by Bijou Hunter
The rest of the men don’t smile at Wyatt’s shit. They’re aware of Bronco’s dark mood even if Wyatt can’t feel it.
Stretching out his long legs, Conor shrugs. “I hoped the Volkshalberd might be inspired to take matters in their own hands. It’s possible a few still might when things get worse. Better for them to rise against Marks than for us to massacre dozens of people and risk bringing state and federal law into Elko. Not to mention the press. But you do you, Wyatt.”
“Or we can do me,” Bronco grumbles. “And I’ve been thinking about what we’ve learned in the last forty-eight hours. Thanks to Anders’s hippie girlfriend, we now know the asshole behind all this trouble is John Marks. Understanding how that family works, Steph Marks must be involved too. Possibly, the druggie youngest brother too, but I’d heard rumors that he OD’d years ago.”
“Then, we kill Marks and his sister. Problem solved,” Wyatt announces.
“Hey, hotshot, have you ever asked your old man why we didn’t just pop the Marks family when we took over Elko decades ago?” Bronco growls at his nephew. “This was back before we went soft and kept your ass from murdering everyone. So why do you think we didn’t take those rich fucks out?”
Wyatt always has the same move. He starts trouble, pushes it as far as it’ll go, and then backtracks once shit gets dangerous for himself. Then he plays the victim as if everyone else is the asshole, and he’s just trying to help. I’ve seen him do this move since I first arrived here. He gets away with his bullshit since he’s the nephew of the top guy and his daddy helped found the Executioners. Anyone else would have been buried by now.
“Let me help you out, son,” Rooster says in his deep, twangy voice. “The Marks family are sneaky cowards. If they feel threatened, they’ll use an entire children’s cancer ward as a shield. When shit went south for the Marks family in Elko, they fucking vanished and left their allies paying the price.”
“And if we storm the Village, we might find they’re not even there,” Lowell says, eyeballing Wyatt. “We had no idea they were in Elko until Pixie ratted them out.”
“So, what’s the plan?” asks another founding member, Akron.
Bronco nods at his longtime friend. “We’ll hit up Pixie and Fairuza for info on the Village’s layout, who is close to Marks, where they keep their weapons. Some of that info might be fluid, but we’ll get an idea of what we face. After that, we attack.”
“The goal is as few deaths as possible,” Lowell adds before Wyatt can start trouble. “A bunch of dead kids won’t fly, even in Elko. That shit gets press attention.”
I scan the men’s faces and spot Conor. His heavy-lidded eyes tell me he’s working up an idea. Bronco sees the same thing, but they won’t brainstorm shit in front of the rest of the guys.
For years, I’ve followed Bronco around, acting as his personal bodyguard. He likes how I scare people just by standing still. I learned a lot while watching him and Lowell work. They always devise their plans in private and then share them with the group. The Executioners aren’t a democracy, and Bronco doesn’t want to spitball ideas with his club brothers.
“With John Marks in the mix, everything comes into play,” Bronco says, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. “Watch your people, keep your kids in the community, look out for strangers. Marks has the cult thinking in apocalyptic terms. They came at Anders, guns blazing. There’s no reason to think they aren’t willing to send a few suicide shooters into our community. Marks won’t give two shits if he gets all those people killed. He’s playing the role of dictator, and he’s never once paid a real price for his bullshit. That’s who we’re dealing with, so don’t lower your guard.”
Bronco nods at Lowell, who says, “The blockade at the Village continues. If you’re on perimeter duty, assume they’ll fire on you like they did Anders.”
“That’s it for now,” Bronco adds.
Though I suspect he planned to say more, Wyatt’s bullshit and Conor’s idea likely threw him off his game. Or maybe I’m reading everything wrong tonight. My mind keeps flashing back to Pixie in my house. I think of her bare feet dancing around on the hardwood. Or her stretched out on my bed. Or her wide eyes during the movie last night.
“Titan, come with me,” Bronco mutters, waking my brain from its lovestruck stupor.
