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

by Bink Cummings

  Jezebel, stumbling back to her chair with a fresh jack and coke, yanks me from reliving my explicit past. Not that any of that past has really bothered me. It doesn’t. It’s something you just get used to, so it’s not as shocking for me as it is for some people. Although there are those rare occasions that still have me going ‘what the fuck!?’

  “Did Brew make it the way you wanted?” I point to Jez’s drink.

  “Brew is the best fuckin’ bartender,” Jez clarifies enthusiastically with an over the top swing of her arms which makes her drink slosh over the edge of the glass onto her hand. She scowls at the mess, brings her hand to her mouth, and licks off the liquid.

  “There,” she mutters, finished cleaning herself like a puppy.

  Placing her glass back to her lips and tipping her head back, she takes a hefty drink. I’m guessing her drink is more Coke than Jack at this point. Brew’s always been good about not wanting the women to get overly sloshed, so he weakens their drinks as the night goes on. It’s a known tip that when you’re plastered most drinks taste the same, tamed down or not. So she’ll never even know the difference. At least I hope not, for his sake.

  I stop paying attention to Jez when the room’s mood suddenly changes, and the atmosphere shifts. I can feel it, although my fellow sisters seem oblivious.

  I scan over the expanse of the common room. Simultaneously every single one of the brothers phones go off. One by one they check them, and they look at each other with concern. Gypsy and Mickey, along with Gunz and White Boy, start heading toward the exit. The brothers at the table put their cards and drinks downs.

  “Something’s up,” I announce, keenly watching each brother silently get up and head to the entrance.

  Why in the hell are they so calm and quiet?

  Viper detaches from the slutty blonde, and instead of joining his brothers at the entrance, he saunters towards me. This isn’t good.

  Viper stops next to me and glances down, lips red and swollen from making out with the whore. “I need you to come with me,” he offers me his hand.

  I don’t accept it.

  Instead, I sit straight up and cross my arms over my chest.

  “What’s this all about?” I demand, locking eyes with him.

  “I just need you to come with me.” He opens and closes his hand that’s extended to me.

  I shake my head.

  “Nope, not until I know what’s going on,” I snap, glaring at him.

  “Look, they’re going outside,” Jezebel blurts, pointing to the exit. I turn my head and watch as the brothers file outside. Something’s up.

  Slapping Viper’s hand away, I use the arm of the couch to hoist my fat ass up and stand. He doesn’t seem to want to take my ‘no’ seriously when he places a hand on my shoulder, acting like he’s about to restrain me.

  That shit ain’t gonna fly.

  I grab his wrist and squeeze, digging my nails in. He seems unaffected.

  “If you don’t remove this fucking thing from my shoulder, then I’m gonna tear it off,” I state crudely. Apparently not wanting to cause a scene, he silently drops his hand to his side, shoving it into his jeans pocket and eyes me with apprehension.

  Loud commotion outside draws my attention, and the next thing I know I’m striding, alright, I’m wobbling as fast as I can to the front of the clubhouse as Viper commands me to stop. Jez and Candy Cane seem to be yelling something at him, but I don’t pay a lick of attention as I make my way to the clubhouse doors. I try to push one open only to have it blocked by Gunz.

  “Go to your room,” he demands through the glass, pointing straight at me with one of the most serious expressions I’ve ever seen. I try to glance around him to catch a glimpse of anything, but all I see is a sea of Sacred Sinners cuts. I can hear the sound of a motorcycle that’s partly drowned out by the loud rock music inside.

  “Big’s out there, isn’t he?” I yell.

  Gunz doesn’t reply, as he continues to stare me down.

  “Gunz!” I scream at him. “Gunz let me out!” I slap my palms to the door, shooting pain up my arms. I ignore the pain. Gunz shakes his head, lips tight, refusing to let me outside.

  Fine! Fuck him! If he wants to play this way, I’m going out the back door.

  “Fine!” I slap the doors once more for good measure and flip him off.

