Yucking it up, the man shrugs up a single, innocent shoulder. “You wanted me to marry you. I’m marryin’ you.” Big’s long, brown eyelashes flutter, ever full of shit.

  Havin’ the best time, Kit’s lips smash together to keep from laughing. Those eyes dance in absolute delight at how much of a mockery this has become.

  Looking up to the heavens for a bit of divine intervention, I shake my head, ready and willing to kick Big’s ass. I didn’t want him to marry us. Bink did. She set this up. This was her livin’ out some girlish fantasy where Big would do the proper, adult thing, like I would have done, had this been their wedding and I was marrying them. Only Big and I are two sides of the same coin. His side—the ass side. If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck. He isn’t somehow gonna wake up one day a different man.

  Tamping down my irritation, I follow along with Big’s instructions and remove Kit’s ring from my pinkie. The square, red ruby center and halo of diamonds around it suits her. Sliding it up her finger, it fits as it should.

  She gapes at the ring, her finger moving around like women do when they wanna see it sparkle… and sparkle it does. “Erik, it’s beautiful.”

  The tight spot in the center of my chest unravels a bit, knowing I did good.

  “Like you,” I remind.

  As Kit’s gaze lifts from admiring her ring to my face, those expressive eyes and mouth round in horror. “I… I didn’t get you—”

  Before she can say another word, I cut her off at the pass. “I told you I handled it.” And I did. After the ceremony, we will handle my ring.

  “Okay. You’re sure?” She worries her bottom lip, and her nose wrinkles adorably with unnecessary concern.

  “Yes, love. I’m sure.” To ease her conscience about this not workin’ like normal weddings do, with the customary exchange of the rings, I slide my SS ring off, turn her hand over, and drop the heavy metal into her palm to slide on for me. She does so, repeating whatever Big says. It doesn’t fit my left finger like it should, since it wasn’t meant for that digit, but it’s enough of a replacement to relieve her distress.

  “And now, by the power vested in me, the Sacred Sinners National President, I pronounce you, ball and chain. You may kiss your old lady.” In spectacular fashion, Big bows at the waist, his muscled arms spread wide.

  The crowd stands from their seats. Brothers and sisters alike whoop and holler like they do, as I take my woman’s mouth in a brutal, soul-crushing kiss. Tongues collide, and my anxiety fades to dust in the wind as I claim what’s officially mine. Palming the back of Kit’s neck, I dip her over my leg, like I’ve seen men do in the movies we watch. My woman gasps in audible shock, gripping my cut for balance. I smile wickedly against her lips, knowin’ I’ve got her and would never let her fall. To prove as much, I growl against her mouth before pushing back inside once more. Aching to slide my hand up her silky thigh, into the heat meant for me, I grip her ass instead, as hard as I take that mouth, and she moans. My dick relishes the sound, knowin’ damn well it won’t be long before he slides inside what’s ours.

  Before that can happen, I must give myself to her fully and make this final, as real Sacred Sinners do. Our way. Since the beginning.

  Righting Kit on two feet, I tuck her against my side as we both return to reality. She blinks up at me dreamily. I lean down to kiss the tip of her nose. “You’re the most beautiful woman,” I rasp.

  Nibbling her swollen bottom lip, Kit’s shyness bubbles to the surface at my declaration. Fuck if I don’t love the softness. The innocence.

  Debbie taps me on the shoulder. “Gunz.”

  Step one—marry my woman.

  Done.

  Step two—her property cut.

  Turning around, I accept the new leather from Debbie, knowin’ it’s perfect without havin’ to examine it. Brothers who choose to claim a woman give their old ladies cuts to show who owns them. Not only for their safety, so other men and clubs see who they’re claimed by, but also as a sign of respect. A declaration. A promise. Sure, some assholes who patch their women don’t stay faithful, but the lot of us who respect the ones we love, do.

  Knowin’ what this signifies, Kit turns to and faces the crowd. In slides one arm and the other before I glide the cut onto her shoulders. Stitched on the back is the SS patch and the words I’ve longed to see there—Property of Gunz. When she spins back around, tears glitter like diamonds in her gaze. A single nomad drips down the crease of her nose, as she caresses the name patch stitched into her chest—Kit—the name I bestowed her all those years ago.