I follow him out of the main area to a smaller side room. Lowell joins us, but the men don’t speak. I assume more are coming. Rooster, Drummer, and Akron enter next.
“I need you to find out if John Marks is in that compound,” Bronco says, holding my gaze with his dark eyes. “I get the feeling they’re baiting us to attack. We go in there, lose some of our guys, kill a shit-ton of his people. All while, Marks hides in town or isn’t even in the state. We need to know when he was last spotted in the Village.”
“Okay,” I say.
Bronco glances back at the other men and then frowns harder at me. “We told you to stay the fuck away from the Village.”
“I know.”
“But you went anyway.”
“I think you knew I would. It’s why you didn’t put anyone on Redfoot Road.”
“Bullshit,” he grumbles, his dark eyes flashing with anger. “I expected you to do what you promised.”
“I couldn’t let her starve.”
“And what happens if the choice is her safety or ours? Who survives then, Anders?”
I finally catch up with what’s happening here. The last few years and my new fancy Sergeant at Arms title don’t mean shit. Now that I’ve fucked up, they view me as one of the Killing Joes again. I study the men and wonder what I’ll do if they jump me. Will I let them beat me down? Can I stand by while they put a bullet in me?
No, I don’t think I’ll be so agreeable. I have Pixie and her family to protect. If I have to run and hide with them, I will. I’ll die to protect Bronco, but not his ego.
“If you’re fixing to make a move, make it,” I say in a steady voice. “If you’re looking for me to cry, I don’t have it in me. If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, I don’t think I can. I saved my honey and her family, and I got info for the club. In my mind, I broke your rules, sure. But I also did right by everyone that matters, including the men in this room.”
Bronco glances at Lowell. The men have known each other for decades. They’re like an old married couple, sharing conversations with no more than facial expressions. I’ve never had a friend like that. Bronco isn’t my buddy. He’s my president. I’ll kill and die for him, but we aren’t close. Deep inside, I’ll always be a member of the club that ambushed Wheels. That’s a stink I can never wash off.
“I want John Marks dead,” Bronco says to the room. “I refuse to allow the fucker to sneak away this time. I want him gutted. I want his intestines sitting in the middle of the fucking road for the entire damn town to see. I want his cunt sister strung up from a streetlight. I want children scarred for life at the sight of her. I want this town to still talk about their deaths when I’m too old to get my dick to work. If this shit doesn’t end with them dead, we’re pathetic. Does everyone fucking understand?”
The men and I nod. Though some are pushing sixty, they’ve all got killing on their minds. Bronco comfortably plays the family man, but he can turn off every good thing inside him and slaughter anyone in his way. I saw him take on three guys once. Strung out, I sat on my ass and watched him butcher my club brothers.
Then he pointed his gun at me. Three years later, I’m staring into the same eyes. I know what Bronco wants, and I have no qualms about bringing him the heads of John and Steph Marks.
Before Pixie, I thought I would do anything for Bronco. Now, I know I have a limit. He understands that, too. Soon, we’ll both see if my limit ends our three-year-long uneasy truce.
PIXIE
Mama gets frustrated by shopping on the computer. There are too many choices. She tells Topanga how spending money on new clothes and furniture is wasteful when we need so little to survive.
Topanga
is a lot like Mama in that she refuses to be told no. She also sees a problem and immediately wants to fix it.
Like how the Village’s horn signals a coming together for that community, Topanga’s phone alerts the Woodlands’ women how we need donations.
For the next hour, people arrive with boxes filled with clothes, toys, and beauty stuff I don’t know how to use. There’s even a cage bed for Future to sleep in at night.
We stick the boxes in a front room that Anders has no use for. Actually, I think most of this house is unnecessary.
“I don’t know what to do with all this,” I tell Topanga as the doorbell rings again.
“We’ll organize everything by groups and figure out what you want. Whatever you don’t need, I’ll donate.”