  Pivoting on my heel, I turn to see Viper and Jez in a heated argument of sorts, so I take my time and waddle to the kitchen. Pushing the swinging door open, I go inside. Once nobody can see me, I pick up my pace and fast waddle with my hands on my lower back, ignoring all the pain that’s flowing through my body, and exit the opposite side of the kitchen into the hall. Not wasting a second, I head straight up the hall and push open the back door. Nobody’s manning the back entrance. Thank God.

  Not caring what I might see or hear or what Gunz might do to me when he finds out I’m not listening to his orders, I skate to the side of the clubhouse in nothing but a pair of fuzzy socks and black pajamas. Trying to remain quiet, I take small steps and stick to the shadows so nobody catches me. Once I’m to the corner where all the commotion is coming from, I peek to see the entire brotherhood crowded around Big on his motorcycle. It’s still running.

  Knowing that no one is going to be expecting me to come this way, I crouch the best I can and slowly waddle my way along the rows of bikes. I try to stay close enough to the ground so the bikes will hide my presence. They’re too caught up talking to Big and carrying on that I slip in unnoticed. Even though I know right now I look like a fat, wobbly, unsteady, weirdo creeping up on a group of edgy bikers. Not my finest moment.

  “What do ya think you’re doin’?” A voice booms behind me as I draw closer. I look over my shoulder as I crouch and rest one hand on the bike next to me for support.

  “I’m gonna go see Big,” I grumble lowly to Gunz who is shaking his head at me, severely frowning. Guess he doesn’t find this particular endeavor of mine to be amusing.

  “When I said—” he starts, only I put his ass on ignore and use the bike to help me stand, and with one last glance over my shoulder I set off at a dead pregnant-woman sprint towards Big. Once I hit the group of brothers, I shove Runner out of my way, as Gunz yells at me from behind. I don’t listen to him. I keep going, out of breath, my hair a mess, sweat clinging to my temples, with my body sore as fuck. I don’t give a shit. I push my final brother to the side to see Big straddling his bike, head down, hands on his face, and fingers threaded through the front of his hair. He’s covered in blood. Holy fuck, and I don’t mean just a little bit of blood. His arms are smeared with it. His jeans are splattered. His hands are caked too.

  Stopping close to his bike, my eyes widen and I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth. The brothers all take a step back giving us space.

  “What in God’s name happened?!” I screech and take another step forward.

  Big doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even acknowledge me.

  “Big?” I mutter thickly.

  Something’s wrong. He’s covered in blood, and he’s not speaking. What in the hell happened?

  Biting my lip, I take another tentative step forward and reach out to lay my hand on his upper thigh. Behind his hands, he growls ferociously, like a hell beast.

  “Big?” I ignore his growl and rub lightly along his thigh, trying to draw his attention. “You alright?” I speak softly. Big grumbles something unintelligible under his breath.

  Swallowing hard and pulling up my big girl panties, I move closer, so my belly brushes his leg. Keeping my hand on his thigh, I use the other and wrap my fingers around his blood speckled forearm to try and pry his hand from his face. His skin is cool to the touch and smells like sweat, stagnate blood, leather, and the outdoors. It’s not the best smell, but it’s him smelling that way and that’s all that matters.

  “What’s wrong?” I soothe, gently pulling his thick forearm. He allows me to peel his left hand from his face.

  Oh dear god! My thro
at seizes and tears instantly spring to my eyes. My stomach tightens at the sight and I have to bite my tongue not to cry out. His face! My Big’s face has been mauled! Lots of cuts that look like claw marks are jaggedly running down his cheek. They’ve scabbed over with chunky smatterings of blood. They’re fresh, no more than a day or so old.

  Big keeps his eyes downcast, aloof. It is like he’s not even here. It’s like he’s somewhere else entirely. Some place far, far away as his eyes stare blankly at the tank of his bike. His arm goes slack in my grasp, and I lay it in his lap so I can reach for his haunted, desolate face. This man sitting here on this bike is not my Big. This is not the asshole I know and love. This man is broken. This man has been torn apart and is only a portion of the man that left me a little over a week ago.

