by Bijou Hunter
“No, you don’t understand how things work,” I insist, squeezing him tighter. “You live in a big house by yourself. You have all this stuff but no food. I think you’re confused. I’m not confused. You should call Bronco.”
“And if he won’t help your family?”
Thinking of Mama looking for me, I imagine her fear at the sight of those dead men. Will she be scared to see the big hole in Myles’s face? Will she believe Anders did the same to me?
“Is Bronco a bad man like John Marks?” I ask Anders, who now paces around the center part of the kitchen.
“No, but he told me the rules, and I broke them.”
When Anders spoke of Bronco by the road, I could tell he admired the other man. Now, he seems afraid of him. Will Bronco hurt Anders? Or is he afraid of disappointing the man he respects?
Thirsty, I stick my mouth under the sink and turn it on. Anders grumbles about how he fucked up. Then he gives me a can of soda like the kind I see people drink in town. Trying the sweet liquid, I watch him play with his phone.
Soon, he returns to pacing around the room. Every few minutes, he stops and stares at me. Then, he paces again.
After the sugar-filled drink, I feel so excited. I want to climb, but there are no trees. I jump on the couch and walk around up high. Clapping my hands, I don’t know why I feel so awake. I should worry about Mama, Dove, and Future. Though burdened by their fates, I’m also so happy. I want to jump on the chairs and touch the ceiling. I’m so amazed by all the new stuff around me that I nearly forget Anders is nearby.
At some point, two dark-haired biker men enter the house. Now, Anders looks more nervous than ever. My grand sequoia needs a hug, but he’s so far away, and I can’t calm down. I think the soda is made out of smiles and hugs. I feel happier than ever!
The men talk to each other and me, but their words hold little meaning. I want to climb higher. I also need to make Anders feel better. My grand sequoia craves a hug.
I climb onto his back, wanting to make him smile. But he refuses to give up his frown. The other men—Bronco with no beard and Lowell with a dark one—wear the same foul expressions. That’s when I realize they won’t save Mama, Dove, and Future. These biker men belong to the outside world, where no one cares unless you make them.
And I have no way to make anyone do anything.
ANDERS
Bronco is pissed at me. The Executioners’ VP is angry too, but Lowell isn’t the one who’ll throw me out of the club or put a bullet in my head. Bronco knows I owe him. I didn’t follow the rules with Pixie. I’m in deep shit. No getting around that.
But I’m mostly worried about Pixie. That soda she drank made her hyper-as-fuck. And I think she also realizes her family might not survive what happened today. During one visit on the side of the road, Pixie claimed death wasn’t scary.
“We get to go to our next story,” she explained, smiling despite the topic.
On an average day, I bet her Dandelion training holds perfectly. Yet, grief is still grief. Her papa went to his next story, but her pain remains. Now, she fears her family will be wiped out. All because she helped me.
I never had any family worth missing. That doesn’t mean I don’t understand the terror she’s feeling. For the last few months, I’ve dreaded something happening to her. If I lost Pixie, I wasn’t sure how I’d keep getting up every day.
Now, she’s in my house. I’ve dreamed of bringing her here since that first day. She can be my honey—what the club’s wives call themselves. I can experience what the other men do.
Except Pixie keeps looking around as if everything bothers her. She stomps on the furniture and keeps eyeing the door. I don’t know if she wants free of this place or me. No, she’s probably just worried about her family.
“I’m so used to people running from me that I don’t know what to do when they stay,” I mutter after Bronco and Lowell leave.
Pixie climbs on the dining room table and lets out a wild roar. At first, I think she’s playing. Then her dark eyes find my face, and she exhales like a bull ready to attack.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” I mumble, watching her thin body get wound up with anger.
“I want to go home!”
“I can’t take you back.”
Screaming, Pixie jumps up and down on the table. I hurry over to catch her if she takes a tumble. Instead, she looks ready to punch me.
“I know how people in the world are,” she says, swinging her fist like a little girl. “I can be a demon and hit you.”
“What’s that going to do?”
Pixie’s furious frown changes to a more confused one. “I don’t know. How does it usually work?”
“You can hit me, but I still won’t take you back,” I explain, and her usually smiling lips turn into a disappointed pout. “Driving out to the Village tomorrow with my friends will be safer.”
“Mama needs me.”
“Yes, but if you go back tonight, Marks and his idiot allies might hurt you. Right now, they don’t know what happened. Or if you’re coming back. Or if they can use your family as a shield. Your mama and siblings are safer now than if you return alone.”
Pixie touches her lips, thinking about my words. I know she doesn’t understand strategy. Her world is small and uncomplicated. Knowing how to manipulate and hurt people isn’t part of her skill set.
Pixie’s dark eyes size me up, and then she looks at the doorway where Bronco and Lowell disappeared outside. I suspect she’s putting together how we’re bad people with demon guns while she’s just a flower child with no hate in her heart.
Though she sure did fuck up that Volkshalberd shithead damn fast. I can’t help smiling at the memory of her jumping on his back and bashing in his head. I didn’t think my hippie girl had it in her. But I shouldn’t be surprised. I know she’d hurt someone to protect her family. They matter to her.
