by Bijou Hunter
Standing by the back door, Conor asks, “Who would you pick to run the Village?”
Mama shrugs. “Depends on who is still alive after John Marks is dead.”
Dove smiles at our mother’s words and then grins bigger when Future talks about his picture.
“He’s so alert,” I tell Mama.
Her expression reveals much about her uncertain feelings. When I went missing, John Marks’s brainless toadies attacked Mama. They threatened to give Dove to the torch bearer and send Future to the sun. When Mama fought them, they beat her. Then, they sent her back to our tabernacle and kept Perry, who likely took their side to save himself. Except he didn’t know where I was either.
If Anders and his biker friends hadn’t shown up, Mama wouldn’t have survived much longer. The Volkshalberd wanted to make an example of her. Dove would have ended up in John Marks’s bed while Future was put out of his misery.
But Anders brought us to this big house with the bigger yard. We can be comfortable here in a way we weren’t even at the Collective.
Except we don’t know these people. And though I love Anders, he isn’t a simple, soft man.
In truth, I don’t trust him. He doesn’t trust me, either. No one taught him to love or sacrifice for others in a way that didn’t involve violence. He’s like a baby in so many ways. A giant child lacking experiences that would make him a good man.
But I still love him, and I want my family to be happy. We could make a comfortable home for all five of us. I believe in that, but I don’t know what happens when John Marks is dead. Or if Anders decides he doesn’t love me anymore in the same way Perry turned on Mama.
Rather than worry, I smile at my family and then Anders. Then I smile at Conor. Anders doesn’t like that part. Still, Conor helped us with the stove, and he ordered food. Now, we get to repay him by making this map of the Village.
“Be sure to put every little thing,” I tell Dove. “Even the holes in the ground where men defecate. Who knows what the Executioners might need to know?”
I catch Conor grinning at Anders, who grunts. Men are very complicated in this world. Not so much at the Village and not at all at the Collective. One day, I might understand why there are so many differences.
“Can you list all the members of the Volkshalberd?” Conor asks, placing a lined sheet of paper on the table before giving Future a fresh one to color on. “Number the names on this paper and then add the numbers to the map to show where they sleep within the Village.” When Mama and I frown at him, Conor only smiles. “Rather than have you write out seventy to a hundred names on the map, you can make a list and then just add the numbers on the map.”
“Is nighttime when you’ll attack?” Mama asks. “They have very little organization once it’s dark. There are only a few teenage boys at the front gate. That would be the best time to attack.”
Conor smiles again at Anders, who shrugs. The two men are so different. I try to hold Anders’s gaze, but he keeps frowning at everything. Then the doorbell rings, and Future shows me his paper. My brother thinks he has to stop coloring.
“Draw more,” I say and then return to working on the map.
Mama starts a list while Dove helps her with names. Anders returns from the front door with bags. When the food’s scent reaches my family, we all turn to him, barely hiding our greediness. Mama’s stomach growls loudly.
“Food?” Future asks, pointing at Anders.
“Yeah, kid, food,” he mumbles.
I walk to where the containers rest on the counter. Rubbing my lips against Anders’s bare arm, I look up at his frowning face.
“Do you not like the food?” When he ignores me, I continue, “The map? Conor? Are you angry we ate your chicken legs?”
Anders finally grudgingly smiles. “I’ll always share my shit with you.”
“Then why are you pouting like a little boy?”
Irritated again, he glares over my head at Conor, who is focused on Mama’s list. “He isn’t nice to women. It’s all fake. He hurts children. I think he set a nun on fire.”
“What’s a nun?”
Sighing, Anders shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m lying anyway.”
“I’m not wholly against the idea of setting a nun on fire,” Conor says, having eavesdropped from the table. “If she threatened the club or my family, I could see striking the match.”
Anders sighs again, louder as if he wants people outside to hear. “Sorry, man.”
Conor glances back and smiles. “Men are so territorial with their new girlfriends. Bronco was the same way with Lana. Then again, maybe I’m just that intimidating to your egos.”
Anders thinks about Conor’s words while the younger man leans over to whisper something to Mama.
“We should eat,” I say when Anders remains silent.
He places his hands on my shoulders and looks at me with his sad, blue eyes. “Do you like him?”
