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“Come on, boys. What’s the fun of it unless you take a little risk?” Dally adds, stepping up beside me.
“B-But we don’t even know what it is,” Skinny points out.
“Oh, you have to know to be willing to volunteer?” I ask with mock surprise.
“I don’t know that that’s going to help any,” Rico snickers.
“What do you say, fellas? Shall we tell them what they’re going to do?”
The other new members cheer their approval. Without another word, I flick the switch to the belt sander. The motor whirs to life, and the three recruits’ eyes grow wide.
Raising my hands, I put my fingertips on display. “Five seconds. You have to keep all ten fingers in place that long. And I’ll know if you cheat.”
“That’s fucking sick, man,” Tank objects, a look of utter disgust on his face.
“Hey, each one of your potential brothers has done it. What would you endure for your family?” I ask. “This isn’t just some neighborhood tricycle group. Being a Devil’s Son means putting your brothers’ lives before your own if need be. So don’t go taking this pledge lightly.”
I know skinning your own fingers intentionally on a power tool is a daunting thing to imagine doing. It’s left the tips of my fingers fucked up and rough, though the skin grew back just fine. But that’s the point. Being a member of the Devil’s Sons means making sacrifices.And what does the skin of your fingertips matter compared to potentially having to lay down your life?That’s what initiates are promising by completing this phase. Each of them knew that going in.
Taking a deep breath, Skinny steps forward. I raise my eyebrows in mild surprise. Stepping back, I gesture for him to have at it. He swallows hard, hesitating before stepping up before the belt sander.
“We’ll count down nice and loud for you to hear,” I assure him.
He nods, then turns his attention to the sander. With one final deep breath, he places his fingers on the belt and releases a blood-curdling scream. But as we start the countdown, he manages to hold his fingers in place. Blood splatters the floor as the belt whips in circles. I can see it in his face that it’s taking all his discipline and more to keep his hands in place. And then we get to one. Immediately, he yanks his hands from the machine, and I flick the switch to turn it off.
“Welcome to the club,” I say, slapping his shoulder as Dally steps forward to wrap his tattered, bloody fingertips.
As I turn to look at Tank and Teddy, I’m just in time to watch Teddy bend in half and hurl all over the floor.
“Fucking sick, man!” Philip shouts, jumping out of the way of the splatter.
Tank looks as white as paper. I’ll be surprised if either of them goes through with it after Skinny’s display. It’s funny. No one wants to be the first to go, but when it comes down to it, that’s the best person to be. Normally, it’s after that when people walk.
“No fucking way, man,” Tank says, shaking his head adamantly.
“Then get the fuck out,” I command, my gaze turning deadly. “And you’ll keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.”
Teddy follows Tank from the shed, both looking like dogs with their tails between their legs. All eyes turn back to Skinny, who seems to be in shock for actually having succeeded. Dally’s done wrapping his fingers, and I grip him firmly by the shoulder and steady him as I guide him toward the door.
“Let’s welcome our new brother, Skinny,” I say, and each of the club members claps him on the shoulder or back as he passes through the crowd.
“You lot clean up the mess,” Dally orders, pointing to several members as we head out the door.
“That fucking hurts,” Skinny says as he stares down at the bloody gauze wrapped around each digit.
I chuckle and wrap my arm around his shoulders, partially as a demonstration of comradery, partly just to ensure he stays on his feet. He looks a little green beneath his freckles, and I don’t want him falling straight onto his raw hands.
“Good news for you, your fingers are some of the faster healing parts. And you’ll most likely grow back your fingerprints.”
Skinny chuckles weakly, and that fills me with a sense of pride. Our club may be growing slowly, but it’s good men like him that we need. Length of time doesn’t matter, as long as the quality of brothers is good. And so far, I have a good feeling about our men.
10
Winter
“So far,it appears your baby is still in very good health,” Dr. Denning says, her steady voice reassuring. “She’s growing nicely.”
It’s our second meeting with this new Whitfield doctor recommended to us by Dr. Russ, and I find I quite like her. She’s smart, even-keeled, and surprisingly reassuring. While I had always appreciated Dr. Russ’s calm demeanor, Dr. Denning has a confidence about her that puts me perfectly at ease.
