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

by Bink Cummings

  My brother Brew is the one who’d stopped the madness by tackling her to the ground. Afterward, he was also the one who’d bathed me and applied salve on my swollen blood crusted wounds. To this day if you look close enough, you can see three of the whipping scars. They serve as a painful reminder of the kind of woman my mother is.

  My own anger flares as I replay that painful day. And here I almost felt sorry for the bitch. The same bitch who beat me with a switch. The same bitch who tormented me, called me names, neglected me, fed me last, and left me to wear dirty clothes to school. The same bitch who bought my brothers and sisters candy from the store and never had any for me. From an early age, I learned never to get my hopes up when she’d come home from the grocery store. Brew always got the peanut butter cups, Elise the sour gummies, Jizz the taffy, and Elizabeth a plain Hershey’s chocolate bar. What did Eva get? Nothing. Not unless I was with Big or Gunz. That’s when the spoiling came.

  Staring blankly at the wall behind my mother’s head, I focus on the present and tear myself from the past. It doesn’t matter what happened. It doesn’t matter how horrible of a mother she was and remains to be. She’s dead to me. As far as I’m concerned, she can rot in hell. I have a good life with a decent man and a family who loves me unconditionally. And more importantly, a family that is probably sick as hell with worry wondering where the fuck I am. Gunz will never live this down. A stab of guilt lances my heart, and I reach up to rub it. Big is going to ream him for me getting kidnapped. I can only hope I can prevent the fallout; it’s not going to be a good one.

  My mother continues to silently cry, rocking in her chair, her hands cupping her cheeks, collecting the tears, and I avert my attention from her soppy prissy bitch sobbing. It’s only going to make me angrier.

  What else can I do here? What else do I want to know? Need to know? That’s what I have to focus my efforts on. Not the Cunt’s sob stories on how broken she is for inflicting damage on her daughter, who’s now thirty. Has it really taken her over two decades to feel remorse for her parental neglect? It seems that way.

  Venturing back to a previous question she ignored, I break the silence and ask, “Why is it you decided to wait until I’m a grown adult before you told me any of this? You keep saying they wouldn’t let you… they who? And why?” I think it’s a valid question, and I asked it pleasantly enough that she should answer it.

  Swiping another tear, she sniffles and exhales a long breath, “I’m sure by now Richard has told you he’d paid me off in order to keep you. Which is only partly true…” She pauses for a moment and sits forward enough to reach into her pocket and pull out a delicate hankie. She always did carry one of those. Probably the same one too. I remember her using it on my brothers and sisters when they were sick, crying, or had hurt themselves. Of course I never had the privilege of it used on me, being the evil child and all.

  “Richard paid me money to keep you and to keep quiet about your sister Jolene. Paid to keep club secrets. He even paid me to keep me from leaving your father and taking you with me. I never wanted you to be part of the club life, Eva. Never wanted any of my children wrapped up in its depravity. Look how that turned out.” Severe judgment clings to her every word.

  Jolene, that’s her name. I wrap that name up and safely tuck it away to deal with later. Now’s not the time. I’m about to blow the hell up.

  Unable to keep my trap shut, I ball my fists at my sides and snap, “Yes, you have two sons who are happy bein’ part of the club life and a daughter who’s the president’s old lady.” Eat that you sack of shit. Her holier-than-thou tone is making my skin crawl. She really is a piece of work.

  Lowly, she makes a repulsed sound in her throat, “Yes, I know that. I tried to prevent it. Knew from early on I couldn’t save the boys. And when Richard and Erik, with those idiotic suckers, took a special interest in you, I knew you were a lost cause too.”

  Didn’t she just say he paid her off so she wouldn’t take me? If she knew I was lost, then why would she even try? Especially since she hated me anyhow. Something’s not adding up.

  I’ve gotta ask. “If I was such a lost cause, why would you even try? For money, right? Had to get your money? All of this was about money, wasn’t it? My childhood? And now this,” I sweep my hand with zeal, gesturing to our current situation.

