She rolls onto her side, faces me, and shrugs, “No, and if he did, I wouldn’t care.” Jez rolls back to her other side and grabs her Kindle from the nightstand, then rolls onto her back, and props her e-reader on her stomach.
“You’re not tired?” I try to change the subject to get the sight of my man’s cock in another woman’s mouth from making me throw up.
“I’m pissed,” she grumbles.
“Oh.”
Jez slides on her Kindle screen, opening her book. “I could kill him, ya know,” she takes a sighing breath. “Bulk and I were talkin’ about this the other night, how happy you two seemed. I knew you were gettin’ worried about the run; Pix said somethin’ to me the other day about it. Bulk told me he didn’t think you’d have anything to worry about. Didn’t think prez would cheat. I told him if I found out Big cheated and he didn’t tell me first that I was gonna divorce his ass.”
“You did not.” I don’t even know why I said that; of course she did. This is Jezebel we are talking about here.
“Sure did. All this club business is too secretive for me. He’s lucky I can handle what I already do. Him bein’ gone all the time, runnin’ god knows what god knows where. Far as I’m concerned if he knows something that is gonna hurt you or one of the other sisters, and he don’t tell me, those are fightin’ words, and that mother fucker knows I won’t stand lyin’,” she explains, her eyes locked onto the screen of her Kindle.
Sadly, with a groan, I turn onto my side, curl into a ball, and tuck my arm under Bulk’s pillow. It smells like tobacco and mint. He dips. “I wish I didn’t get so emotional anymore. I wish I would have killed him instead of being a weak bitch, watching him get his dick sucked. The old me would have socked him in the face,” I whisper talking to myself and maybe to Jezebel too, if she’s listening.
“You’re pregnant,” she says as if that’s the answer for all my issues.
Is it really though? I think I’m just losing my edge. I feel like I’m softening, and I don’t like that one fucking bit. I need to regain the woman I once was before Big and I and Chicago with Marshall. I think that experience drained some part of me away. What do you think? Do you think I’ve lost my touch? What do you suggest I do to get it back? Lord knows I don’t have the answer.
Jezebel isn’t done. “Pregnancy hormones make you more emotional. It’s all that extra estrogen and progesterone. I never cry unless I’m pissed. But with both my kids though, especially being pregnant with Gabe, I bawled at least once a week. I remember Bulk didn’t take the trash out one Sunday morning. I had crawled out of bed and there it was in the kitchen. I just stood there staring at the mess and lost it.”
“I get that, but it just seems like a lame excuse.” It does. I’m pregnant, therefore I stand and watch my man cheat? Lame! Haven’t you ever had one of those times in your life that you replay over and over in your head and think of all the ways you could have done it differently? I’m sure we all have. This would be number one on my list though. I’m sick with myself for being such a weak bitch.
Okay, enough of my own self wallowing. I can’t fix it now. I can, however, control the outcome from this moment forward. I’m going to get some sleep, forget about Big, and go on this fun weekend with my sisters. I won’t be talking to him before he leaves. As far as I’m concerned he’s dead to me.
Closing my eyes, I snuggle my cheek into the feather pillow and say goodnight to Jez.
She shuts off her light. “Night. Get some sleep. I’ll handle the bastard,” Jezebel soothes in a mothering tone.
It’s time to forget all about what a fucked up day this was. Goodnight.
Monday, April 14, 2014
“What the fuck do you mean she ain’t here?” I hear the Asshole loudly grumble from the front of Jez and Bulk’s house as I flip onto my back and stretch my hands over my head. Then I hear a giggle and the covers rustle beside me. I smile knowing it has to be little Miss. H under those covers, hiding from me.
“Hummmm,” I drawl, “I wonder why my bed is moving.”
Another innocent giggle erupts before a head peeks over the edge of the duvet. Miss. H’s set of green eyes fix on me, dancing with childhood mischief.
“What are you doing in here, Miss. H?” I playfully ask with a smile, as I try to ignore the loud sounds coming from an argument ensuing in the living room between a very pissed off Jezebel and an even angrier Big.