“Who?”
“Really?” he mutters, annoyed. “Who do you think?”
“Bronco?”
“Now, I know you’re fucking with me.”
Grinning, I nudge him aside and open the bags. “You miss being alone with me, is that it?”
Anders leans down and nuzzles his lips in my hair. He wants me to pay attention to him and maybe to punch Conor. I realize he’s jealous like when Future doesn’t want Mama to play with other kids.
“Can I show Mama, Dove, and Future the pool today?” I ask as he sets out plates that I fill with food.
“Of course, but you don’t have swimsuits.”
“Is there a law about wearing them? Can we go naked like last night?”
Conor gives Anders an approving wink, and my blond bear smiles grudgingly. “There’s no law. You can wear whatever you want. Just don’t drink the water.”
“Why?”
“There are chemicals in the water to keep the pool clean.”
Mama and I share a look, knowing Future will want to drink the water. That’s a problem for later.
Conor carries plates to the table. While he seems helpful, I suspect he just doesn’t want Mama and Dove to stop working.
“If the Yabo family will be staying here long term, it wouldn’t hurt for you to buy a playset for the yard,” he tells Anders. “Bronco’s daughters still play on theirs, and those girls are older than Future.”
Mama frowns, not sure what a playset is. Of course, she assumes the worst. I set drinks in front of her and Dove. Then, I join Future and feed him from my plate. I smile at how bright he looks today. I’d forgotten the way my brother smiled before John Marks came along and started trouble with the motorcycle men. Now, Future and Dove can shine, and Mama won’t have bruises on her face.
Anders remains in the kitchen, taking bites and frowning at his feet. I don’t know why he’s so tense. Maybe like Future this morning, Anders isn’t sure what to make of his new life.
Walking to him, I hug my grand sequoia and remind him how his heart is full of sunshine. He isn’t the Antichrist, and he doesn’t have to get high to be happy. If he chooses not to smile today, that’s okay, too. Not every day is a celebration. Some are sour, and others are filled with pain.
Anders’s mind could be focused on the past, present, or future. There’s no telling since he hides his thoughts, afraid of them being mocked.
But I love him, and I am relieved his story and mine are written together. If the Village has to burn to allow us a happy future, then so be it.
ANDERS
Pixie takes good care of her little brother, feeding him and changing his diapers. Fairuza is very focused on the list and map. Though I don’t know the woman well, I suspect fucking with her might lead to my death one day. Fairuza Yabo owns a temper that she clearly handed down to Pixie. The younger two seem mellow, but that might be from weeks of malnourishment and fear.
“While you ladies eat,” Conor announces, “I need to talk business with the big man outside.”
Bronco’s nep
hew charms the women so easily. Fairuza is mostly happy to know how the stove works—which I could have explained if they just woke me up. Pixie and her mother are very excited about the eventual death of John Marks. Pixie doesn’t really look at Conor any differently than she looked at Bronco and Lowell. I need to keep my jealousy in check.
On the other hand, what would Bronco do if Lana admired another man? How would he handle her leaving him or ripping out his fucking heart? Pixie claimed I look up to my president. Well, then shouldn’t I be, at least, as irrational as he would be in the same situation?
“I’m not interested in Pixie,” Conor says once we’re outside with the door shut. “She isn’t interested in me, either. You should have seen the look on her face when I was trying to talk my way into the house by explaining who I was.”
“I know all that.”
“Do you?”
“I know now,” I admit, shrugging. “So, what is the business you mentioned? We’re not just out here to talk about my feelings, are we?”
“No, but you were wearing the same look on your face as when you considered breaking Wyatt’s neck. I figured you ought to understand how I’m not your enemy.”
“I always want to break Wyatt’s neck. I just usually hide it better.”
“Fair enough. So, are we good?”
“Yeah, we’re fine.”
For nearly a minute, Conor’s heavy-lidded eyes study me. I hear he resembles his dead dad. When he looks at me, does he see the club that ambushed his father?
“Today, my mother and aunt, along with a few other women, plan to show up to vet your people. Prepare for that level of obnoxious behavior. Topanga and Lana will likely show up to play defense.”
“I don’t understand what you mean by ‘vet’ them.”
