MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vols 1-5 Complete Series Set Page 7

  “Candy Cane called, said she knew you’d be in early, and we didn’t want you to go at it alone. Plus, she and I had our old men to wake up. They crashed here last night after they drank themselves into liver failure.” Debbie chuckles, and I shake my head. I can never understand how they put up with their old men’s nonsense. It’s like looking after a rebellious child. Except with children you hope they grow out of it. With their old men, they’re stuck with the same shit different day. Even though out of all the brothers in the club, Dallas and Tripper are of the milder variety that I just so happen to love and enjoy spending time with.

  “I didn’t look. Do we have straggling club whores out there to scrape up off the floor?” I sarcastically inquire, as I find my way around the kitchen and begin to run down my mental to-do list for today.

  “I’ll go check, ma’am,” the young prospect says, standing up straight, with his hands by his sides, appearing to be completely out of place.

  “First, buddy.” I round the corner of the island to walk over to him and firmly pat him on the shoulder. “Loosen up. I am no ma’am to you, I’m just Bink.”

  “Yes, ma…Bink,” he stutters, which I can’t help but smile at. I am making him uncomfortable. In a strange way, I find that empowering.

  “Do you know who I am?” I ask.

  “Yes. You’re an old lady of the club and the VP’s daughter.”

  I shake my head, cocking it to the side as I look him in the face, flashing my if-you-only-knew expression. “I’m not an old lady. I have no man. I’m just Bink, and that’s Debbie.” I point across the kitchen to the woman with long, curly brown hair, oversized fake boobs, and a tall, thin-as-a-rail body. She turns and flashes him a faint smile, raising her hand in greeting before returning to whatever it is she’s doing in a bottom cupboard. He nervously waves back, quickly returning to his militant stance.

  “This is Candy Cane.” I reach out and grab her forearm, tugging her towards me until our hips bump and she laughs like a kid. Reflexively, I throw my arm over her shoulder, and she does the same. “Do you remember her?”

  He nods with a bit of hesitation, looking back and forth between the two of us. “I’ve met Tripper’s old lady a few times.”

  This boy is one meek prospect, and if he plans to be patched in, I sure as hell hope he toughens up. There’s no room around here for softies.

  “That’s good—” The door to the kitchen opens, breaking my train of thought and I turn, my eyes instantly widening and the fury I didn’t know I still possess, surfaces.

  You have got to be fucking kidding me!

  Candy Cane takes a step in front of me as I reel in the need to eat this stupid fucking bitch alive! She stops in her tracks as she notices me, and we lock eyes. A cocky smirk curls from the corners of her puffy, reddened lips. What a whore! I am going to kill her. I take a step forward, and Candy Cane holds me in place with the palm of her hand, pressed between my breasts.

  “Leave,” Candy Cane snarls over her shoulder, scowling at the woman I didn’t realize I loathe as much as I do.

  The door to the kitchen opens again, and the giant asshole himself strolls in, shirtless. I grimace at the sight of him, and the boiling hatred in my veins becomes venomous as I catch a true smile on his face.

  He’s smiling! The bastard is smiling! Ugh! I hate him so much!

  Once he realizes what’s happening and that I’m standing here, my hands balled into tight fists at my sides, grinding my teeth to near pain, staring daggers at the evil Linda herself, his smile fades, and a readable expression of remorse replaces it. I can’t speak; I just glare through tiny slits that shrink in size, the angrier I become.

  Candy Cane, with one hand pressed to me, has her head turned over her shoulder. “Big.” She gives him a warning tone. “You better make her leave, you know—”

  Candy Cane is cut off when the door opens again, and Gunz in blue pajama pants and sleepy eyes strolls drearily into the kitchen. Glancing around for a few agonizing moments that feel like years, he assesses the situation.

  “Ah…fuck…it’s five in the morning. I ain’t got time for this shit.” Gunz digs into his pocket and retrieves a sucker, peels off the wrapper, and pops it into his mouth. Turning to his Prez, he shakes his head in disgust as his eyes flicker to Linda and back to Big.

  “This is some fucked up shit,” Gunz continues shaking his head.

  The tension in the air thickens, the longer I glare at Linda, and she glares back at me.