I stand next to Topanga, overwhelmed by the constant doorbell ringing and all the boxes. I don’t understand what a lot of the stuff is used for, and I wish the house was quiet. Anders should come home, and we can watch the Indiana Jones movie. Then we can sleep. Too much is happening far too fast.
Mama finally picks up Future and takes Dove’s hand. She gestures for me to follow her into Anders’s bedroom, where she shuts all the doors. We crouch in the large closet with all his giant clothes.
“I think these people will be the end of us,” Mama says, wincing at the pain from her eye.
Despite my fatigue, I ask, “Don’t you like it here?”
“Anders is your grand sequoia, and he kept us from starving. Those are good things, but you are no miracle worker, Pixie.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do,” Mama says, frowning until she remembers her bruised eye. “The man is broken inside. He expects you to fix him. How can you do that?”
“I’ll give him love like you give me.”
“It’s not enough. He lives in this big house. I heard those women say how the house is just like his leader’s house. Anders isn’t a man. He’s a shell. Someone broke him long ago. He’s lost, but you can’t be his anchor.”
“I can try,” I insist, refusing to give up on him. “Anders is sweet to me. He’s so big and strong. I know his heart was broken, and he says no one ever loved him. But he poops normal. That’s better than John Marks.”
“Pixie.”
“Mama.”
Sighing at how I’m no longer a child quick to obey her, she explains, “Weakness is a disease that eats up the good in people. I don’t want you to be scared and fragile. But I can’t support you taking on a man like Anders. I see his sad eyes, and I know he cares for you. But he’s filled with darkness. Though I hope he finds peace.”
“But?”
“But if he loses control of his huge body one time and lashes out, you might not survive. He’s like a demon gun. It only needs one shot to take a life.”
Nearby, Dove begins to cry. I assume she’s remembering Papa, but she looks at our mother and whimpers, “You’re going to make him hate us. Then we’ll have to go back.”
“The Village is our home,” Mama says, reaching for my sister’s hand. “Not a great home, but a good one until John Marks.”
“There’s not enough sun,” Dove whimpers.
Future stops looking at his three blocks, sees Dove is crying, and decides he should too.
“This is why I was whispering,” Mama scolds me as she cradles the boy in her arms.
I crawl over to Dove, hugging her against me. “Your whispers are too loud.”
Mama rolls her eyes, but she knows her voice echoes.
“I’ll be careful with Anders,” I say while caressing Dove’s face. “He needs a family, and we can be happy with him.”
“He wants you, Pixie. Not us. And how can we live in this place? Will I go to the supermarket and fill a cart full of trash? Then have my children eat it, so you’re full of garbage?”
“Why can’t you buy good food and feed that to us? Don’t they have fruits and vegetables at the supermarket?”
Mama frowns at me. I know she’s making a point about how this world corrupts. At the Dandelion Collective, we never fought with our fists. No one starved. Anger was dealt with in other ways. People shared.
Our life is different now. I’ve killed a man. We’re in a community with beautiful houses filled with guns. The men here take lives. They keep the Village from eating.
The outside world has already corrupted us. She’s right about that. Papa wouldn’t want us living in this house. But he never would have liked the Village either. The dour faces, the mismanagement, the favoritism—Papa would rebel.
But he’s gone on to his next story. We’re left behind. Mama knew we couldn’t survive in the outside world, so she agreed to come to the Village. We tried to be happy there, but it was never easy.
“I miss the Dandelion Collective,” I say, reaching for Mama’s hand. “Life on the commune was best, but the government stole it from us. We tried the Village, but John Marks stole that. Now, we should try this community. There might be bad parts just like at the Village. But, at least, there’s food, and Dove can sit in the sun, and Future has the energy to smile.”
My words burn Mama’s soul. Her life was so good at the old commune. She and Papa were deeply in love. The people in the commune were our family. Everyone had known each other for generations. I only have good memories of my life there.