  “Of course it was about money.” Tipping my head back looking at the ceiling, I laugh bitterly and shake my head, disgusted. “You never gave a fuck about me. You only want what you feel is owed to you. All because daddy cheated with a woman who is probably a hundred times nicer than you. Then he stayed with you, trying to make the best out of a bad situation for us, his children, that he actually loves and wants what’s best for. Then what’d you do? You collected the money. And now that I’m with Big, the one you wanted to sink your claws into but couldn’t, you’re jealous. You’re a—”

  “You hold your tongue!” she screeches cutting me off midsentence. Catapulting herself out of her chair, she stomps to the foot of the bed and leers at me. Triumphantly, I grin at her. Of course I’m right or she wouldn’t be panting for breath, her face red with palpable fury.

  Tilting my head to the side and grinning like the cat at the canary, I continue to push her buttons, “What? Am I right? The sexy man with a fat juicy cock took a liking to your daughter, the daughter you hate, and now you’re mad. Mad that he didn’t want you, Daddy didn’t want you, and now you have nothing. Your children are grown, your house and money are gone. You’re desperate, aren’t you? And now you’re using me to get what you want, once again….” I let my convictions steep the air between us, making it thick with tension as she stares hateful daggers at me just a few feet away.

  Her eyes have glazed over, as her nostrils flare, and the muscles in her neck bulge, providing a clear indication of her withheld fury. Even though I know it’s wrong to feel a sense of achievement for pissing her off to this magnitude, I still do. Payback’s a bitch. I can’t believe for even a moment I felt a sense of pity for what happened when I was a child. Now, looking at her trembling with rage, I can see it was all an act to try and convince me to side with her. Oh the twisted games she plays, and she’s damn good at them too. A master manipulator.

  Scooting as far back on the bed without hurting myself, I put distance between us, and cross my arms over my chest. “Soooo…mother dearest, are you going to be real here and tell me what the fuck is really going on? Or are you going to try and play victim again?” It’s hard, but I succeed in sounding indifferent instead of irritated with her childish antics. Nothing good is going to come out of provoking her any more than I already have.

  Minutes slip by as she remains at the end of the bed staring me down like she’s contemplating whether to launch herself at me or not. I’d like to see her try.

  A faint knock sounds at the door, and we both watch as it creaks open. A man wearing a blue button-down, black Levi’s, and a pair of worn cowboy boots strolls in like he owns the place.

  It doesn’t take him long to register the tension in the air; you could cut it with a spoon.

  “Everythin’ alright in here?” he drawls, looking between my mother and me. “Lindy Sue?” he addresses her firmly and awaits a reply with his eyes softly focused on me. This must be Malcolm the man my mother was talking about. His voice doesn’t do the man any justice. He’s gorgeous, and that’s not Stockholm Syndrome speaking. He oozes cowboy sexuality from the way he stands with his legs bowed like he’s rode one too many bulls in his day to the oceany blue of his brilliant and wise eyes, to the lines accentuating his features, placing him somewhere around Big’s age. As if his eyes weren’t sexy enough, his messy midnight hair is streaked with gray in the most attractive way possible. Now I can’t help but wonder where in the hell did my mother catch this country man? What kind of business is he in? Why in the hell would he agree to help her kidnap me? Does he have some sort of riff with the club? Maybe he’s my mother’s boyfriend. But from the way he’s staring at me an
d not her, I’d say he’s not her boyfriend.

  My mother never replies, so he speaks again. “Listen,” he’s addressing me this time, “I know this ain’t the best of circumstances, Sweetheart. But we’ve got some business that needs handlin’.” His eyes move to my mother, and his voice deepens, “Lindy Sue, you got what you needed, ya spoke to your daughter, and now it’s time for you to make that call.”

  Switching my eyes between Malcolm and my mother, I watch her grimace at his tone before replying, “Do you have the phone?”

  “It’s in the kitchen,” his eyes flick toward the door and back. “Make the call, and I’ll keep your daughter company while ya do.” His strong tone indicates this isn’t up for negotiation.

  Straightening herself without another word, my mother exits the door with her head held high and nose pointed upward, like she’s hot shit. Once she leaves, Malcolm takes three strides to the bed and sits on the bottom edge. Turning his body toward me, his left leg hikes up to rest partway on the mattress, foot hanging over the edge.