“Daddy told me I had to stay in my room and play until he came and got me. He told me to be very quiet ‘cause you were sleepin’. But I snuck in to see you and feel the baby,” she innocently explains, her eyes glistening as she looks down at my belly.
Bulk adopted Jezebel’s daughter shortly after they moved to the compound. Big got our club’s lawyer on it. Since her biological father was killed in action in the Middle East, there wasn’t anyone to contest it. It was just a bunch of paperwork. Now, to sound more grown up with Debbie’s sons and Deke’s daughters, this sassy little girl has decided to rename herself Miss. H since her new last name is Haven. So that’s what we’ve been calling her. It’s cute, and I don’t mind. Knowing how I got my name, I wouldn’t be surprised if hers sticks too.
I wink at her, “Well, what are you waitin’ for then?” I wiggle back and forth, wagging my big belly.
Miss. H climbs out from under the covers and sits right next to me with her legs tucked under her. Little hands reach out and rub my bump. I can feel Harley turning inside and see it when I look down as she maneuvers in the tight womb. I reach down and place my hand over Miss. H’s and press. Harley rolls against her palm and she giggles, her eyes lighting up. It’s so beautiful to see such innocence enjoying life. Not yet jaded by life and the pains that are inevitable.
I let her play with my daughter, as I watch and listen to bitter cusswords fly from the front of the house. Big knows I’m here; I can tell in his tone. Jezebel is refusing to confirm it. When Bulk got home from the clubhouse last night, I woke for a moment to hear Jez climb out of bed and tell Bulk they were going to fuck in the living room. From his tone, I could tell he was horny, yet exhausted. They were quiet though; I didn’t hear a peep when they got down to business. Later, I woke up again when Jez crawled back into bed with me and passed out. I must have slept through her waking up and when Miss. H crawled in beside me. I have no idea how long she’s been in here.
“Let me see her, Jez. I’m the fuckin’ prez of this club, and I’m not gonna let you keep my old lady from me.” The sound of Big’s voice draws nearer. He is making his way further into the house.
“When you let a woman suck your dick in front of your old lady, who happens to be my best friend, it’s my business to protect her. Now you get the hell outta my house,” she snaps, her southern drawl heavily accenting every word.
They’re like two pit bulls ready to tear each other’s heads off. I can’t let them dismember each other, and I’m fairly certain Bulk has gone to the clubhouse to get ready to ride out, so he’s of no use. Turning my head, I catch the time on the cable box beside their TV on the dresser, and it’s 8 a.m. The brothers will be rolling out at 9. I only have to wait to be free of him for one whole hour. A wave of relief sweeps through me at the thought.
I hear the sound of the front door opening and slamming closed.
“Hey Jez.” Pixie tiny voice says. “Um… hey, Big,” she finishes.
Great, now Pixie is here too. I wonder if she knows what went down last night.
“Pixie,” I hear Big greet, which I assume is accompanied by a nod or chin jerk.
“Big was just leaving,” Jezebel explains, and Big growls his frustration at her.
“I’m not leavin’,” he seethes with a deep grumble. “Not until my old lady gets her ass out here to see me off.”
Jezebel scoffs, and Pixie sounds thrown when she asks, “Bink’s here?”
A grumbly sharp-tongued “Fuck” is expelled from Big.
“Fuck is right,” Jezebel agrees. “Big’s a fuckin’ mother fucker. He
cheated on Bink last night,” she explains to Pixie.
Big actually growls at her like a demented hellhound, “Bitch!” he warns menacingly. “I’ve had just about enough of your lip. If you don’t shut that fuckin’ mouth of yours now—,”
“You’ll what?” Jezebel snaps, cutting him off. “You’ll—,”
“Stop it, you two,” Pixie is the one to cut Jezebel off this time. “Chill the hell out.” Finally the voice of reason. Those two were close to going at it on the floor. I’m only glad I didn’t have to be the one to break up the fight.
A little girl’s head resting on my belly momentarily snaps me away from the conversation, so I focus on her sweet little doll face instead.
“What’cha doin’, Miss. H?” I curve my hand over her cheek and brush her hair away from her face.
“I’m listening to her,” she explains in a whisper, as if I should have already known that. This little girl has just as much sass as her mama in the other room.