And I guess I do too.
“I’ll bring your family here,” I promise and hold out my hand so she’ll come down from the table.
Pixie gives me an “Are you fucking nuts?” look and refuses to take my hand. Then I realize she isn’t reacting to the idea of bringing her family here. She just doesn’t plan to get down.
“You could fall.”
“You could fall. You’re bigger.”
“Not when you’re standing up there.”
“You’re scared of me,” she hisses and swings her fist.
“No, not really.”
Pixie’s smile returns. “You’re a grand sequoia standing against the changing seasons.”
“Sure, but I’m also nervous about you falling. What if you get hurt and can’t come with me tomorrow to get your family?”
Pixie’s expression goes blank. I accept right then how she’s caught on to my bullshit. Though she acts like a child at times, she isn’t one. Pixie is very aware I’m manipulating her to get what I want.
Rather than take my hand, she leans over and climbs into my arms like I’m her tree. I carry her to the kitchen and set her on the island. She plays with my hair and smiles.
“Your house is too big.”
“It’s basically Bronco’s house. I didn’t know what else to build.”
“Build your house.”
“I did,” I say, sliding my finger across the scab on her bare knee. “It just happens to look like Bronco’s.”
“Mama won’t like it here.”
“No, probably not. But I have food, and no one will hurt you here.”
Pixie’s gaze flickers to the fridge. She’s thinking about eating and maybe how I don’t own enough food. She likely doesn’t understand about restaurants. After the ATF came busting into her old commune, she only spent a few weeks in an apartment before moving to the Village. I’m not sure how much of the normal world makes sense to her.
“I’ll order dinner. I can also call a girl I know who’ll pick up food from the grocery store.”
Pixie just stares at me as her feet bang against
the cabinets. She’s wired since the soda.
“I’ll order sugar-free drinks from now on,” I say when she remains silent. “Can’t have your entire family bouncing off the walls.”
When Pixie’s thinking, her face goes so blank that she looks sorta dead inside. That’s why, when she suddenly offers a huge smile, I’m startled.
“You were scared of the Bronco man and his friend.”
“They gave me a home here.”
“You’re bigger than them. Why don’t you smash them into pieces?”
“Because they’re my friends.”
“And your heart is full of sunshine,” she says, patting my chest. “You care about your biker club people. That’s why you were scared. My heart beats faster when I think Mama is angry with me.”
“Is your mom sweet to you?”
Pixie smiles again, seeming childlike in her reaction. “Mama is the best mama in the world.”
I don’t know what Pixie sees on my face, but she wraps her long arms around me and hugs my body against her.
“You’ll have a better mama in a different story,” she promises.
“Maybe, but doesn’t that mean you’ll have a worse mama in another story?”
“Yes, but I’m not in that story. I can’t have all the good stuff while you have all the bad stuff. That’s not fair.”
“No, it isn’t,” I say, feeling as if the kitchen is too small now. Her body seemed more untouchable on the side of the road. Here, in my home, I’m very aware of her every curve and how soft her tanned skin feels under my fingers. “I better order food. What would you like?”
“Nuts.”
Sighing, I realize she won’t be much help choosing from the menu of Bambi’s Bar & Grill. While I look over the menu, Pixie jumps down from the island and starts walking around on the furniture again.
While messaging our food order, I watch her bounce around. Then I text a club bunny to have her pick up groceries for me. These days, Jena doesn’t get much attention. Hitting thirty killed her confidence, and my club brothers have noticed. Lowell now has her in charge of other shit, making her more of an assistant than a party girl.
Anxiety rises in me as Pixie bounces on the couch. Not from my obsession so close I can touch. I also don’t care if she uses the furniture as a trampoline. I sensed Bronco was irritated by that stuff, but I barely sit in here.
What bothers me is Pixie’s earthy scent. The smell returns my thoughts to my grandmother’s reaction after I’d play outside all day. The scent of heat on my skin drove her crazy, and she’d roughly scrub my skin to get rid of it.
“Pixie,” I say, fighting the rage inside me. “I need you to take a shower.”
“No.”
“You can wear one of my shirts until we get you girl clothes.”
“No,” she says, still bouncing.
I grab her midjump and hold her still. My big hands grip her too tightly. I’m barely in control of myself. If she weren’t here, I’d smoke pot until my edge softened. Maybe drink until I passed out. But those aren’t options, and I feel myself spiraling.
Pixie stares fearfully at me first, then she balls up her fists and looks ready to hit me. I don’t know what she sees on my face. Instead of attacking, she throws her arms around my shoulders and hugs me.
“Your heart is too heavy,” she says, nuzzling my throat. “Something hurt my grand sequoia.”
When her gaze meets mine, I try to explain what’s happening in my head. No words come out. She can’t understand how much my grandparents hated me. Her family loves each other dearly. I see all the warmth in her eyes when she mentions any of them, even her stepdad. No way can she comprehend the kind of disgust my family felt for me.
But Pixie does understand I need her to do as I say. I don’t know why I carry her to the bathroom. She feels good in my arms, and I get to touch her without seeming like a sick freak.
