Big and Gunz silently walk to the clubhouse front doors. Big exits first, refusing to look back. And just as Gunz steps outside, he holds open the door and calls over his shoulder. “Bring Bink to the shed in fifteen, and make sure the rest of the old ladies are secure in their houses and the kids are indoors.” He pauses for a moment before he tacks on, “And bring Steel, Brew and Jizz, they’re gonna wanna be there. Remove their weapons,” he finishes and departs, leaving me to watch his retreating back before it disappears out of sight.

  What have they just agreed to?

  No! No! No! No! This cannot be happening! They can’t do this! There has to be a vote or something, right? Not this. God! Not this!

  For what feels like the hundredth time, I try to yank my arms away from Brew and Jizz’s tight hold on my upper arms. I’m not sure if they’re holding me up or restraining me. Maybe both. I can’t stand here. This cannot happen. I can’t watch it. I just can’t. This is barbaric. Why would Gunz agree to this?

  “Pick your choice of weapon,” Gunz gestures with the sweep of his hand toward the aged wooden table that is usually used for potting plants. Not this time. It’s been cleared off and turned into a buffet of tools. Tools used to torture someone. And they’re going to be used on Big today.

  Three minutes ago Tripper and Dallas all but dragged me outside to this shed, screaming for them to stop. This shed I’ve only ever set foot in twice in my entire life. I try to stay far away, forgetting that it even exists. The dark rusty-red color stains below Big’s bare feet are exactly why I refuse to come in here. It’s haunted. I remember the stories as a child about this place swallowing its victim’s whole. At the time I didn’t understand what that meant. Now I do. This is the room for punishment. Where people are brought when they don’t want people to see or hear them.

  “Bink,” Big softly calls my name. “Pick the weapon.”

  I can’t do that.

  Repeatedly, I shake my head. Refusing to participate. Hot tears burn as they form in my eyes. They cannot fall.

  “Babe, if you don’t pick, I know what Gunz is gonna choose, Trust me, you don’t want him using that on me,” Big explains lovingly.

  When I was forced through the front door of this old, creepy shed, Jizz and Brew guided me to the back, furthest from the door. A place where Big can see me, as his wrists are restrained by cuffs and chains, wrenching his arms above his head, attached to the hefty center support beam of the shed. His body is naked, except for the ink that he permanently wears like a beautiful coat of fleshy armor.

  I ignore his comment and ask for the tenth time, “Why are you doing this? Why?!” I yell my last word.

  Big shakes on the chains above his head and his arms look like they’re about to be jerked from their sockets. “These chains are not gonna come off till we get through this,” he states gruffly, undeterred.

  “That still doesn’t answer, why?” I twist in my brothers’ grasps, trying to break free once more. They remain strong. It’s not like I could get far. I know this. There is no other escape except past Big on the other side of this shed. And I know that’s where Gunz has ordered not only Dallas and Tripper to stand watch, but my daddy too. I’m surrounded by men. Men who are okay with what is about to happen.

  “Just go with it, sis. The more you fight it, the worse it’s gonna be,” Jizz tries to explain on a whisper, his warm breath tickling my right ear. Only I’m not going to listen to him. How could I? Do they seriously think any of this is okay? To hang Big up like he’s a criminal and beat him in this dark, dank, mildew and soil smelling shed. For what? What is that going to fix or solve? Nothing.

  Gunz slides around Big, slowly approaching me. He stops a few feet away and offers me his hands with affection. “Baby Doll, I need you to come over to the table with me and pick.”

  “No,” I shake my head once more. “Why would I do that? I’m not gonna beat him with it. You are.” I’m fierce with my conviction as I sharply jerk my chin in his direction. My arms that are cradling my daughter, tighten with emotion, and my feet grow heavier, as if lead replaces blood and bone to root me in place.

  If I go anywhere in here, it will not be to select the instrument of torture that’ll be used on the man I’m madly in love with. I know I joke and sometimes wish to do horrid things to Big in a fit of anger, but when faced with the live version, I will not participate. I can’t. You’re not supposed to strike the ones you love. I would never, could never, will never, hurt him in any way that would ever involve a device to enact my vengeance. No matter how much he may break my heart or hurt me, he doesn’t deserve this.

  “The only reason why I’m the one doin’ this is because we all know you wouldn’t,” Gunz states.

  “What do ya mean?” my brows furrow with contemplation, as my head tips to the side, regarding Gunz. Then I glance to Big, whose eyes are glued on me in a way that speaks volumes. He’s not angry, or sad, or even pissed to be tied to a beam. He’s grinning tenderly at me, eyes soft and overflowing with love. Love that I could almost reach out and touch to hold it in the palm of my hand. How’s that possible?

  “I mean, Big and I both knew you wouldn’t agree to do what is necessary. That’s why I’m acting on your behalf. Yeah?” Gunz clarifies, tearing me away from Big’s handsome face and returning it to meet his.

  He can’t be serious, can he?

  In disbelief, I raise my voice a few octaves, “You expected me to want to hurt him? Is what you’re getting at?”

