Titan (EEMC Book 2)

by Bijou Hunter

  “And what was he like?”

  Smiling, I remember my papa with his shiny brown eyes and a big, warm smile. “He was fun and smart. You can’t imagine how good his hugs were, Anders. But now he’s hugging in a different story.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to say that every time.”

  “I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. People talk too much. The world can be quiet.”

  Anders walks over to me and kneels down. He tugs the shirt I’m wearing toward my feet to make it cover me more.

  “Aren’t you worried I’ll hurt you?” he asks in a quiet, fearful voice.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t scared of your biker men friends either. I felt so happy.”

  “It’s the caffeine and sugar from the drink.”

  “Oh,” I say, stroking his beard. “If you want me to stop screaming over my family, you need to stop giving me angry bear faces.”

  Sighing, Anders drops his bottom to the floor. “I messed up by going to see you.”

  “I know, but that part of the story is already written. What can you do?”

  Leaning against the couch, he lets me rub his bearded jaw. I think he needs affection, but no one taught him how to ask for it. His family wasn’t kind, and his biker men friends don’t seem like they hug.

  “After we eat, we can watch a movie,” he says.

  I imagine Mama worrying about me. Dove is so weak without food. Future’s little tummy hurts him. Perry cries at how his mother died of the flu last winter.

  “Now, we’ll starve,” he says every night.

  Mama has to stay strong for everyone. Tonight will be so difficult when she doesn’t know where I went. Are they hurting her? Mama has a heart full of sunshine and grit. That’s how she learned to deal with people in the outside world.

  “Kick them in the penis and testicles,” she told Dove and me after the government men came to our commune and made us live in that concrete building.

  “What about the women?” I asked.

  “Just kick them.”

  I never got to hurt anyone. Mama did a few times. She slapped one man when we came to the Village. He lifted her skirt to see if she was hiding anything. He hit her back. I was so scared, but she told me to stay still. Dove hid behind me. We were new, and the Volkshalberd could send us away. Where would we go? Our commune was gone, and we didn’t know how to live in the outside world.

  Mama looked that man in the eyes and made a fist and swung on him. After he ducked, she kicked him in the penis and testicles. Then the other Volkshalberd laughed as the man whined on the ground. They said Mama came from a strong bloodline, and her spine was made of the most powerful mettle. We could stay.

  Worrying tonight, I promise myself that Mama can handle John Marks and his brainless toadies. Mama will be alive when I return to the Village tomorrow. I’ll bring her to this big house with the rain shower and a fridge with no food. My family can eat the oranges from today’s snack. My stomach wants one right now, but Anders keeps saying how food is coming.

  “But there’s food right there,” I tell him, yet he refuses to eat the oranges. He needs big food for his big body.

  Then a bell rings, and I fall off the couch. The sound is so loud that I think someone is attacking the house.

  “Jena is here with the groceries,” he says, standing up. “We’ll get more later.”

  I sit on the floor and try to figure out where the loud noise came from. Maybe the box with the music. This house is confusing but not ugly like the government place.

  A woman with dark hair cut into angles walks inside. She frowns at me, so I frown back.

  “Jena, just help me,” Anders says, sounding overwhelmed. I think he doesn’t like people around me. Is he embarrassed by the people or me? I believe it’s me.

  “What food is this?” I ask, hungry and nauseous.

  Jena doesn’t answer me. Instead, she leaves the bags and then hurries out.

  “She’s afraid of you,” I tell Anders while pulling food out of a bag. “What is this?”

  “Coffee.”

  “I don’t want that. Where are the apples?”

  “We can’t eat that. Dinner is coming.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  Anders gives me that look again. Perry makes the same face when Mama angers people at the Village, and he wants her to be quiet and behave. It’s his begging look.

  “You want things to be a certain way,” I say, letting him hide the food in the fridge, even though I’d rather eat it. “Why?”

