“Bein’ a rebel doesn’t work out well for ya, you should go into jewelry,” he deadpanned.
The joke shattered the tension like a fist through glass, and everyone laughed as he tossed the box back to me and I put it in my pocket.
“Alright, King, you wanted it; you got it. Boys, prepare the garage.”
Half an hour later, the club was crowded into one of the garage bays that had been cleaned up and out to make room for the ceremony. I say ceremony, but it was too religious and organized a word for the way The Fallen recognized a new brother.
I was on my knees, shirtless and waitin’ while the brothers formed a circle around me. The cement was cold and hard, uncomfortable, but I didn’t even think of complainin’ because this, right there, was what I’d always wanted.
“King Kyle Garro, prospect of The Fallen brotherhood, do you pledge your body, blood, and life to this club?”
There was a solemnity to Zeus’s voice, a gravity I could feel tyin’ me to the floor, keepin’ me on my knees even if I would want to stand.
“Yeah,” I said, and my voice came from my gut.
“You swear to live free, die hard, and act in the best interest of this club ’fore all else?”
My head was bent, gaze trained on the grease stains in the brushed concrete floors, but I knew Z was palmin’ a knife and readyin’ it over his exposed palm. The rituals of initiation were sacred, not spoken about even between brothers outside of these moments, but I knew this part because I’d been curious after the slanted scar across Dad’s palm as a kid, and he’d told me about it.
“Yeah,” I agreed again and felt the surge of energy crackle through the room, sparkin’ from brother to brother as they encircled me.
“Does each man standin’ agree to take King into the fold and see him as brother from ’ere on in?”
There was a stompin’ of motorcycle boots against the ground, the vibration travellin’ through my bones until I reverberated with it.
In answer, Zeus sliced his palm open with the wicked end of his knife and squeezed until the blood ran down his wrist into a waitin’ metal cup branded with The Fallen emblem. One by one, the brothers passed the cup along, addin’ their blood, their life to it, until it reached Zeus again. Tipped my head up when he stepped in front of me and watched as his fingers dipped in the blood.
“The Fallen is for life,” he reminded me as those red, wet fingers smear over my cheekbones, across my nose, then down from forehead to chin in a bloody desecration of a cross. Finished annoitin’ me, he moved back and said, pride blastin’ through his voice, “King Kyle Garro, awake, arise, and be forever Fallen.”
I got to one knee and then stood at the center of my brothers, my family, finally and irrevocably one of them.
“Welcome to the fold,” Zeus said with a wide, almost manic grin.
“’Bout fuckin’ time,” Nova called and then set the hose on me, cold water blastin’ into my chest.
I laughed as it cleansed me the way it was supposed to, a biker baptism of blood and water in a house of iron.
Shakin’ my wet hair out of my eyes like I dog, I grinned at my brothers, and yelled, “Live free, die hard!”
“Fuck yeah!” they roared, and then they were on me, punchin’ me, huggin’ me, shakin’ me, hands on me in the final step of acceptance, in a show of love and loyalty I felt like it was carved into my bones.
Fuckin’ finally, I was truly Fallen.
Cressida
* * *
“Cress, babe, wake up.”
I moaned, still caught in the tendrils of a fragrant dream and unwilling to embrace wakefulness. Shadow meowed quietly near my face, and I realized my cheek was pressed into his fur.
“Cress, do as your man says,” King’s voice said against my ear, and then I registered the feel of his hands sliding up his oversized tee against my back. “I have somethin’ to show you.”
Even half-asleep, the sweet call of King’s voice was too irresistible to ignore. I rolled languidly onto my back, tangled up in the soft bedclothes, Shadow hissing in protest as I dislodged him, and then arrested at the sight of King sitting over me.
His chaos of blond kinks and curls hung in his face, partially shading those extraordinary glacial water eyes, crinkled at the corners with pleasure as he looked down on me, the sentiment echoed in the curled set of his full mouth.
“Gosh, you’re beautiful,” I breathed because I couldn’t help it.
My hand went to his cheek, fingers sliding through silky hair, just to feel the realness of him. He smiled as he grabbed that hand and brought my palm to his mouth to kiss.