  “Big,” Gunz addresses his president, turning to face him, sweat dripping down the sides of his bald head. “I think you need to tell her what’s gonna happen. Prepare her. That’s not my job. That’s yours. I’m not happy about this any more than she is. But I also trust your judgement to know what’s right. So you need to fill in the blanks for her.”

  Big’s head nods, as he turns it. Just as his eyes clash with mine, I lose my breath. Those eyes. There’s so much in those eyes. “Sugar Tits, you said I had some shit I needed to atone for—”

  I cut him off, “I never said atone. I was just talking about stuff that my mother had said that I needed you to explain. You had already signed Malcolm’s death certificate before givin’ him a chance to fix his mistake. I needed you to understand that even though he’s guilty, you’re no boy scout either. We all fuck up sometimes.”

  “Exactly” he blurts. “We. Fuck. Up. And I’ve done it with you more times then I care to count. Which is why ya won’t agree to be my old lady. No matter how many times I make love to you, or tell you how much you mean to me, or try to show ya in all the ways that I can, that you’re it for me. You’re the only woman on this fucking planet who owns me. You still won’t tell me you love me back. You still won’t agree to livin’ with me full time, and your room at the clubhouse is full of your shit.”

  He takes a deep breath before waging on. “Don’t ya think I can feel
your distance? You questionin’ all the fuckin’ time whether or not I’m worth the effort? I know I’m not. I’m old. I was a damn male whore for most of my life. You don’t think I know that? Don’t think I know that me shovin’ my cock down a bitch’s throat in order to fuck her is pretty sick? I know my flaws, babe. I’m well aware of who I am. Just as I’m more than aware of who you are too. And I love each and every part of you. That’s why I’m doin’ this damn thing. It’s for us.”

  A lone tear drips down my cheek as my eyes remain fixed on Big’s. I let it run to the tip of my jaw and fall, landing where it may.

  How is this for us? How am I being distant? I always thought I showed my love without having to say it. None of my hesitation and fear has to do with him. It has to do with me. My own inability to cope with my own feelings. Or to know how to trust someone with my heart. I’ve spent my entire life trusting him with every other part of me except that. I’ve trusted no one with my heart. I had every intention of giving it the best I could after we’d spent more time together. Then the run came upon us, and I still wasn’t ready. Then the woman on her knees followed by the woman answering his phone. Then the things my mother said, about my sister and him keeping that from me, along with my father. How can you truly hand something over, unprotected, when you aren’t one hundred percent sure they aren’t going to destroy it and you along with it?

  I know I’m talking as if my heart is a tangible item to be gifted. In reality, I know he already possesses it. I knew that as soon as I laid eyes on him when I returned home for my brothers’ wedding. But the only thing I have power over any more is what feelings I express or don’t. That’s it. My heart has already been captured. My soul owned. Those things I’ve been unable to control, which is hard enough to swallow. Now, having to openly admit and express those inner most feelings through words, that’s the worst part. That gives someone else power. More power than they already own. Power that I’m desperate to hold on to.

  He has to understand this isn’t about him. It’s about me. About my issues.

  “Listen,” I sigh, my shoulders deflating. “I know you think that my issue is with you. And part of it might be. But it’s mostly about me,” I attempt to explain. However, by the look on his face, he’s not buying a lick of what I’m sellin’.

  I try harder because I don’t think I can bear to see him hurt intentionally. It’s hard enough when it happens other ways. For him to want pain inflicted because of me, I don’t know if that’s something I could ever get over. “Big, listen to me. I’m serious. My issues don’t lie with you. They lie in myself. My own insecurities. Do you need me to tell you how I feel? Is that gonna fix this? Will you stop this madness if I just come out and fucking tell you? Will that work? Make this go away?”

  Please say yes! My brain screams in my head, as the internal urge to begin shaking with both fear and adrenaline makes my bones ache, but I hold it in. I have to. It’s bad enough I am on the brink of crying. I can’t start shaking too. I will not show that much weakness. Must stay strong.

  By the expression on Big’s face, when he frowns and drops our eye contract as his head slumps forward, I know I’ve lost the battle.

  “Big,” my voice rasps. “Big.”

  He doesn’t acknowledge me.

  “Gunz, let’s begin,” Big orders in an eerie whisper.

  I dart my eyes between Big and Gunz. He can’t be serious. He can’t actually be letting this happen.

  “Gunz!” I shout, panicked.

  “The ball-peen hammer,” Big mutters under his breath.

  The what?!

  “What!?” I screech.

  Gunz silently nods in Big’s direction, his face impassive. Then returns to the table, sorting through the tools and lifts the hammer to eye level, examining it.

  My heart stops. My breathing falters. Teeth clench to the point of pain.

  Jizz leans in, getting close to my ear, “That’s Gunz’s go-to. Works great on the kneecaps, feet, ankles, elbows, and makes it easy to crack ribs one at a time,” he explains calmly, like we’re in the middle of shop class, and this isn’t his club president who’s going to have that tool used on him. What’s wrong with these men?

  My heart starts again, and I suck in a pained breath.

  I can’t let this happen. I can’t watch this!