  Moving to his other hand, I peel it from his face, and he doesn’t fight it. I set his hand in his lap and cup his jaw with both of my hands, holding his weighted head so it doesn’t fall forward. Inspecting his other cheek, it’s marred with similar claw marks, only they appear to be superficial in this light. Thank fuck.

  “Big, honey, what’s wrong?” For god’s sake, I am trying to reach out to him but he’s not even in there. What the hell happened? Why won’t he talk to me? What did I do? What did he do? Why is he just sitting there dead on the bike? His breathing is normal, which is good I suppose. His eyes are blank. Lifeless. It’s like his soul has already left, and all I have is this shell of a man to love. I’ll take it, if that’s all he’s going to give me, to give us. I’ll take it, even if I hate it.

  Where is my asshole control freak? Why isn’t he hugging me? Why isn’t he even speaking?

  Swallowing hard, tears I can’t control roll freely down my cheeks. I do nothing to stop them as I watch my empty man through blurry vision. Someone turns off the bike, and the world around me fazes out. All I can do is focus on him. His face, the lost look in his eyes, the way his body remains eerily still.

  I need to fix him. I have to make him okay. He would do it for me.

  A warm hand lands on my shoulder. “Baby Doll, let’s get him inside and clean him up.” It’s Gunz who’s trying to help. Of course Gunz is. Gunz is always there to fix everything. But I don’t think he is going to be able to fix this.

  As each second passes, my heart cracks a little more watching Big fade away. Feeling like he’s lost to me forever. I don’t know why I feel this way but I do. It’s like a sixth sense that I can feel rotting in the pit of my stomach as it tumbles with great uncertainty. Something feels very off about all of this. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, somehow cementing my heightened level of trepidation.

  Gunz reaches around me and detaches my hands from Big. I let him. He wraps me in his arms, my back to his front, his lips pressing kisses to the back of my head. Being held in the comfort of his arms does nothing to lessen my internal ache. I feel like I’m dying inside right along with Big. Where he goes, I’ll follow. We are in this together to the bitter end. I just hope he realizes that.

  Standing to the wayside, I watch in slow agonizing motion as brothers surround Big and physically remove him from his bike. It’s no easy task, as they have to hold on to the bike while others lift him. Once they’ve finished, he stands on his own next to his bike but doesn’t talk, doesn’t move, his shoulders slump, chin drops to his chest, and his eyes remain downcast.

  Tripper and Dallas, along with my daddy, help guide Big to the clubhouse. His feet shuffle lifelessly each step of the way.

  “What happened?” I whisper to Gunz, watching the man I love disappear through the clubhouse doors, taking my bleeding heart with him.

  “I don’t know. We all got texts that said I represent all the sins you never had the courage to commit,” Gunz explains, his beard scratching the side of my neck.

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “Gypsy said it’s a quote from Oscar Wilde.”

  Of course Gypsy said it was. He would be the first to know that. But what does it mean?

  “Do you understand the quote?” I mutter.

  Moving his hands down to rub my belly in circles, Gunz replies, “No, but if I had to guess, it’s not good.”

  That would be my guess too.

  After all the brothers file back in the clubhouse, Gunz releases me, and we follow them inside. I know where the men were taking Big, and I don’t waste a second to make my way there.

  In Big’s clubhouse bedroom, Tripper and Dallas sigh in obvious relief when they see me. They’re standing in Big’s attached bathroom, attempting and failing at undressing him. His bloodied jeans have been dropped and are now pooling at his ankles, over his dirty boots, belt still threaded through the loops. They somehow managed to have already removed his cut, and it’s now lying over the lip of the sink.

  “We need to get the blood washed off,” Tripper explains, and I nod moving from the bedroom toward the bath.

  I maneuver around Big who takes up a large portion of the bathroom and crowd around Dallas. This bathroom isn’t big enough for all of us to move about freely, not with Big standing smack dab in the center, looking even worse now that he’s in the light.

  His eyes, which I hadn’t noticed in the darkened outdoors, look like he hasn’t slept in a week. They’re sunken and darkly circled. His skin doesn’t even look a normal. It’s dirty and discolored; his year-round tan is somehow gone, along with the light that was inside him.