My fingertips trace the sides of her sweet face, while she snuggles her cheek to my belly, listening for Harley. I’m not sure what she expects to hear, other than my heartbeat and my stomach growling, but I leave her to it.
A stomp reverberates, shaking the walls, as it mingles with another bout of arguing. This time three voices are yelling over each other. I can barely make out much of what they are saying. Another stomp of a heavy foot gets closer, and the voices get louder. Big’s working his Neanderthal ass further into the house. A baby starts crying, and everyone suddenly stops shouting. Little Miss. H seems oblivious to it all; she’s too consumed in listening to my belly to care.
“You mother fucker, you woke my son up!” Jezebel roars.
“I’ll get him,” Pixie offers sweetly. Even though Pix doesn’t really seem to like most kids, she has taken somewhat of a liking to Gabe.
“Let his mother get him,” Big tells Pixie. “I know Bink’s here, Jez. Stop pretending she’s not. I went everywhere in the compound, and you’re the only sister who would stash her away and lie to me about it,” he states, sounding more exhausted than anything. I really wish he didn’t know her so well, but it’s apparent he knows her as well as I do.
“Bink, get your ass out here, or I’m going to tear the house apart to find you,” Big calls out to me.
“You’re not gonna do any of that,” Jezebel intercedes, throwing out her attitude.
“Yes, I am.”
This is really starting to sound like a bunch of five year old, I’m rubber your glue kind of stupid shit. It’s time I put a stop to this.
“Miss. H?” I whisper, so they can’t hear me. They’re in the hallway now. I hear footsteps and a door open as someone gets a crying Gabe from his room.
She leans her head up and looks me in the eye.
“Can I get up? I’ll let you play with Harley once your daddy and my daddy go bye-bye today on their motorcycles,” I say.
Miss. H, scoots back without a word, and I take that as my cue to sit up and slide off the bed. I stuff my feet back into my slippers that I had on last night and go to the door. They’ve calmed from the constant yelling and bickering, but they’re still out there snapping at each other in hushed tones.
I turn the knob to the door and pull it open.
“Bink?” Big sounds beyond relieved, as he sighs and saunters down the hall with heavy footsteps. He stops in front of the open door and peers down at me. My eyes are swollen, I can feel it. I’m sure I look like hell too because I sure feel like hell. Now that I’ve stood up, my entire body aches, and all I want to do is lie down, curl up with a blanket, and eat junk food for the next week straight. This is too much, I can’t stand the sight of him. Even though he doesn’t look much better than how I feel. His eyes are darkly circled from lack of sleep and probably a massive hangover. He hasn’t shaven, and his hair is messily tied at the nape of his neck. His clothes are the same ones I saw him in yesterday at the clubhouse when it happened. A shiver of unease rolls down my spine, and I tense at the heart-wrenching thought.
“Come, Miss. H,” Jezebel calls to her daughter. A moment later, a tiny body brushes past me and Big, as she heads down the hall to the living room.
“We need to talk,” Big finally states, after the little girl is out of earshot.
“I don’t have anything to say,” I lean my shoulder on the doorframe, and cross my arms over my chest.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts, then frowns, his eyes turning weepy. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
“Big, you cheated, and you said you wouldn’t. There’s nothin’ to discuss. I’m not gonna yell or argue or fight about this. You knew the rules. We discussed them multiple times, and you promised no cheating. That’s pretty simple to understand. You don’t want me sucking your dick for whatever idiot reason. That’s your own choice. I don’t like it, I don’t agree with it, and I think it’s dumber than shit. I’m not gonna allow you to use your rule about me not sucking your dick as an excuse to allow someone else to do it in my place.” I can’t believe I’m talking this calmly. Last night I was angry, then heartbroken, and now I’m… I dunno? Resolved? I knew this had to be too good to be true, as it seems almost everything in life is. You take one step forward and are forced to jump three feet back. Life fucking sucks.
“I didn’t get off, and I stopped as soon as you left,” he tries defending himself. It comes out as more of a plea, like he wants me to understand, even though there is no way that I could.
Sadly shaking my head, I dampen my lips with the sweep of my tongue. “Doesn’t matter. Promises are promises. We are through.”
