The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 3 (MC Chronicles #3) (19 page)

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.

Glancing around the room taking in surroundings, the urge to call out surfaces just in case it is the brothers. I think better of it, dismissing the thought entirely. I don’t want to draw attention to myself just in case someone else is out there, someone far worse than my cunt of a mother.

Heavy footsteps near my door, and a key is inserted into the lock from the outside. Dammit, I have nowhere to hide. I grab my covers and anxiously ball them at my chest, waiting as my heartbeat rushes through my ears and my hands slicken with sweat.

A second later, the door is thrown open by a red-faced Malcolm, with sweat beaded on the brow of his detached face. He takes a step forward, filling the doorframe like a normal man does, not like Big. “Come on,” he orders waving me forward. “Let’s go.”

What!?
Go where? What the hell?

“What?” I question warily.

“Your mother just got done talkin’ to your brother Brock.”

Tilting my head to the side and assessing Malcolm, I ask, “Brew?”

“Is that what you call him?” Reaching his hands above his head, he grips the top of the doorframe, flexing his corded muscles. His eyes never leave mine as I remain seated on the bed.

Nervously chewing my lip, I nod, “Yes.”

“Then yes, Brew,” he pauses to take a deep breath and cracks his neck from side to side.

The need to yell at him and make him tell me what the fuck is going on claws at my insides. I stomp the bubbling need and continue to chew my lip, whist pulling at the blanket to relieve a bit of tension. I’ve got to calm the hell down. I’m too jumpy.

It feels like forever once he finally speaks again. “Your mother set up an exchange,” he breathes deep again, catching his breath.

‘
Come on, Malcolm spit it out
!’ I want to scream in frustration.

Instead, I prod impatiently, “And…” my attitude comes out in spades, even if I wish it wouldn’t. Doesn’t he see I’m freaking out here? My hands are clawing at a blanket for Christ sake, and if I don’t stop chewing this lip of mine, it’s going to bleed, or worse, fall off. I realize he’s sweating and catching his breath like he just went on a five-mile hike through the Appalachians, but I’m a nervous fucking wreck. I don’t like being near my mother in any capacity and waking up to that kind of noise has my mind churning. This is killing me.

“And…” he drawls, smirking at me like my impatience is adorable.
Men…
“They were supposed to meet at your hotel in two days,” he replies.

“Were?” I eye him questionably.

His cute smirk widens to a full smile and his eyes glitter. “That was until I decided that your mother ain’t gonna fuck me over no more,” he drops his hand and gestures to the bed. “And I sure as fuck don’t wanna end up dead. So after she got off the phone, I knocked her out and tied her to one of the kitchen chairs.”

He did what? Knocked the Cunt out? That’s the best damn news I’ve heard in months! Still doesn’t tell me what the hell he has planned for me though. I’m not letting go of this blanket till he does.

“Now,” he winks, still smiling. “Get that pitiful look off your face, Sweetheart, and quit chewin’ that doggone lip. You’re liable to make it sore,” he insists lightly, using his deep southern accent to hug each word and by doing so somehow lessening my tension. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was harboring and smirk, my teeth still trapping the corner of my lip.

Eyeing my lip, he rises a brow while inclining his head toward me, silently gesturing to my mouth. I take the hint and release my lip. The relief is instant, and my lip throbs its thanks.

“That’s better. Now come on,” Malcolm waves me forward again as he turns to leave.

I frown at this back, “Why?”

“’Cause I’m gonna take ya home,” he states glancing over his shoulder.

“Like, home-home? No ransom needed home?” It’s impossible to withhold my skepticism when it oozes out of every word.

“Yep,” he nods, “compound home. You’re just gonna have to tell me how to get there. And we can’t call ‘em or they might kill me as soon as we pull in.”

“What? I have to call them. The compound is gated, and if you show up without me talkin’ to them, they’ll shoot first and ask questions later,” I explain, because it’s the damn truth. White Boy mans the gate, and there is no way he would let a threat through the gates. Especially of the male variety.

“Alright,” he sighs, speaking to me over his shoulder. “Good point. You can call ‘em on my cell once we get close.”

That’s good enough for me.

Climbing off the bed, I do a quick stretch and follow Malcolm out of the room with my eyes peeled. You can never be too careful. I want to trust him, I really do, but I’m not sure if I can. My gut says yes; however, in my head, there’s a flashing yellow light — caution.