I understand how much Mama misses Papa and what we lost. There was never any time for her to grieve. She had to keep fighting—the government, the people at the apartment complex where we lived for a few short weeks, the elders at the Village. Yet her children suffered, and her face is bruised, and her helpmate is missing. Mama feels as if she’s failed, and my words rub salt in her wounds.
“We should try to live here,” I say, stroking her bruised knuckles. “At least until John Marks makes the biker men too angry and they kill him.”
Mama looks at a wet-eyed but quiet Future. He shows her his block with the letter “B” on the front. My little brother always watches Mama to know how to feel.
In the Village, he followed her around, playing next to where she worked. If she smiles, he does. If she gets angry, he balls up his little fists. Mama is his favorite person.
Right now, he cries because Dove does, and he’s confused about what’s happening. Is the food going away? The toys? Where will we sleep? He waits for Mama to signal whether he should be scared.
“This is a good house,” Mama says to Future and then smiles at Dove before looking at me. “We could live here without bothering Anders at all.”
“There’s a whole other house under the floor,” I say as my fingers create braids in Dove’s thick, wavy hair. “With a kitchen and a big area for playing and a television. Bedrooms and a bathroom. So much stuff.”
“And he has more space upstairs,” Dove says, looking at me. “We could put a tabernacle in the yard if he doesn’t want us inside.”
Mama’s eyes fill with tears. She rarely cries. I’m startled to see her so emotional.
“We were going to die there,” Mama admits. “The Volkshalberd will be dead by the winter.”
Afraid of my mother’s sadness, I try to make her smile again. “There’s so much space in the yard for a garden. We could grow food like we did when we were Dandelions.”
“We’ll always be Dandelions,” Mama whispers. “And you were right to help Anders yesterday. Those boys had no right to hurt him when he was just visiting you. Anders shouldn’t have to die because John Marks filled their heads with hate.”
Mama and I come to an understanding. Just like when she asked me to help her settle the family into the Village, I’m asking her to give this new community a chance. We can be Dandelions here, believing what we’ve always believed. Our family will be safe and together in a house belonging to a large man with a broken heart.
PART 3: PLEASURE AND PAIN
ANDERS
The house is quiet when I return from the clubhouse. Topanga’s car sits in the driveway, and I find her stretched out on the couch.
She turns off the TV when I arrive. Hurrying over, she offers a huge smile.
“I did good.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, wary of all the changes happening.
“I got your new family all set up while you were gone.”
“Again, what does that mean?”
“Fairuza and the younger two are downstairs. They’re sleeping in the front bedroom. There’s food down there, diapers, toys, everything they need.”
“Did they eat dinner?”
“Yep. I’ve gotten a feel for what kind of food they like. Tomorrow, I’ll take Fairuza to the store to look over groceries. I sense she prefers taking charge rather than having others care for her.”
“Where’s Pixie?”
“In your room, watching TV.” Topanga gestures to the office, where boxes are stacked. “Pixie and her mother went through the clothes and found things that fit them. Future looks adorable in his normal clothes. Now, if only I can convince them to let me cut his hair.”
“Topanga,” I say, and she looks scolded. “Thank you.”
Smiling now, she hugs me. “Pixie is so beautiful.”
“I don’t even know if she’s eighteen.”
“Does it matter?” she says, giving me a naughty grin. “They don’t care about the law. Do you?”
“It’s not legal shit that I care about. If Pixie’s got a kid’s brain, then she can’t want me like I want her.”
“I don’t think her brain is on kid stuff.”
“She kisses me like this,” I say, pressing my fingers to my lips and then touching hers with them.
“First, never tell Lowell I cheated on him with that kiss.” When I roll my eyes, she gives me a playful punch in the gut. “I asked Fairuza how old Pixie was, and she didn’t know. Isn’t that the weirdest thing? Then she asked what year it was. Once I told her, she did a little math and guessed Pixie was around twenty. On paper, anyway, you’re good to go. If you want to test her loyalty, have Conor come over and shake his fine ass for her. See if she seems interested. Women love that boy’s butt.”