  “Stop!” I scream, which does me no good when Gunz pivots on his boot heel, wearing his black t-shirt, his cut, and jeans, as he approaches Big, hammer firmly in his grasp.

  Oh my fucking God, he’s going to do it!

  “Stop! Don’t!” I screech, thrashing in my brothers arms, trying to break free. I turn my head to try and bite my brothers’ hand to let go of me. It doesn’t work; he jerks my arm away before I’m able to sink my teeth in.

  “Stop! I’ll choose! Not the hammer. I’ll choose!” I scream raggedly, turning my voice raw.

  Gunz stops in front of Big’s stretched body. They pass something through their eyes, and both nod at one another.

  “Let her go. She can choose,” Gunz voices. “But…Baby Doll, ya know if you try to get outta this, I will use the hammer with or without you here. This is what Big wants. It is my job to give it to him,” he finishes and strides the last steps to the table littered with weapons.

  I don’t say a thing when my brothers release their hold on my arms, which are now throbbing and sore, from me putting up such a struggle. I fast waddle my way to the workbench and stop next to Gunz who’s realigning the hammer into its rightful place.

  “So, what’ll it be?” he mutters, sweeping his hand from one end of the table to the other.

  I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Which one hurts the least?”

  That question offers me an amused grunt from Big, under breath chuckles from my brothers, an ‘it’s about damn time’ from somebody outside, and a “Ya know I can’t tell ya that, Baby Doll” from Gunz, before he throws an arm over my shoulder and tucks me to his side, kissing my temple.

  Surveying the lot of tools there is just about anything you could need here all laid out nicely on a sheet thick of plastic. A baseball bat, pliers, an icepick, both ball-peen and claw hammers, nails, which probably go with the hammers seeing as though they’re right next to them. Down the line, there’s a thick chain, a piece of rebar, hunting knife, and Big’s S.S. belt, which I stop on and point at.

  “We use the belts for this sorta thing. Since Big’s the one askin’ for this, it’s customary for him to be hit with his own belt, should that be your weapon of choice,” Gunz explains reaching out to rub my belly and leaning further in to whisper in my ear. “Ya think ya can handle this? Don’t want ya goin’ into labor,” he kisses the hair just above my ear.

  “He shoulda thought about that before he got himself chained up there,” I whisper back.

  “I know, but he thinks this is the only way you’re gonna let go of your issues and give him what he wants.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You and the life he’s wanted with ya for over ten years. This is the only way he knows how to prove himself to you. To wash away his past sins. Ya know, to wipe the slate clean,” Gunz expresses, his lips still in my hair above my ear.

  “How does—” I start.

  “How does him gettin’ beat do that?” Gunz butts in knowing what I’m about to ask.

  “Yeah,” I snuggle further to his side, allowing his warmth and love to seep into me and calm me. God knows I need that right now. Especially if all of this is about to go down, whether I like it or not.

  “When a brother does somethin’ wrong, what happens?” Gunz questions on a whisper.

  “They get dealt with,” I reply.

  “And how do they get dealt with?”

  Ah, I get it now.

  “A beating,” I answer.

  “When I fucked up and knocked ya down last year, when Linda had pulled all that drama, what happened to me?” Gunz tries to personalize the justice. I see his angle.

  “Big knocked y
a around.”

  “Yeah, and then shit was forgiven. We worked it out. Moved on. That’s how we roll. You know that.”

  I know it, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  “I do. I get it. But those were fists. A few punches. He wants chains and this,” I point to the table. “That’s a helluva difference.”

  A few hits I think I could take. This… I dunno.

  “The bigger the crime, the bigger the punishment,” Gunz rationalizes, sighs heavily, and continues. “Just do this for him. Listen to what he says. Do it willingly without your brothers restraining you. He needs this, Bink. He needs to show you this side of him. He wants to cleanse your relationship through bloodshed. This is how we work. Men work shit out with sex and their fists. Just suck it up, and it’ll all be over soon. I promise you.”

  I say nothing further and let Gunz’s words percolate in my mind as I search out for a weapon. A weapon that I am personally choosing to have inflict pain on my beloved. Wow, that’s one thought I never thought I’d have to wrap my mind around. Fucked up isn’t it?

  My eyes zone in on the brass knuckles, and I jerk my chin at them. “Those.”

  Gunz releases me and grabs them off the table, rubs the dust off them using his pant leg, and slides off his two rings. He stuffs them into his jeans pocket before gliding on the brass knuckles and flexing them in his fist.

  I picked them because there’s only one of them, and Gunz will have to use his own physical strength to inflict the punishment. Everything else seems too brutal.

  Gunz kisses my cheek and gives my belly one final rub before I return to my corner, where my brothers are standing in uncomfortable silence. I glance over to see Big beaming at me with pride.

  “Thank you,” he mutters adoringly.

  I blush, turning away and find my rightful place between my brothers. This time they keep their hands at their sides. Or in Jizz’s case, tucked in the back pockets of his jeans, and he’s rocking on the back of his heels too. That is enough to tell me he’s extremely uncomfortable, nervous, or both. That’s always been my little brothers’ tell.