  Dallas moves as close to Tripper as he can, so I can come toe-to-toe with Big. Pretty sure he doesn’t even notice I’m here. And he if does, he isn’t showing it.

  I rub my hands from his shoulders down his arms. His skin is ice-cold. “Babe, can you please help us take off your boots and jeans? We need to get you warmed up and in the shower,” I explain gently, lovingly, soothingly. I try to hide all other emotions except for the immense amount of love that seems to fuel me and push all my anger and pain to the side. I have to fix this now so we can handle the other shit later. There damn well better be a later; this can’t be permanent.

  I stop rubbing at his wrists and curl my fingers around them. I step closer until our daughter is brushing against him. Maybe if I can’t awaken some part of him, she can. Lifting his loose arms by his wrists, I move them to my belly and place his palms flat on top. I hold them there. “Big, that’s our daughter, babe. You gotta snap outta whatever it is that’s goin’ on inside that head of yours so you can feel her.” I watch his face, checking for some sort of recognition, a twitch, a movement, anything. But there’s nothing. Nothing but a blank face, tired eyes, and blood smattered cheeks.

  My heart fractures a little more. I bite my lip to reign in the overpowering emotions.

  Moving his hands back to his sides, having given up on our daughter registering to him, I take a step back.

  “Okay, let’s get him undressed,” I explain to the brothers, who have respectfully stayed quiet this entire time. I know they’re watching me. Like the rest of the family, they’re probably waiting for me to lose it. I’m not going to do that. Not now. Not until he’s back to normal, so he can pick me back up when I crumble. Until then I will lock it away. I can do it. I must do it for him.

  Knowing that in my current state of hugeness I can’t maneuver Big properly without worrying about hurting myself or worse, Harley, so I swallow my pride and take a step to the side. Tripper and Dallas move front and center to undress Big. It takes a while for Dallas to lift Big’s heavy leg and for Tripper to remove his boot and his pant leg. When they get to his shirt, which is practically ruined, they don’t even try to take it off. Tripper pulls out a pocket knife and slices from the back of the neck down, then he moves to the front and does the same thing, leaving the shirt in two halves. They pull those halves down Big’s arms and let them fall to the floor.

  Leaving him in only his boxers, they look to me and to the boxers, silently asking what they should do with them.

  “Haven’t ya’ll seen him nude before?” I raise a brow at them bot
h.

  They both nod in return and proceed to cut off his boxers. Once they’ve discarded them, Tripper places the knife back in his pocket.

  “I’m gonna get into the shower with him.” I explain, eyeing the door.

  Both of their brows shoot up simultaneously. “You sure you should do that?” Dallas questions.

  “Yeah, uhh…I dunno if that’s wise,” Tripper adds.

  I place my hand on my hip, staring them down. “Thank you for removing his clothes. But I’ve got it from here….”

  Not finished, I swing my finger pointing from one to the other, “If either of you went through this, your old ladies would see to it that they cared for you. I’m not worried about him hurtin’ me if that’s what you’re insinuating. I tame the beast, remember?”

  Dallas and Tripper look at each other, then to me, and they nod, “Alright, Bink, but we’re gonna stay in his room just to be safe,” Tripper agrees.

  I can accept that.

  Shooing them from the bathroom with my hands, I shut the door, but I don’t lock it just as a precaution.

  Moving around Big, I turn on the water and wait for the temperature to acclimate. While I do I remove my own clothes and lay them in a pile on the floor. Then I return to Big and grab his hand, tugging him toward the shower. At first he doesn’t budge but after a few good tugs, he gets with the program and shuffles his feet to the edge of the bath.

  “You gotta step in big guy. I can’t lift you. You weight too much.” I pull his hand forward indicating to the shower. Something in his brain must register because he lifts his left leg and steps into the tub, then he does the same with the right.

  I do a small victory dance on the inside.

  Turning on the spray, it fleetingly hits him cold first, but he doesn’t flinch. I find this sad. Most people would make at least some sort of sound or facial expression at being temporarily doused with cold water. He doesn’t.

  My face falls. So much for the small victory.