All my thoughts are dark now. I see my big, ugly hands on her soft, innocent skin. I struggle against the urge to hurt her. If I do something fucked up, I can prove everyone right about me. I am evil. Nothing will ever change.
But I don’t hurt Pixie. When I set her down in the large master bathroom, she turns away and investigates. Her reaction to her reflection digs me free of the darkness. Only a little, but it’s enough to get me to turn on the shower.
“No,” she says, seeing the water. “The government place had one of those.”
“It’s like rain. You’ve danced in the rain, right?” I say through gritted teeth.
Pixie ignores my tone. She has no idea how close I am to hurting her. I haven’t felt this on edge in a long time, and there are no easy outs for me tonight.
“There’s no music,” she says.
I nearly snap my phone in half as I dig it from my pocket and find the music app. Each song that she frowns at only sends me deeper into a dark hole.
Finally, I start “The Seashores of Old Mexico,” and she smiles at the light plucking of the guitar. I remember how she prefers softer music like bluegrass and the folky stuff. This country song by George Strait inspires her to sway around the bathroom.
Then she proves just how much of a gazelle she is in a world of predators. Without a care in her pretty head, Pixie quickly strips out of her clothes and runs into the large stone shower.
I should look away. But Pixie’s so carefree, dancing around under the rain showerhead. She even laughs when the soap bar flies free of her grip and bounces around the stall.
Her light heart acts as an antidote to my grandparents’ nagging voices in my head. I’ll never be good enough for the people who raised me. If Pixie’s right about alternative realities and living new lives, I’m sure my grandparents already hate me something fierce in their next story.
But those fuckers aren’t here right now. Pixie is, and I’m her only ally in the outside world. I need to calm down and find a way to be worthy of my flower child.
PIXIE
Anders doesn’t like naked people. He eyeballs me in that strange way of his when I finish in the shower and walk out on his slippery floor. He hands me a towel and looks away. Does he not want me to smell like him?
“Are you shy?” I ask, drying off with the soft towel. “Does naked scare you?”
“You’re a girl. This isn’t normal.”
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask, looking down at my wet body. “Is there a part you don’t like?”
“Are you trying to make me crazy?” he growls like a big blond bear.
“First, you say to take a shower. Now, you get angry about the shower. You’re like a squirrel with a broken tail.”
Anders exhales deeply. “I’m a man,” he says, gritting his teeth. “I think you’re beautiful. And you’re fucking naked. That makes me want to touch you.”
“Then touch me. I already told Mama that my heart belongs to you.”
The anger in Anders’s handsome face disappears, leaving him looking like a scolded little boy. I move toward him, thinking a hug will fix his broken heart. He just walks out of the bathroom.
“Bears have claws,” I whisper to myself while drying off. “They can slice you up with the slightest effort.”
My heart burns with wild emotions after Anders’s strange behavior. I walk to the bedroom, where he hands me a shirt while keeping his eyes on the wall.
“Put on this one.”
“Is this yours?”
“Of course. I don’t have other people here.”
“Not even Bronco?”
“Why would he come to my bedroom?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have a bedroom. What do people do in here? Just sleep?”
“Yeah,” he mutters, walking out of the room.
I slide the shirt over my head and then run to the bathroom to see how I look in the mirror. The fabric hangs every which way and reaches my knees. Anders’s shirt is my dress.
After the soda drink, my energy remains high, but my stomach rolls angrily. I walk to the kitchen, where
Anders stands with his arms crossed and a pout on his face.
“You need a hug.”
“Stay away from me.”
“Then take me home.”
“I can’t.”
“Do you want to?”
Anders’s blue eyes study my face. Then he lowers his head and shakes it. “No.”
“Can I have a treat?”
“Dinner’s on its way.” Anders walks to the room with all the seats and then throws his hands up. “I should have asked Jena to bring you clothes.”
“Is Jena your sister?” I ask, crawling onto the couch and stretching out.
“I don’t have any sisters. Not that I know of. My dad might have made kids with other women he fucked. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Stop asking me questions.”
I just watch him and listen to the music playing from the box near the ceiling. “Your house smells good.”
Anders frowns at me like the people do at the Village when I’m bad. He wants to punish me.
Then he shakes his shoulders and sighs. “Thanks.”
“Why are you sad? Is it because I got water on your floor?”
“No. I want you, but you’re a little kid.”
“No, I’m not,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I have all the grown-up stuff like Mama.”
“So does Dove, but she’s not a grown-up.”
I think of my sister. “No, but she isn’t a kid either.”
“She’s a teenager.”
“Am I a teenager?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does it matter?”
“If you’re a little kid, then I’m a gross weirdo for wanting to touch you.”
Smiling, I stretch out on the couch until my toes touch one end. “I’m not a little kid.”
“How old are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m a grown-up. I could have a helpmate and a baby at the Village. I just don’t want any of those men. They’re vile. Most of them think John Marks is smart, but he’s dumb. That means they’re dumb. I don’t want to have a baby with a dumb-dumb. I want someone like Papa.”