  “I don’t even know what it means,” she whispers, clearly feelin’ a little out of her depth.

  Stepping up to Kit, I caress her jaw, then the name patch, where I trace each letter with the tip of my finger. “Do you remember the Kit Kat bar commercials in the ’90s?” I ask.

  Thinking for a beat, Kit frowns in concentration before her eyes widen when realization hits. “Break me…”

  “Off a piece of that Kit Kat bar,” I finish for her, smiling like a goddamn lunatic because, yeah, I saw her at the bar, all sweet, dark-haired, and innocent, gettin’ hit on by that low-rank biker, and I thought to myself, break me off a piece of that. When we came together, literally, it stuck. I was younger then. Sue me.

  “I’m named after a candy bar.” She blinks in shock, fingering the patch on her cut.

  Not wanting to upset my lady by making a joke, I smother a chuckle. “Yeah, love. You are.”

  Looking up at me, Kit’s smokey gaze narrows, full of piss and vinegar. It’s cute. Far too cute for that face. “And you’re tellin’ me on our weddin’ day?”

  “Technically, I’m tellin’ ya after we’re married. But yeah.” I shrug, not sure what else she expects me to say, given the circumstance.

  “A candy bar.” There goes that overthinking brain of hers again, dissecting the name, why she got it, and how she never knew. I recognize that introspective, Imma-start-shit look. It takes hold far more than I’d like. Then again, I wouldn’t change her for the world.

  Still standin’ beside us, Big snickers. Rockin’ the smallest of grins, I shoot him a fake death glare, not wanting him to open his mouth and fuck this up. She’s gotta process. Had she asked sooner, I would have told her. It never came up.

  Watching the entire revelation play out, Bink sidles up to us, fake punches her man in the gut, and bumps shoulders with her new sister. Blinking a handful of times, Kit glances over to Bink and points to her name patch. Bink points to her own as other sisters gather ‘round. “I’m named after a binky,” my baby doll explains, giggling to herself.

  “A binky?” Kit reiterates in surprise.

  “Yeah. Big’s Bink,” Bink states proudly.

  Not knowing how to take the news, she glances over to Big, who smiles coyly and shrugs up a single shoulder, communicating, I dunno what to tell ya. It’s true.

  Jez steps up next. Giving them time to do the chick thing, I give them space but don’t stray far as each sister joins the group to explain how she got her name, to commiserate with their new sister.

  Jezebel for bein’ a former sex worker.

  Debbie ’cause she and Dallas fucked all the time—ya know, Debbie does Dallas.

  Pixie, ’cause of her size. Small and petite, lookin’ a whole lot like a woodland creature.

  And the list carries on… short and sweet.

  The look Kit shoots me after the sisters have shared is one of open appreciation and adoration. I flash her a grin and a quick wink. We don’t get to pick our names. They’re bestowed upon us. Good or bad, they’re ours. Kit’s an excellent name if I do say so myself. ’Cause break me off a piece of that. Alright. Maybe it is a tad ridiculous. But I’d prefer she got one by innocent means than how Bonez and I acquired ours.

  “Gunz, we’re ready,” Blimp and Dallas call from the firepit.

  Step three.

  Knowin’ this next part is gonna suck, I approach my woman, secure her hand in mine, and escort her across the grass to do what I gotta do. What Dallas and Tripper and a whole lot of the brothers endured before me. It’s tradition. A sacrifice.

  Standin’ beside a chair they used during today’s ceremony, Tripper gestures for me to take a seat next to the fire. I turn to Kit and peck her cheek before makin’ you-know-what-to-do eye contact with Bink, who trailed us here. I already told her what’s doin’. My baby doll nods in understanding and hooks an arm through Kit’s just as our boy takes the opposite side of his mother. Kit will need support. She won’t like this. Nobody does. But it needs done. This is how we roll. This is what we do.

  Unclasping my belt, not caring who’s watching, I drop my pants and boxers to my ankles, exposing my dick and balls—freshly waxed for this occasion. Those who wanna stand witness gather ‘round, as those too squeamish find the row of kegs to tide ‘em over before the feast.