  “When I was little, nothing was the way I wanted,” he says in a rough voice. “Then I got older, and I still didn’t get to choose. Finally, I moved here, and people expected me to be in charge of myself. I’m trying to do that, but then you won’t listen.”

  “I listen plenty. I heard everything you just said.”

  Anders surprises me by laughing loudly. He has such a wild bear voice when he’s happy. I smile at his expression.

  “I promise the food is almost here,” he says, running his finger down my cheek. “Then, we’ll eat and watch a movie.”

  “I don’t know how to sleep without Mama.”

  “I’ll give you something to help you rest. That way, tomorrow will get here faster.”

  I think to explain to Anders how time doesn’t move any faster when you’re asleep, but maybe he knows that. And if he doesn’t, I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

  The food does arrive after the bell rings again. I realize the noise is from the door. The bell signals the arrival of new people. Much like how the Volkshalberd blow a horn for meals and meetings or the Dandelions rang the chimes.

  Anders looks over the white boxes filled with food. “I didn’t know what to get you, so I kept it simple. Meat, vegetables. If you don’t like it, we can get something else.”

  Inhaling the scent, I feel lightheaded. Then I see how much is in the containers and nearly cry.

  “I could feed my family with this,” I say, staring at what is supposed to be just mine.

  Anders rests his hand on my shoulder, and his eyes search my face. “Tomorrow, I’ll get them whatever food they want. They can eat until their bellies are full. I promise.”

  I wipe a tear from my cheek. “My heart hurts with guilt,” I whisper, both craving to gorge myself on this feast and knowing my family will get nearly nothing.

  “Your mama would want you to eat,” Anders says, using his words to make me behave.

  Nodding, I know he’s right. Mama wouldn’t want me to starve.

  The broccoli and peppers are the best. The meat tastes weird. The potatoes are all smashed up with sauce on it. But the food fills my stomach in a way I haven’t felt in years.

  Anders eats so much food that I don’t know how he doesn’t vomit. Even though he’s a big man, I can’t imagine where it goes inside him. I’m still wondering about that when he puts the food away and walks me down a flight of stairs to an underground bunker with more couches.

  Anders takes my hand when I hesitate at the entrance of a new room. There are chairs on different levels and a big black thing on the wall.

  “It’s for the movie,” he explains and then tells me to sit down in one of the puffy chairs.

  A few minutes pass while Anders thinks too hard about what to watch. I saw movies and television shows on his phone. I know what they are, and I don’t care what we watch. I just like seeing the people and places.

  “This was my favorite movie when I was a kid,” he says, doing something on a little machine. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it.”

  “I’m not a kid,” I remind him.

  “No, but it’s also my favorite movie as a grown-up.”

  Smiling, I like knowing this movie means so much to Anders. He wants to show me his life after so long of only talking about it.

  Anders sits in the puffy chair next to mine. Then the l
ights in the room turn off, and the black thing on the wall gets brighter. I grab his hand, scared by the noises around me.

  “The movie is starting,” he says softly.

  I wish Anders weren’t so excited about showing me his favorite movie. If I could be honest, I’d tell him that I don’t like this room and want to leave. Instead, I’m forced to keep my mouth shut.

  Then the movie begins, and I can’t think of Mama or the Village or Rusten’s bleeding head. I just see the man on the screen running from a huge, round rock. Then he’s in an airplane with a snake.

  Bouncing in my seat, I can’t wait to find out what happens next. Anders chuckles next to me, most definitely relieved I like his favorite movie. He’s so happy that I bet he forgets to worry about Bronco and the other biker men.

  It’s just him and me and Indiana Jones.

  ANDERS

  The movie is a hit with Pixie, leaving her smiling like crazy. Then she asks a lot of questions and wants to watch the next film in the series. Despite her excitement, I suspect her real goal is to stay up and avoid sleeping without her family.

  Knowing tomorrow might turn out ugly, I offer her a shot of whiskey. After the second one, she doesn’t care about movies or families. She can barely speak once the liquor hits her hard. I carry her to my bed, where she closes her eyes and doesn’t move for hours.