  “Let’s settle this outside,” I demand in a harsh growl through clenched teeth. “You are in my motherfucking club.”

  “Sucking your president’s big cock,” Linda replies dryly, with a triumphant smile spread wide across her face, as an unbidden flicker of erotic fulfillment sparks in her eyes.

  Oooooo, I am so gonna murder her!

  Reaching over to the island, I grab my purse.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Gunz quickly yanks it from my hands, and I briefly break my stare on my nemesis to turn and frown at Gunz.

  “Give it back,” I demand.

  “No. Not when I know you have your gun in there.” He straps my leather purse over his shoulder. “Prez are you gonna stop staring at this shit and do somethin’?” Now Gunz is full on annoyed. Welcome to the club.

  Big looks awestruck, like he’s torn at what to do. Or maybe he didn’t think I’d find out she was here. I can’t believe he brought her back to this place. Lying to me is the biggest kind of betrayal. After the fight with her years ago, he promised she’d never be allowed back at the club. Now here she is, red-lipped, with just-fucked hair, and a skimpy little outfit. Did I mention Linda and I are the same age? That we went to school together? That she became a club whore right out of high school? That Big and her have been fuck buddies for almost ten years as she tries to claw her way into his life to become his old lady. How she’s never liked me, even when I tried to be friends with her. Even when I took her aside early on to tell her, she was wasting her time with Big. That he has never taken an interest in claiming an old lady, and that it would only end in heartbreak for her. She shoulda listened.

  “Yo, Prez?” Gunz stomps his bare foot on the tiled floor, standing next to me. It’s like he and Candy Cane are the impenetrable barricade between Big and me and his slutty club bitch.

  The group of us all look to him, all of us except Debbie, who is minding her own business, getting ready for the party. Big Dick blinks rapidly, staring into space and shakes his head as if he’s clearing it from his own thoughts.

  “I’m—” Big locks eyes with me for a moment, and drops his chin to his chest. “Linda, you gotta roll out.” His tone is deep and laced with a hardened sadness.

  Immediately, she screeches “What?!” at ear piercing levels, whipping around to face him.

  The air in the room suddenly changes as Big’s demeanor flips like a light switch and shifts into a chilling level of unsullied wrath. His jaw locks like a vice, and he stands tall, shoulders back, his chest jutting outward like a Greek God. His arm muscles bulge, turning to smooth marble under soft tattooed flesh, as his abs contract and his nostrils flare with red-hot fury.

  “You fuckin’ heard what I said, bitch,” he growls like a demented animal, and I nearly smile at how he’s talking to her. Serves her right.

  “But?” Now it’s her turn to sound sad, nearly fragile.

  “But, what? I should have never brought you here.” He glances at me and back to her, and I feel myself instantly relax. All my tension melting into a puddle at my feet.

  “But you did! You called me! You asked me to come here. You picked me up. You are the one who fucked me in your truck and shoved your cock down my throat. What in the hell am I to do? I’ve been your plaything for ten years! Ten years, Big! I haven’t slept with anyone but you in ten fucking years. I’ve waited around for your calls. I’ve done everything I’m supposed to. Why can’t you see that? Why won’t you claim me?” She points to her chest. I can feel the resentment
and grief pouring out of her soul. I almost feel sorry for the dumbass, almost.

  “We are not discussing this again,” he orders.

  She flips her black hair over her shoulder with attitude and pointedly stares right at me. “Why? Because that’s the cunt you want and can’t have? Is that why I’m not good enough? Because of that stupid bitch?” She seethes in my direction, rockets of hatred shooting from her shit-brown eyes.

  A massive hand shoots forward, clamping around her throat and Big yanks her off the ground with ease. Leveling them eye-to-eye, choking off her air supply as she frantically tries to scratch at his hands. “Don’t you ever. Ever. Fucking refer to Bink as a bitch. I’m the only one who gets to call her that. We clear?”

  She barely nods her response, as she garbles out a string of noiseless words, and manic tears break free of her eyes.

  “Good.” Big drops her to the ground like a piece of garbage, and she begins to openly weep, curling herself into a ball like a wounded animal. The sounds of her stricken cries echo in the kitchen and filter beyond its confines as they gain in intensity.