  “Erik, what are you doing?” Kit’s voice is shrill as I take a seat and spread my legs, ready to get this over with.

  Blimp grasps my shoulders from behind, to keep me still.

  “Erik?!” Kit takes a step forward in concern. Bink and Adam do as I instructed them and hold her back.

  I can’t let her interfere.

  “This is for us,” I clarify, not wanting to make this any more difficult for her than it already is.

  “What’s for us?” Growing far more uncomfortable, Kit twists her wedding ring around her finger on repeat.

  Out of the firepit, Dallas pulls a red-hot branding iron.

  I flick my chin at the glowing metal. “That, love.”

  “What’re you doing, Erik!?” Kit struggles to get closer. Bonez slides up from behind, just in case he needs to step in.

  “What needs done,” I clarify.

  Beside me, Big kneels in the grass and holds my knee to keep it from moving as Tripper does the same from the other side. Hands fisting, jaw locked tight, my nostrils flare in anticipation. We’re doin’ this.

  My brothers speak in hushed tones. Words from our brotherhood, from the beginning, as Dallas steps before me.

  I stare at the grass beneath his feet.

  “Erik! Look at Me! Please! Stop and tell me what’s going on!” Kit screams over the crackle of the fire, over the whooshing through my ears, and the music pulsing from nearby speakers.

  I listen because she’s been through enough.

  She deserves transparency.

  I twist my head and give her my undivided attention.

  Fat droplets trek down her reddened face as I speak the truth. My truth. “You are the last woman I will ever be with. You are my old lady, my wife, my forever. You wear my ring. You wear my patch. You carried my son. I will wear this for us. As a reminder. As a promise. Just like the other brothers.”

  “The ones we read about?” She speaks of the vampires we spend our evenings caught up in and the old English scars on their backs of their woman’s name.

  “Yes, love. Like those brothers, but also mine.”

  To show her what I mean, Dallas reinserts the iron into the fire and faces Kit. He undoes his jeans and shoves the side down, just above his dick, where a circular D&D is branded, decades old.

  She stares at the scarred flesh. Dallas gives her all the time she needs to comprehend what this means before buttoning back up. This is new for my lady. Club life is nothing like normal life for people outside these walls. I get it. My brothers get it. Hell, half of us fell in love with women outside the life. Women who saw the world a certain way before we rode into their lives with our leather and loud pipes. It’s a lifestyle we’ve grown accustomed to. A life some of us grew up in. It’s all we know. For her and my son, everything’s fresh—a culture shock. Bink and Debbie have only begun welcoming her into the lifestyle, by showing her the ways of the Sacred Sisters and what it’s like to be the property of a one percenter.

  Leaning in, Bink whispers something in Kit’s ear, and she nods, sucking back tears. Half a beat later, my beautiful old lady straightens her spine, no longer overcome with emotions. It’s a goddamn relief. Kit shrugs Adam’s hold off, as Bink lets her go. Still kneeling in the grass at my side, Big removes himself from the spot, and Kit takes his place. She holds my thigh open and looks up at me with such respect my heart clenches.

  “If you need to do this, I’m gonna be right here.” She pats my knee in support.

  “Okay, love.” Removing a Dum Dum from my cut, I peel the wrapper off and toss it into the fire as Dallas retrieves the iron. I push the ball to Kit’s lips. She smiles and takes the gift, shoving it into the side of her mouth.

  “Where do you want it?” my brother asks.

  Wanting her to have a choice, I lift my chin at Kit to decide. She touches the inside of my thigh, right next to where my dick lay. Not wanting it to get branded, she grasps it in her soft palm, and pulls him to safety, tucked against the opposite side of my leg. Tripper pulls my thigh wider to give Dallas better access for a clean mark.

  The warmth of the iron heats my skin as it nears, hovering above its intended spot.

  “Ready?” comes from Dallas.

  I suck in a sharp, readied breath and nod my approval. It lands firm and sizzles. White-hot pain rips through every nerve ending. Clamping my eyes shut, abs tensing, neck elongating, I breathe through it, growling lowly in my chest as the scent of burning flesh abrades my nostrils. It lasts forever, yet not long enough.

  When Dallas pulls back, air hits the wound, and I almost crack a tooth.

  The brothers cheer.