  Resting next to her, I can’t believe my flower child is in my house. I wake up frequently to check if she’s run off. Am I just dreaming the feel of her hand in mine? I finally sleep deep around two.

  Five hours later, Pixie wakes me as soon as the sun lights the sky. She squats next to me in bed with her face inches from mine. She keeps saying my name, even after my eyes are open. I finally say her name, and she stops.

  “We need to get Mama, Dove, and Future.”

  “Yes,” I mutter, sitting up.

  Pixie wraps her arms around my shoulders and gives me a gentle squeeze. “You sleep like Future,” she whispers, pouting her lips to show me how I look. “Did you have a bad dream?”

  “No, I dreamt of you.”

  Smiling, Pixie nearly crawls on my back when I get up. Instead, she jumps off the bed and wants to come into the bathroom with me. I tell her I have to piss. She still shoves the door open and stands at the mirror, studying her unbraided dark hair.

  “Did you piss already?” I ask, using the other sink to wash my hands.

  “Yes.”

  “We should get food.”

  “No, we need to save Mama, Dove, and Future.”

  “You can’t go, wearing this,” I say, gesturing at my large white T-shirt. “I need clothes for you. I also need my club to agree to help me help your family.”

  Pixie opens her mouth to squeal in protest. She looks threateningly at me and even swings her fists, but I just shrug.

  “If I go in there by myself, the Volkshalberd might not let me take your family. Then I could get shot, and your family could get hurt. This is better.”

  For thirty seconds, Pixie keeps her mouth poised for screaming. Then she nods at my idea and smiles.

  “You’re very smart, Anders. Lots of men are dumb, dumb, dumb. John of the Marks is stupid. Not you.”

  I smile at her compliment. My heart feels lighter when she says nice stuff about me. Pixie isn’t fake. She doesn’t like everyone, and she’s very, very obvious about her feelings. Her approval is a prize few people enjoy.

  Once in the kitchen, I check my messages. Bronco tells me to meet him at the Woodlands’ clubhouse in an hour. Another message is from my VP’s wife, who came by overnight and dropped off clothes at the front door.

  Looking through the bag left by Topanga, Pixie says no to them all. She doesn’t like pants, and pink is the color of baby butts. Yet, when I explain how she needs to change so we can get her family, she instantly strips down and dresses in the clothes.

  The shirt goes on backward, of course. I have to help her with that, which makes her laugh. Through the process, she keeps eyeing the door. I make her eat some of the leftover food from last night before we leave. Not wanting most of it, she acts as if the food tastes weird. I guess it probably does to someone who rarely eats meat. I have her put together a bag of snacks for her family. Finally, we get in my SUV, where she refuses to wear a seat belt.

  “You’re beautiful,” she says when I try to strap her in. “But no.”

  “Yes. Or we can’t go.”

  Pixie backs down immediately, and we’re able to leave the garage.

  Only the Executioners can live in this gated community. There are a dozen empty lots on the back end of the subdivision where my house is located. At the center of the Woodlands is the community’s clubhouse. There’s an indoor pool and a play area, along with plenty of space for parties. Today, the clubhouse’s parking lot acts as a meeting place for the Executioners.

  My SUV is the first to arrive. A handful of bikes roll in a few minutes later. Bronco and Lowell appear next. Once they arrive, I know I need to join the group.

  When I get out, Pixie tries to follow. No way does she want to be cooped up in the vehicle. I beg her to stay put while I talk to my boss. Maybe remembering how we need them to get her family, Pixie obeys. I show her how to work the radio and hope the music calms her down.

  “Long night?” Bronco asks me once I join my club brothers near the building’s double door entrance.

  “She couldn’t sleep most of the night. Too worried if her family is dead.”

  “They probably are,” mutters my club brother, Wyatt. “Hell, the Village could have gone the Jim Jones Kool-Aid route, and we’ll find nothing but bodies.”

