MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel)

by Bink Cummings

  How could he do this to me?

  My chest heaves for oxygen. Anxiety tainted sweat trickles down the sides of my face, fusing with my tears. I exert all my energy into the door, as if somehow I hit it enough or if I punch it enough, it will just magically disintegrate, vanishing in front of my very eyes. That is fantasy, and this is reality. I am held captive in Big’s impenetrable fallout shelter of a basement.

  “Big, you fucking asshole! Let me out!” I don’t give up. My eyes no longer see the door, as they become swollen and blurred with liquid defeat. My tiring body powers forward. I won’t give up. Never give up. I can’t believe he’d do this to me.

  “Big! You fucking dickwad, let me out,” I croak, my lip quivering, the muscles in my arms wrung out from exertion, turning to overcooked noodles. Another radiating blow to my savaged fists makes me whimper, and I stop as the pain becomes too much to bear. Opening my palms, I lay them flat on the cool door and lean forward, resting my forehead on the unblemished surface.

  “Why did you do this to me?” I speak aloud to no one. “You can’t keep me prisoner forever.”

  Even though, I have no doubt he would try. If he went to this length to keep me under lock and key already, I wouldn’t put him past him to try to hide me away in his biker castle to use as he sees fit, turning me into a modern-day version of The Other Boleyn Girl. Me, his whore, to which he stows away and uses for pleasure and to bear his children, while he exploits Marylou as his girlfriend and old lady proxy. Okay, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m not thinking clearly; I’m well past drained and running on fumes here. But let me tell ya, I am fed up with this war that continually wages on between Big and myself. It’s a battle that could never be won. This was his strategic maneuver to deceptively lure me to the basement and imprison me. I can’t change what is. I can only decide how to respond to what has transpired.

  Shoving off the door with a pain-laden grunt, I shuffle back down the hall to Big’s room. Pretzel follows me inside as I shut and lock the door. Throwing myself onto the plush, man scented bed, I sprawl out and melt into the mattress, ignoring the throbbing in my hands, the pain in my heart, or the growling of my stomach that’s begging for sustenance. On my back, I scoot further up the bed and pat the mattress for Pretzel to join me. He jumps in.

  I can’t change Big’s actions on what he just subjected me to, and I refuse to allow myself to wallow in it any longer. I will face him head on the next time he shows his stupidly handsome face. And then, I will unleash all of this pent up pissedoffness. Yes, I know that isn’t even a word, but I’ve just invented it, so deal, will ya?

  You might think I am fuckin’ nuts for going to sleep now, or that I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I have no power at this point in time. How would you handle it? I, for one, know that those heavy balls of his are askin’ for a swift knee buckling kick. That’s going to be added to Bink’s list of things to do to Big when I can get my hands on him next. Asshole!

  Curling onto my side, I tug my pup closer to spoon him. Resting my head on the top of my pup’s head, my eyes flutter from exhaustion, and I sigh to release the last fraction of anxiety from my bones.

  Night, night all.

  Peace.

  Chapter Nine

  Sunday: March 23, 2014

  You have got to be shitting me!

  I shake my head frantically, trying to jiggle off the large clammy hand that’s wrapped around my throat, as I screech, “Let me go!”

  No pressure is being squeezed to my esophagus, but the angry beast hovering above me is like a fire breathing dragon, as his taut, menacing body traps me to the bed. His hot breath swirls in a vortex of menace and mayhem, surrounding us.

  Three minutes ago, the tornado to rival all tornados came thundering into the basement, blasting through the door and laying destruction to everything in its path. The Harley photos in the hall are crushed to the floor. The bedroom door kicked in and left dangling by one hinge. The clothes in his closet are torn from the hangers, and some t-shirts were shredded by his brute strength. I darted awake when the downstairs door imploded and became stuck in dreary shock when he came barreling like an animal down the hall and broke in. I didn’t know what to do. For a fleeting moment, I was petrified, and when my wits had finally cemented in place, I tried to escape by running away from the beast. He, with more care than I anticipated, lifted me with ease and shoved me down into the bed, where he’s straddled my legs and has secured both of my wrists together above my head, his one hand caving them into the mattress from his inhuman strength. The other hand clamped possessively, not painfully, around my throat, constricting just slightly to exert that he means serious business.

