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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.