  Salve is slathered on by delicate hands. One’s I don’t even have to look at to know who they belong to. When I do, she’s there, kneeling between my legs, tending to me as she always does. I brush my thumb along her cheek as she applies a white bandage over the fresh, circular G&K brand.

  Despite the throbbing pain, my dick twitches when she looks up at me, full of love and a whole lot of other shit I don’t have time to decipher.

  Kit throws her empty sucker stick into the fire and playfully slaps the top of my knee. “You’re an asshole. You could have told me you were gonna do this.”

  My eyes roll on a smile, ’cause that’s a lie, and we both know it. “Right. Like when I told you I was gonna get my wedding band tattooed, and you didn’t like the idea.”

  She levels me with a blank stare. “I still don’t.”

  “Too bad. ’Cause that’s next on the list.” Step four.

  “It’s what?” Still kneeling between my legs, Kit’s palms rest on my exposed kneecaps.

  I set one of my hands atop hers, to keep us connected. “Where do you think Jade is? She didn’t disappear, love. She and Pix set up a sterile tattoo station in the clubhouse infirmary.” I planned that too. Sure, Bink did the heavy lifting with the help of Debbie for most of this shindig, since I could give a shit how I married my woman. That being said, I took care of the things that matter to me. The music, her ring and shirt, the brand, and our tattoos, to name a few.

  Kit’s brow arches in question. “To tattoo your ring,” she guesses.

  “Yeah, and tattoo whatever you wanna get.” Together. The point is to get inked side by side, on our wedding day. Building memories and shit. That’s what you do, right?

  “You’re frustrating.” Her growly conviction is mild at best. The tiny nose wrinkle, and lopsided grin she sports is far sweeter.

  “Yet, you married me,” I tease.

  “I know. I think I’ve gone insane.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Now get up here.” Pulling Kit from the ground, not carin’ who’s watchin’, I drape my woman over my lap. To distract her from the crowd of bikers doin’ post-wedding celebratory shit, I focus on us. All they’re gonna do is get drunk, eat, and maybe fuck. Big already pitched a bunch of tents over by the dog kennels and playground for anyone who needs a little privacy or time to sleep off the booze, since we don’t have enough rooms to house all our visitors.

  I slip my hand up my woman’s shirt and palm her tit over a lacey bra.

  Her mouth rounding in a gasp, Kit glances down at my naughty hand, doin’ whatever he wants. “Erik.” My name’s a curse upon her tongue, yet she doesn’t pull away.

  At the mere sound of my real name comin’ from that pretty, little mouth, I get hard. To show her as much, I pull my erection between her thigh and my belly as she sits across me. As always, the fucker drips with precum. My woman doesn’t hesitate to rub her finger across the head to smear in the wetness before it makes a mess.

  “I can’t believe you’re…” she trails off with a sigh.

  “We’ve fucked a lot of times in public, love. Or don’t you remember?” I toss out, smiling at her and how much she likes to play with my cock. Even now, she continues to twirl her finger around the head, her nails painted black.

  “That was a long time ago,” she counters.

  “Yeah. It was. Now we’re married.” To further prove my point, I tap her ring finger and the ruby there.

  She stares down at the gem. “We are.”

  “You think anyone is gonna care where I fuck my old lady?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugs, all innocent and cute.

  To show nobody gives a damn, I move Kit around ‘til she’s straddling my lap, my dick, hot and hard between us, her skirt bunched around her waist. Scootin’ her back just a smidge, I reach between us, push her lacey thong to the side, lift her up, and glide her walls down my cock. Stuffing her face into the side of my neck, she moans on the way down, stretching perfectly around my shaft, takin’ him to the hilt. I palm her ass cheeks and rock my dick in and out of my old lady’s perfect cunt.

  “Erik,” she breathes hot and heavy in my ear.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes.” A shiver ripples through her body.

  “You wanna stop?” All she has to do is say the word, and this ends.

  “N-no.”

  Good wife. Perfect wife. Sexy wife.

  I rock her more, just enough to hit her G-spot with my piercing. “You wanna come all over your old man’s cock in front of all these people?”

  Kit trembles at my words. “Erik.”

  “Tell me, love. Tell me what you want.”