  Big might be on a rampage, like I’ve never seen before, and he might roughly manhandle me. However, he’s not hurt me in any way. He’s just throwing his weight around to prove a point. A point the asshole hasn’t spit out yet. He’s too busy searching my face for something, not sure what, while he malevolently growls, like a thunderstorm clashing in his puffed out chest. He heaves for breath, with a permanent grimace constricting his handsome features. A year ago, this would have frightened the hell out of me. Now, I just wait it out until he reels in whatever it is that got him pissed off in the first place. Then, my fist will connect with his balls, and I will be the one to lash out, seeking my own revenge for locking me down here last night. The dickhead will get what’s coming to him, you can bet your ass on that one.

  “So, big bad man, you gonna let me go?” I taunt, refusing to cower and hoping to secretly fuel this rage more or make him feel stupid— either works in my favor. Most people would think I am suicidal, pushing his buttons like this. Too bad. He’s exerted enough control in my life; why not have a little fun with it? It’s not like he will physically hurt me, and he’s done enough emotional damage for me to seek a mental ward. I’ve survived thus far. What’s life without a little extra fun? Don’t cha think?

  “You,” he growls gruffly into his throat, looming over me like an all-powerful Alpha God.

  If he wasn’t hostile, this would be a fan-fuckin-tastic time to convince him to stick that deliciously hard cock of his into my mysteriously wet, throbbing pussy, and ravage me into a few toe curling climaxes. This is turning me on. It shouldn’t, I know this. I’ve been sex deprived for far too long. I know Big’s turned on too; I can feel his erection sliding against the underside of my belly. The naughty part of me wants to wiggle so it creates more friction. The other, more logical part, is winning, and it is telling me to lie still until he cools down and explains himself. I really should be more angry and pissed than this. I think a good night’s sleep and sore muscles thanks to my door pounding last night has worn out my ability to stay angry with him. That and my sudden arousal. I’m frustrated, yes, and pissy. I’m not enraged any longer—although I probably should be. Horny trumps everything in this moment.

  “Listen,” I exhaust a sigh, lying still beneath him, as my forgiving eyes blare into his tense, emotional ice-blue beauties. As my wanton clit throbs with abandon to the pounding of my heart.

  This man is gorgeous. My brain digests while I steal glances down his hard, demanding body, as he holds me captive in a provocative, sexy as hell way. Even the flames that lick up the edges of his irises are sexy, as is the tick in his jaw beneath a day’s worth of rough, manly stubble that I’m itching to run my tongue over. Jesus, I’m deliriously horny. Even the way his veins bulge from his arms under the armor of ink is appealing and turning my slick heat into a slip ’n slide. I wonder if he’d like to take a ride? Oh dear God, listen to me.

  Get your shit together, Bink. This man is mad. He’s huffing like a dragon. This isn’t supposed to be erotic. Even if his flaring nostrils make you desperate to bite your lip. I admonish myself, trying to talk myself down from a bitch in heat to mildly turned-on.

  I take a deep breath. “This Neanderthal thing is all fine and dandy with me. Not gonna lie, it’s kinda sexy,” I seductively grin. I can’t help it.
“But could ya please let go of my throat and tell me whatever it is you’re mad at me about? Considering you just tore through your basement, the same place you locked me in last night. If anything, I think I should be the one holding you down and tearin’ shit up.” Or your clothes off. –No, Bink, shut up. — “Not the other way around. Now if you please, chill the hell out, tell me what the fuck is up, and let me go. I would be most appreciative.” No I wouldn’t. I want you to shove that rock hard cock in me.

  Big doesn’t move an inch when he unleashes a statement with the most sentimental packed tone imaginable. Something that crushes all the walls that I’ve built, laying waste to my world as I know it.

  “You’re carrying our daughter,” he huskily states through clenched teeth, audibly grinding his jaw.