“No, we’re not.” he says, his voice steeped with melancholy.
“Yes, we are,” I’m firm. “It’s done, Big.” I thickly mutter, taking a step back and curling my fingers over the door handle. I pull the door forward to shut it. He stops me, by putting his hand to the door and he steps closer, so close that I can feel the heat emanating from his powerful body and smell his heady scent of beer, leather, and man, all man. It does something traitorous to my body. My legs wobble and my pussy clenches, as my clit fires off a small spark. I hate that I like his scent so much. It drives me fucking insane.
I release the door, retreating into the room, away from him. I can’t give in, I can’t. I know he feels sorry. His haunted expression and slumped shoulders are enough of a giveaway. Add his continual frown and sad eyes, and I know he’s feeling awful. Good, I hope he feels downright dreadful.
I back away, keeping my eyes on him. My legs bump the bed. I stumble, and my ass falls to the bed. Big swiftly comes at me like a panther and kneels at my feet. His hands burn my thighs as his palms rest atop of them, his face staring up at mine. I don’t like him touching me. I try to shake them off. He curls his fingers, firmly holding my thighs to cement his immovable determination. I take a deep breath and blow out a loud sigh. Big grins at my nose, and I scowl, snapping my head to peer at the head of the bed and not him. I can’t stand to see him grin. That fucking dimple. That cute, boyish, sometimes sinister dimple. It’s a dimple that haunted my dreams night after night in Chicago. A dimple that makes women weak with want. I can’t bear to look at it. Not here, not now.
His hands move higher on my thighs, and he uses his force to spread them. He scoots between my parted legs, moving closer to me, closer to my clenching core and my raw heart. I hate him for this. I hate feeling vulnerable, and I hate feeling weak and helpless. I can’t hit him or kick him, in fear of something might get out of hand and hurt our child. I close my eyes, still looking away, when I feel his sides brush the insides of my thighs, his hands sliding further up to my belly, where he stops and rubs. Then I feel it, the thing I most dread, fingers slowly drag the hem of my shirt up and over my bump, then my stretched bare skin is met with a soft warm mouth. I almost moan on contact. My nipples bud, loving his attention. I hate him. I hate that he knows me this well. I hate that he can do some of the sweetest and sexiest things and make me want to forgive him. I won’t. I’m
not a stupid bitch. I know this is over. Even though my traitorous body and part of my heart wants to hold on tight and never let him go.
I keep my hands at my sides as his mouth sweetly caresses over our daughter, his hands supporting both sides of her. I bite my lip to keep from making any noise. The warmth of his hot breath wafts over my sensitive flesh, and I feel goose bumps rise with excitement, trailing the path his lips follow. Even my toes tingle from the sensation.
“I’m sorry,” he finally speaks in a hushed tone, kissing my belly once again.
He shouldn’t be using Harley as his scapegoat or his way to get back into good graces. What a bastard!
The hands that are on my belly smooth their way backward over my sides and curl around my lower back. Big holds me closer. I remain resolute, unmoving, refusing to show emotion of any kind. Fighting with him leads to fucking or him finding me amusing. Crying leads me to feeling like a prissy-ass whiny bitch. So I guess that leaves me only one choice to ignore him and the delicious way his deceitful body touches mine.
“Sugar Tits,” he nuzzles his bristly cheek to my belly. “I know I fucked up. I drank a lot, and I ate one of Blimp’s brownies. I was havin’ a good time. The whore started talkin’ to me. I didn’t touch her, I fuckin’ swear….” he trails off, his voice laced with pain. It aches to hear his voice that raw and full of emotion. I care too damn much for him, I know I do. I haven’t even told the bastard I love him yet, not like normal women tell their partners. I think he knows though.
I remain quiet as the air thickens with throat clogging uncertainty. My fisted hands dampen with sweat, so I uncurl them and lay my palms flat on the mattress.
“I know you don’t like to hear it and don’t agree, but I don’t like the thought of my old lady on her knees like a whore,” he explains, his head still resting on our daughter. As of right now, Harley has decided to take a break from her gymnastics routine. Thank you, Harley.
The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 3 (MC Chronicles #3) Page 6