  “So…” he drawls.

  “So…” I repeat.

  “She tell ya why you’re here?” he nods to the open doorway, and I shake my head in response. Dropping my hands, I curl them back around my belly. This man is sitting way too close for comfort, and he smells incredible, like firewood and pine trees.

  “You’re here because your mother owes me a debt,” he explains, keenly eyeing me.

  “What kinda debt?” I blurt not thinking, and pray he doesn’t get pissed. Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember I’m the prisoner here. It all seems like a sick joke. Not reality.

  “A drug one.”

  My eyes widen, “Ooohh…” I drawl, my lips forming an ‘O’.

  Malcolm grins at me like Big does when I do something he finds cute. Except this man shouldn’t be thinking anything of the sort. An eerie chill passes through me at the thought.

  “Wonderin’ how that has anything to do with you?”

  Innocently nodding, I chew my lip, “Yes, of course I do.” My voice is small, not wanting to ruffle his feathers.

  “I’ve been supplyin’ Lindy’s Oxy habit for years. A few months back, she came to me needin’ an advance. I took her on her word. Never got paid. Then she ran when I came lookin’ for my money. Finally caught up with her two weeks ago. She still didn’t have the money and offered you up as payment. Said she had something she wanted to talk to you about; then we could make a call and get the money from your husband to pay off her debts and a little extra to get her by.”

  That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. This has to be some kind of joke. This man is clueless. Probably some smalltime drug dealer. He has no idea how much he just fucked himself over. And for what? A couple thousand bucks? Pathetic.

  “Do you even know who I am?” I think that’s a valid question to assess just how much of a moron he is.

  “Lindy Sue’s daughter.”

  Duh…that’s a no-brainer.

  I bob my head, eyes concentrated on him, “Yes…. but do you even know who Lindy Sue is?”

  He frowns obviously not getting my point. Time to fill in the blanks, “Lindy Sue is my mother, but I’m not only her daughter. My father, her soon to be ex-husband, is the Vice President of the motorcycle club, the Sacred Sinners. And my old man, my daughter’s father,” I rub my belly for emphasis, “is the club’s national president.”

  Instantaneously, realization dawns on him, and all the color drains from his face. Eyes wide, he stares at me expressionless. I provide him a few moments to let it all sink in — he’s fucked, and he didn’t even know it.

  Leaning forward and closing the gap, I whisper to make what I’m about to say less painful, “You just got played. My mother is probably in there right now planning your funeral. What do you think is gonna happen? She’s not gonna let you walk away with her money. If the brothers show up here, they’re gonna be out for blood, and by tomorrow you’re gonna be six feet under.” I tell him how it is without coming across a bitch. It’s a damn shame a pretty face like his is going to end up worm food, but what does he expect? What kind of drug dealer doesn’t know his clientele? Especially if he’s been dealing to them for so long. What an idiot. You can’t get into a bed with a cobra and not get bitten. Everyone knows that.

  Malcolm’s hands begin to tremble in his lap. “She said your husband was a big-time surgeon in New York,” he’s speaking to himself. “Said it would be a quick snatch and grab since she knew you were comin’ to town for a spa weekend with your friends.”

  Just then my mother meanders back into the bedroom with a brilliant smile painted on her face, looking fit as a fiddle as she sits back down in the rocking chair. “All done,” she singsongs, undoubtedly thinking she’s won. Her drug dealer dies, she gets a big payout, and I’m safely returned, a win-win-win in her delusional mind. But not if I can help it. She’s no longer my daddy’s wife; he’s not going to try and save her now. He can’t be that stupid. Can he? I sure hope not. I’m pretty certain she thinks she can walk away from this without any retaliation because she’s done this a million times before and always succeeded. How she can believe that she’s above club law is pathetic. Maybe she once was but not anymore. I’ll see to it that justice will be served, club style.