  What did he just say? I am stunned into silence, unable to form coherent words. A jumbled mess of thoughts are stumbling over themselves in my brain. What just happened? How did he find out? Deke? Candy Cane? No, they wouldn’t rat me out, and nobody else knows. What? Oh my fucking God, he knows.

  “Aren’t you?” he tests. Even though the tenacious expression on his face says he knows the truth without me confirming or denying it. Maybe I should. What do I do? Shit!

  Dampening my dry lips with a sweep of my tongue, I take in a shaky breath and ask, “Who would tell you such a…..a dumbass thing?” I try to sound strong, it falls short.

  “Marshall,” Big blurts defensively, tightening his hand that’s securing both of mine to the bed, making the bones in my wrist grind together in pain.

  I wince from both pain and the sound of Marshall’s name said with such disdain.

  “Why would he say that?” I whisper.

  Big lets up on my wrists just a fraction. “Cause I told him he was leavin’, and you were stayin’. Told ‘em you were done with him. The sissy boy was smart and didn’t argue. Then I went and did the right thing and told ‘em we’d give ‘em baby updates and he’d get visitation once the baby was born. Shocked me by comin’ straight out and sayin’ the baby ain’t even his. So I did a little math and put the pieces together. Which left me with one conclusion, Sugar Tits….. That baby,” he flicks his eyes down at our daughter and back to my face, “she’s mine. Just like you’re mine and have always been mine. Big’s Bink, remember?”

  “I—,”

  He cuts me off with a sharp snort. “I’m not done,” he asserts, setting back and releasing both my hands and neck simultaneously. His fingers go straight to the hem of my dress that is already hiked up enough to expose my panties underneath. Big slides my garment upward, baring my round belly. Butterflies hatch from their cocoons and start their fluttery dance inside my tummy. How many times is this going to happen? I feel like a damned teenager half the time. All giddy and shit. I don’t do giddy. Horny, hell yeah. But this isn’t horny. This is different.

  “She’s mine,” he cups the sides of our daughter with his giant hands. The warmth that spreads through me is nothing that I’ve ever experienced before. It’s like a drug, one that makes you happy and peaceful all at once and the tension melts away and leaves nothing but a rich soul seeping warmth. Big knows. The painful secret has been laid to rest. I’m free of it now. No more worries. Only knowledge that the pieces will fall where they may, and I no longer have to force myself to carry this heavy burden alone. I could almost weep from the relief. It’s like a boulder has been lifted off my chest, and I can breathe again. Truly breathe and relish in the protective softness that penetrates his words. “She’s mine.” It holds no resentment, no accusation. Only what I would describe as a loving recognition.

  Contentedly savoring his hands caressing the sides of my belly, I sigh happily. “Is that alright? You’re not mad?” I ask, knowing his gentle heartwarming features are answer enough. Right now, he’s not mad. The anger has dispersed. Thankfully.

  “I’m going to be a dad,” he whispers to himself, his eyes following his hands’ movements, as they sweetly draw shapes and circles on my swollen belly. Harley suddenly kicks, and his eyes widen with delight, dancing with childlike happiness as he presses his hands to the spot that moved. She kicks again, batting his palm.

  I’m a goner. Angry, tough, unyielding Big has morphed into this strong, yet adorably enthralled man. He’s breaking down his own brick wall, a soft single touch and one heart stopping grin at a time. It’s the sweetest and purest moment I’ve ever seen from him. I leave him be, allowing him to become acquainted with his little girl.

  Shuffling back on my legs, he bends forward, grazing his succulent lips across the wide span of my belly. My heart swells to dangerous proportions in my chest. The happiness I feel at this very moment might actually crack me in half. All the worry of him not wanting her is gone. This is the best day of my life.

  I swallow hard and tightly squeeze my eyes shut to keep the happy tears from flowing. I can’t ruin this perfect moment.

  “Hi baby girl,” he speaks to her, repeatedly kissing my tummy next to my flattened belly button. “It’s your daddy here,” his face lights up as bright at the sun at his admission. “Your mommy and you are gonna stay here with daddy, and daddy is going to take good care of you.”

  “Ummmmm… Big… I live in Chicago now. I have a job,” I hesitantly whisper, interrupting his sweet father daughter bonding. It can’t go unspoken.