Malcolm strolls with that sexy gait through the tiny cabin. We pass the makeshift kitchen on our way to the door. I catch a brief glimpse of my mother expertly tied to a chair, head hung low, eyes averted. She’s out for the count. Not wanting to pause and examine her further, I quicken my pace and follow Malcolm out of the creaky front door and into the dusk fallen wilderness.

Malcolm trots down the front steps and crunches his way across the long gravel driveway to the white van. Looking down at my sock clad feet, I frown. There is no damn way I can walk that far on these sharp rocks. It’ll kill my feet, and those assholes stole my fucking shoes.

Peering over his shoulder, Malcolm finds me planted on the rickety bottom step and shoots me a curious stare. “Are ya comin’?” he asks, with the sweep of his hand toward the van.

Nodding, I glance down at my feet and point to them, wiggling my toes, “No shoes and too many rocks.”

He nods as if understanding. “I’ll pull up so ya can get in,” he replies, walks the last few feet to the van, climbs in the driver’s seat, and pulls the van closer. I’m only forced to walk ten feet into the sharp rocks that relentlessly stab me the entire way.

Opening the passenger door and placing one foot on the edge of the floorboard, I grab the oh-shit handle and pull myself into the cab.

“Sorry about that,” he apologizes, as I get seated and strap on my safety belt, which takes some effort to get remotely comfortable.

“No worries,” I reply.

Driving, Malcolm navigates down an overgrown tree lined gravel path. The van jerks at every slight turn and turbulently sways when we hit uneven terrain, which happens to be about every thirty seconds or so. If I didn’t want to get out of here so badly, I might complain about the travel conditions. It feels amazing to be free.

Keeping my eyes forward on the horizon and not the blur of greenery helps keep me from becoming nauseous. I keep my left hand curled around my belly for support, as I hold the oh-shit handle with the other.

Damn this road is rocky as fuck!

Just as I think we’ve hit a clearing of smooth terrain, the left rear tire goes off course falling into a pit. I hold on for dear life, whilst clenching my jaw to keep from cussing up a damn storm. Malcolm seems unfazed when he revs the engine of the cargo van just a bit harder to propel us out of the rut. We break loose of the hole and lurch forward, as my chin bounces off my chest. I let out a hmph, holding onto the handle until my knuckles ache and my forearms burn.
Fuck.

This’ll all be over soon.
I give myself a pathetic pep talk to keep from screaming at the driver for his
Fast and Furious
stunt moves, van edition. Malcolm seems pleased with himself as he begins to hum, ignoring me in the passenger seat. I am about one second away from reaching over and strangling him to death. If I wasn’t pregnant and felt like I was about to go into labor any second, I might actually enjoy his little devil-may-care driving. Right now though, I hate him and his stupid little van too.

The sun is nearly set by the time we hit a paved two way road out in BFE. I want to jump for joy from the immediate relief on my ass and hands, as I finally pry my fingers loose from the handle. Slouching back into the seat, I let out a long sigh before revealing the address to the compound. Malcolm plugs it into the onboard GPS, and instantly the annoying woman’s voice starts barking directions.

One step closer to home! Hell yes!

Twenty miles from the clubhouse, Malcolm hands me his cell, and I dial the only halfway sane person I can think to call—Deke. Dialing then placing the phone to my ear, it rings twice before he answers.

“Hello.”

“Deke, it’s—” I barely make out when he cuts me off.

“Bink!” Deke shouts over me. “Where are you?! Are ya whole? I’m gonna gut that sick bitch! Have ya been hurt? Is the babes alright?” he questions speedily in one continuous breath, which makes me smile and my heart warm. It feels great to hear his voice.

“Deke, calm down.” I know I sound amused. He’s just too damn cute talking that fast.

“Are you laughin’ at me?” He doesn’t sound pleased.

Unable to swallow my chuckle, it just sorta pops out. I cover my mouth to keep from breaking into full laughter. Malcolm shakes his head and grins but says nothing.

“You are!” He’s offended. “Does that mean you’re alright?”

“Yes, I’m good. I need you to do me a favor.”

“Anything,” he blurts sincerely.

“There’s a man here. His name’s Malcolm, and he’s bringin’ me home.”

“When?” he interrupts.

“I should be there in about half an hour. That should give you plenty of time to warn everyone and tell ‘em to stand down. Malcolm isn’t to be hurt,” I explain in my best biker bitch don’t-fuck-with-me tone.