  Gunz’s arm comes to lazily rest over my shoulder, as he leans in to whisper in my ear. “See, no murder needed. Big just needed to get this shit over with. Shoulda happened a long time ago.”

  Just like that things end. No more arguments or further discussion. Big nods to Gunz and leaves the room, barely sparing a glance my way. Candy Cane grabs hold of my hand, and we start on our jobs to ready the place for a huge party. And Gunz, along with a stunned prospect, escort Linda away. What a morning. There’s never a dull moment in the land of the Sacred Sinners. I’m just glad my brothers and daddy aren’t home. If they’re gone, it means my mother will stay home for this shindig. I don’t think I could handle seeing her and Linda all on the same day. As of right now, it’s a toss-up on which female I dislike more, and frankly I don’t want to find out. Not today.

  It’s been hours that we’ve spent setting up and cooking. I’ve browned over ten pounds of hamburger for sloppy joes and added it one of our oversized crockpots to serve from. I’ve chopped up huge blocks of cheese to snack on and made one of the biggest cheeseballs known to mankind using eight blocks of cream cheese. Tiring days like today would go a hundred times faster if we had the extra hands to help. There are plenty of men in the club, but almost none of them have claimed an old lady. Sure, the grounds are scattered with old ladies from some of the outside chapters who are riding in, but those old ladies aren’t expected to help. This is our job as hosts. But our chapter only has four of us. Lindy Sue has never been a model old lady, which leaves us short-handed. Sometimes I wish I could call upon some of the club whores to assist; however, they’re only allowed to participate if children aren’t present. I understand that rule, and I abide by it, but it’s days like today that I hate it with a passion.

  Six of the long, garage sale tables (or that’s what I call them) are lined up on the grass out back. Candy Cane, Debbie, and I have been taking trips in and out of the clubhouse for the past twenty minutes organizing food, paper plates, napkins, and utensils on them. The loud sounds of Harleys fill the air as members pull through the gates or ride up to the clubhouse from the houses at the back of the compound. They are signaling the start of our noon-to-noon party. It will commence at noon and end the following day at noon. Another one of those pesky club traditions that we try to accommodate. Booze and pussy are the two biggest staples of the event. Or any of our events, for that matter.

  Walking out of the back door one final time, I carry the bowl of the freshly diced strawberries, mixed with angel food cake and whipped cream in my arms. Setting it on the table in the dessert section, next to a container of my famous cookies, I take a few steps back and rest against the ten-foot retaining wall that surrounds the entire compound. Dancing my eyes over the party, I take in the scenery. Weather-worn picnic tables are strewn across the plush green lawn filled with men drinking beer and women wearing ‘property of’ cuts, talking amongst themselves. Music from the outdoor speakers pours the sounds of Lynyrd Skynyrd into the air. A horseshoe pit keeps some of the incoming bikers happy, as the MC brats run across the road to check out the dog kennels and play on the jungle gym. Dallas, Debbie’s old man, has migrated there along with their two children, as he shows off his prized dogs to a much larger audience than he’s accustomed to.

  Big is making his usual rounds, shootin’ the shit with fellow brothers, with a bottle of Bud clutched in his hand. He’s changed clothes since this morning, now wearing his colors, a plain white t-shirt, jeans, boots and the infamous belt that only the S.S.M.C committee members proudly wear. A tradition handed down since before I was born. Belts made of two motorcycle chains welded together and fastened with a bold S.S buckle. Custom made not only to exhibit status but to wield as a deadly weapon should the need arise. Once, when I was in middle school, I witnessed firsthand the brutality one of those belts can unleash. A now, former brother who shall remain nameless was taken out back by the kennels and beaten for sleeping with a member’s old lady. Breaking code is a crime punishable by club law. I can’t be sure who performed the punishment, but I saw the aftermath. I watched through the bullet-proof glass of the club’s front doors as two brothers dragged him, limp and bloodied through the parking lot and front gate where they left him lying face down on the asphalt for the ambulance to arrive. The ambulance came and went, and no one inside the club even batted an eyelash as they sat at the bar and drank, whilst Blimp ate a skanky club whore’s pussy on the edge of the pool table and another club whore sucked his dick through the front zipper of his heavily worn leathers.