  Big glacially glares up at me, eyes clouding over with palpable frustration as his lips still graze the taut skin of my belly. Damn me and my big mouth. The air surrounding us somehow turns frigid, and I shiver.

  “You’re gonna live here. You listen up. You’ve got two fuckin’ choices, Sugar Tits. You stay willingly, or I tie your ass up and you’ll stay ‘cause I make you. Your choice,” Big says.

  “What?! You can’t do that,” I sulk and turn my head to the side, looking away from him. I hate being bossed around. That will never change. I’m stubborn. Ask me to stay, and I’d probably jump at the chance. To go off and demand I stay, say that I have no choice, and I’ll be damned if I listen. Freedom of choice, that’s all I ask. And for whatever dumbass reason, caveman over here doesn’t think I have a lick of sense to make the right decision. Sure I do; I’m a grown ass woman.

  “I just did,” he sits up, lip twisting in a snarl. “You’re mine. You came home to me.”

  I’m not going to correct his inaccurate justification to inform him that I didn’t come home to him. I came home for my brother’s wedding. That’s semantics, and it’ll just piss him off more if I interrupt. I’ve had enough fighting with him to last a lifetime, and the reasons I came home are of no importance now. For whatever dumbass reason, I love this pain in the ass man, and that’s all that counts. Right?

  He continues, “And Gunz was right. I could accept you and that sissy fuckwit bein’ together, or I could get my shit together, do what I needed to do, and be a man. Which is never lettin’ ya leave me again. Losing the love of my life to some pussy boy or keepin’ her.”

  He pauses, “Hmm….” I catch his movement out of the corner of my eye, as he cockily taps his finger to his chin. Sarcastic bastard! “I think I’ll keep my woman.”

  “You have Marylou, and I don’t share,” I remind him.

  Can’t say I completely rebel against the idea of being kept. Not anymore. I’ve had six months to sort this shit out, and seein’ him with her was a swift slap in the face with the harsh reality that I am insanely jealous of her, almost to the point where I’d enact violence. So yeah, I know I want him too. I’m just too stubborn to admit my feelings to him or concede so easily. It’s not in my blood. Daddy didn’t raise no weak ass fool. Plus, like I said, I hate being told what to do. Cowering and bowing down to a man, any man’s, orders is like I’ve been transported into the middle ages, where women obeyed their husbands, and were good for two things, lying on their backs and taking care of a home. Not my style.

  “Got rid of her this mornin’, right after I sent the sissy packin’,” he declares, likes it’s of little importance to
him.

  This morning? Interesting…..

  “Did you fuck her last night?” I snap to face him so I’m able read his expression.

  Guilt, guilt, and more guilt emanates from his face. Son of a bitch!

  “You did!” I shout. “You’re fuckin’ guilty! You come in here actin’ like an animal. Then get all sweet on me. Now you tell me you fucked that woman last night? After you just said you wanted to keep me, and I was yours. That is so fuckin’ fucked up. Get off me,” I yank my feet out from under him. Scrambling to sit up, I scoot across the bed to get far away from the hypocrite.

  “No!” he howls, advancing on me, stalking me on his hands and knees across the bed, like an animal. “I never said I fucked her…You did.” On his knees in front of me, he stops, giving me a little space, yet showing that he is in control. He can reach out and touch me at any moment, should he want to.

  “Whatever guilty shit you thought you saw on my face was me feelin’ guilty for breakin’ the poor kid’s heart. She’s a nice girl and decent in the sack.”

  I wince at his admission and curl into myself. I don’t want to hear that shit. I’m in the midst of having another hormonal episode, where everything is going to strike me tenfold. Might have a bit to do with this asshole waking me up by shoving me down to a bed and holding my throat. That is enough to unbalance anyone’s equilibrium. Or maybe it’s mood whiplash from his ever-changing moods. One second angry, the next sublimely happy… and so on … and so forth… You’ve seen it. You know what I’m talking about.

  He continues, “Marylou was just another woman to pass the time, just like Linda was.”

  I peek up at him though heavy lids. “Whatever happened to her?” I shyly ask.