  Minutes slip by, and my mother continues smiling like she’s won, whilst I sit back and silently watch them both. Malcolm turns and reaches for my ankles that are next to him. I flinch and try to jerk them out his grasps. “Stop,” he orderly gruffly, seizing me. I don’t listen, and pull harder, as the rope digs in. “Stop it, dammit. I’m just gonna cut ya loose.”

  With those words, I quit fighting, and he releases my ankles. Climbing onto the edge of the bed resting on his knees, he dives into his pocket and pulls out a large pocket knife. Expertly flicking it open with one hand, he wields the knife in one hand as his other takes hold of the rope knotted between my ankles and begins to saw it. It takes minutes to break down the threads of the rope. Not sure why he didn’t just use the hunting knife on the nightstand, but I don’t ask. Once I’m free, he throws the ropes to the ground like the others my mother discarded, and he climbs off the bed placing the knife back into his pocket.

  “All good,” he finally speaks. “You’re free to walk around the room, and I’ll bring ya somethin’ to eat.”

  Looking out the window and back at him, the sun is just beginning to rise. I don’t think I’ll be eating anything now. I just need to pee and get some sleep. It has to be close to five or six in the morning by now.

  He turns to my mother and watches her like a hawk with narrow eyes, “You’re gonna leave her alone, and tell me how that phone call went,” he commands.

  Standing from the rocker, my mother grabs the hunting knife and hands it back to Malcolm before she speaks. “Sure,” she seems on edge. “I called my son Brock to tell him what we needed. I told him I’d call him back in twelve hours to set up an exchange,” she explains, strolling past Malcolm toward the exit. He follows right behind her not sparing me another glance, and shuts the door in his wake. A second later, I hear a lock engage, as I let out a sigh of relief, allowing all the tension in my shoulders to deflate.

  Alone at last.

  I don’t waste any time sliding off the bed and waddling to the barren bathroom to use the facilities. Washing my hands when I’m finished, I take a long look in the mirror above the sink. I look like hell. My hair’s a mess, my eyes are darkly circled from lack of sleep, and I have a purple bruise forming on the side of my neck, where I was struck before I passed out. Running my fingers through my mussed hair, I smooth it out before heading back to the bedroom.

  Climbing onto the bed, I yank the barely-there blanket over my body and snuggle into the hard bed. Closing my eyes, I let myself relax the best that I can in these fucked up circumstances. According to my mother’s words, I’ve got twelve hours until they set up a meet, which means I could be here for a few days. Better make the best of a bad situation
and get myself some much needed rest.

  Night y’all, see ya when I get up.

  The sound of the bedroom door shutting rouses me from my slumber. Flipping onto my back, I stare at the ceiling and rub the sleep from my eyes. The sun’s blasting through the window now, filling the entire room. Must be midday. Peering to my left, I catch the glimpse of a tray of food resting on the antique dresser in the corner. That’s nice. Malcolm kept his word and brought me food…Well maybe it wasn’t Malcolm. What if my mother prepared it? Should I even attempt to eat it? My stomach growls. Guess that answers my question.

  Sitting up, I stretch my arms above my head, slide off the bed, and waddle with my swollen ankles to the restroom. After I finish and wash my hands, I grab the tray from the dresser and carry it with me to the bed. Setting it on the edge, I climb on first and pull the tray closer to eat the scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and sausage links. Next to the paper plate overflowing with food is a Danielle Steel book and a glass of grape juice, which I’ll have to power through since grape juice gives me hella heartburn.

  The cabin is eerily quiet, as I slowly nibble my tasty meal using my fingers and read the book with my other hand as it rests on my thighs. Once I’m finished, I set the tray along with the book on the floor next to the bed and lay back down. I could use another nap. God knows I’ve got plenty of time to kill.

  What the…

  My eyes shoot open, as I rocket myself awake and sit up in bed as the loud echoing thud shakes the window pane in the bedroom. My heart pounds in my chest as adrenaline pulses through my veins, making me jumpy.

  Are the brothers here? Another thud, quieter this time, draws my attention, and my thoughts cease while I listen. The thud is trailed by a rough scraping sound, like a chair being drug. Then a series of ‘twap, twap, twap’s’ follow, leaving me twitchy and itching to know a helluva lot more.