  “Is that it?” I ask Debbie, gesturing with my hand to the buffet of food lain before us, trying to keep my mind away from the darker parts of my club memories and in the present on the lighter, happier moments that mean so much to us all. Until tonight, when the naughty, dirtier parts come out in full force after the kids go home, some of the old ladies retire, and the club whores arrive by the masses.

  Her head nods a moment, her eyes wandering the length of the tables. “Yep, I think that about does it.” Turning partway around to face the crowd, raising her hands in the air, she yells, “Quiet,” and claps her hands over her head as the black t-shirt she’s wearing rides up, showing off her midriff and offering a full view of Dallas’s name intricately tattooed across her hips.

  Respectfully the crowd goes dead silent, and I walk around the tables to stand beside her. Candy Cane shuffles herself across the lawn, away from her old man to join us.

  “The girls and I have prepared this meal for you all today,” Debbie announces, as Candy Cane sweeps her hands like Vanna White toward the tables. I crack an amused smirk at her showmanship. “Would you like to say anything, Big Dick?” Debbie adds.

  Across the grass, Big proudly stands tall and weaves through of a group of bikers. Coming to a halt out in the open he becomes the center of attention as the most important man at a party that has well over forty people in attendance.

  “There are three kinds of old ladies,” Big starts, “ones who lie flat on their backs, ones who can’t shut their traps, and ones that kick fucking ass. These women here…” He points to the three of us. “Kick the biggest kind of fuckin’ ass. They’ve spent all day long working their fingers to the bone to give us a meal fit for leathered kings.” The crowd grunts in response, “Making me, their president, proud as hell to have them part of the club.”

  Inclining his head toward the women seated at the picnic tables, he adds, “An inspiration that all of you old ladies need to take notice of and learn from. They are the Sacred Sisters round these here parts, a club within a club. Oftentimes, they’re the softest parts of us hardheaded bikers.” His intense ice-blue eyes sweep across the group and pin me, temporarily startling me and forcing me to unconsciously hold my breath. “And for that, I say cheers; cheers to the Sacred Sinners MC and the kindhearted women who take our shit.”

  A sea of beer bottles and red Solo
cups are raised into the air, as the group collectively cheers a ‘here, here’ and take a hardy drink.

  “Now, it’s time to eat,” Big declares, striding over to the brick wall and tossing his empty beer bottle into the blue barrel used for trash. Next to it rests a cooler that he digs into and pulls out another Bud. Twisting off the top, he flicks the bottle cap into the trash like a pro.

  A line is quick to form at the start of the tables. I watch Debbie and Candy Cane join me in scanning the tables thoroughly with our eyes, making sure that it’s all set up systematically perfect, as we had intended. As the first set of people file back into the yard with plates full of food, my anxiety begins to recede. Today has gone smoothly except for Linda’s interruption, which is something I haven’t given a second thought to until now. I’ve been too occupied to have a chance, or maybe I’m avoiding it. I seem to be doing that a lot lately, or maybe that’s just part of who I am - an avoider. First my mother, then Pretzel, and now this, among a thousand other unexplored examples. Note to self: avoidance - a character flaw, something to consider looking into further.

  Once the line becomes devoid of people and the food has been picked through to the bare bones, I finally take a plate and serve myself. Tonight, the second portion of our daily prep work will come in handy when we refill the tables for dinner. The less we have left, the less we will have to pack away. Even if I feel like the runt, fending to grab scraps after all the bigger dogs have eaten.

  Walking through the grass by myself, I stop next to one of the club’s smoldering fire pits and stand, picking through my food with my fingers and popping little pieces of sustenance into my mouth. Surrounding me is a group of out of town brothers sucking back beers and talking. Three women sit at the nearest picnic table, staring at the group of men. All three of them sit in statuesque silence.

  My shoulder is bumped from behind at the same time a hand slides across my ass, giving it a slight pat. Instinctively my spine goes rigid. A gorgeous man I’ve never spotted before stops beside me, his warm hand drawing circles on my ass cheek. His smile is contagious, even if he is groping me in the most inappropriate of ways. I find myself smiling back at him, nervously chewing through a carrot.