  I don’t normally care about Wyatt’s mouth. The hotheaded blond is family to the man in charge. There’s even a chance Wyatt might run the Executioners one day. Usually, when his mouth spouts bullshit, I keep my head down.

  But not today.

  Without thinking, I reach out and wrap my large fingers around his thin neck. He inherited a soft lady's throat from his mama, Bambi. I’d never snap her neck, but I feel myself struggling against the urge to end her son. Wyatt’s bright blue eyes—got that from his mama too—widen with fear. He knows he can’t win against me. If we battle, I’ll easily crush him.

  “Titan,” Bronco says in that tone he uses when he’s making threats without actually threatening.

  “Don’t fuck with my people,” I warn Wyatt.

  “Easy, man,” Lowell adds, using the same soft voice as when his wife is pissed.

  My hand unwraps from Wyatt’s throat, and I step back. But in my head, I still see myself killing Wyatt. I’m ready to burn down this life. If I do wrong by Pixie, there’s nothing left for me. I might as well end everything.

  “I have an idea,” Conor says and keeps talking while everyone still focuses on me. Bronco’s other nephew—Barbie’s boy instead of Bambi’s—is the ice to Wyatt’s fire. His voice cuts through the red-hot tension around us. Speaking calmly, he continues, “There are two reasons the Village hasn’t paid us. One is that John Marks is testing our resolve. The other is that they’re using their income to buy weapons for war.”

  Bronco stops watching me and glances at Conor. “And?”

  “When we go out today, you could loudly offer to make the club and the Village square and end the blockage. They’ll claim poverty. You can then ask to be paid in weapons.”

  “We don’t need guns,” Wyatt grumbles, feeling like a big man when he’s facing off against his younger cousin. Of course, he wasn’t so tough when I was ready to pound him.

  “No,” Conor replies without losing his temper, “but we don’t want them to have the weapons. John Marks will likely refuse since his loyal people aren’t starving yet. However, the rest of the Village will understand how their children go to bed hungry because Marks chooses to buy things they don’t need.”

  “Create discord,” Bronco says, liking the idea. “I don’t know how a whiny narcissist like Marks convinced those people to let him lead the Village.
Maybe enough of them will revolt.”

  “The leadership has guns,” I point out. “Many people in the Village, like Pixie’s family, don’t own shoes. How will they find the weapons to take on armed men?”

  “But the leadership is fewer in number,” Conor says in a soft tone. I respect how he can correct someone without acting like an asshole. “John Marks and his people have to sleep too. And they’re eating while the sheep starve. Entire governments have been overthrown when food becomes scarce. Hungry people get desperate, and they will fight a stronger force to avoid starvation. Getting torn apart by a group of pissed cultists isn’t how John Marks wants to die.”

  Bronco prefers to think smart. His childhood was rough like mine, and his power came in the same way mine did—physical over intellect, violence over peace. But then he got to be the man in charge, and killing doesn’t solve every problem. Now, he thinks hard about stuff.

  I’ll never be good at that. I just want what I want. Like how Pixie needs to be mine. If I have to take a bullet or tear off a head to make her love me, then I’ll do it. Give her money, feed her family, live in a tent. I don’t care. Few things in my life ever mattered, and she’s one of them.

  Now, she paces around by the car, hurting her bare feet on the rocky ground. She doesn’t like the pants, feeling trapped in her clothes.

  “I plan to take Pixie’s family with us. That’s why I brought the SUV,” I say and then add when they all stare at me, “They can’t fit on the bike.”

  Bronco watches me with his dark, unreadable eyes. I never know what to think when he studies me in that way. His eyes were easier to understand when he pointed the gun at me in the drug house. I felt relief at knowing my life was about to end. I’d been in pain for so long. What was the point of tomorrow if it was just another shitty, painful version of today?

  But Bronco didn’t kill me. And I got right with the Executioners. Now, I have a woman. Living ended up being a good thing.

  “She can’t come with us,” Bronco says, gesturing toward Pixie.

  “She can’t stay behind at my house.”

  “Leave her with Topanga and Lana.”