Page 134 of 23 Hours

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.Ididn’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.

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