Shrugging, Conor looks out at my yard. “A handful of people are concerned about members of the Volkshalberd living inside the Woodlands. Those honeys act as if Pixie and her family are sleeper agents, preparing to attack.”
“That’s fucking stupid. You know that, right?”
“Well, to be fair, I could see Fairuza and Pixie taking out a few people if they were up to no good. Though I doubt they’d bring the baby along on their kill mission.”
Despite knowing Conor’s kidding, I’m irritated by the idea of my club brothers’ honeys harassing Pixie. “What are they hoping to learn by coming to my house?”
“Oh, it’s not just your house. They want to turn the September birthday bash at the community clubhouse into a ‘Welcome, Village Weirdos” party.”
“And I would be okay with that, why?”
Smirking, Conor runs both hands through his dark brown hair. “Honestly, man, you don’t really have a choice. Even Bronco had to bring everyone to his house eventually to meet Lana. He spread the process out over a few weeks during dinner parties, but the honeys had to size up Lana. They’ll want to do the same thing with Pixie.”
“Maybe I ought to do that dinner party shit instead.”
“Really?” Conor asks, looking ready to laugh. “Do you really want to spend every night for weeks having nosy honeys and your bored club brothers show up here to talk about the weather? If I ever find a girl of my own, I’m throwing a party and isolating the misery to a single night.”
“Fine, but only since I have no choice.”
Conor grins at my expression. “Look, we expect the wives to hold down the fort here in the Woodlands. Wouldn’t be fair to give them all the responsibilities with none of the power.”
“You say that because your mom is their queen.”
“More like co-queen. Bambi will cut a bitch if she can’t, at least, share the crown.”
“Well, I don’t want them cutting my people.”
We glance inside, where Pixie stands on the couch. Future sits on the ground, laughing his scrawny ass off. I assume they’re playing. Dove comes crawling over to her brother, and he squeals so loudly that I can hear him through the double-paned doors.
“No offense to your people, Anders, but most of the insults from my mom and aunt will fly right over their heads. Oh, and DeAnna and Taryn are coming, too.”
Enraged immediately, I growl, “I don’t want that first one in my house.”
“Dude, chill,” he says, patting my back. “No one wants DeAnna in their house. Unfortunately, she’s Wyatt’s wife. The rule is we pretend she doesn’t suck, and he doesn’t start shit with our women. When DeAnna insulted Lana, Bronco’s honey actually understood. But I suspect Pixie will only nod and look bored like she did when I first arrived.”
I smile at the thought of Pixie’s reaction to him. “So, they’ll be over when?”
“Around lunch. Lana needs to put her kid down by one. It’s fucking adorable how she believes she can run interference. The chick is too passive to deal with bitches. Eventually, she’ll accept the best solution is to wind up Topanga and let Lowell’s honey loose.”
“Do I have to feed the visiting women?”
“I wouldn’t,” Conor mutters, revealing a dark frown. “My mom never feeds anyone who visits. She doesn’t want them getting comfortable.”
I’ve always gone back and forth about which of Bronco’s sisters is bitchier. Barbie’s definitely the crazier one. However, Bambi often ramps up her drama queen level to a ten. Either way, they’ll start shit today. Then DeAnna and Taryn will find a way to make the situation worse. It’s their fucking gift.
“I might stick around for the drama,” Conor says and eyes the backyard. “Later, Bronco will decide when we’re hitting the Village.”
“I thought that was a done deal,” I mumble while watching Pixie jump from the couch to a chair while her brother laughs and claps.
“He isn’t sure how to get to Marks without killing a bunch of old people and kids. The press loves dead children, so we don’t want to bait them into noticing Elko by creating a body count. Besides, something happened last night that threw off his plans.”
As Conor pulls out his phone, I wait for him to explain. “After you left, two bikers came into Rooster’s and ordered beers. They were on the rough side and not locals, meaning our people noticed them right away. Bronco and Lowell were gone by then. I was around and told Carlie to make small talk with them. Despite the bunny’s best flirting, they played it real cold.”
“Could they be Reapers from Kentucky?”
“They weren’t from the Shasta crew,” Conor says, still fucking with his phone. “And they weren’t wearing vests. Could have been members of another Reapers chapter. Except Carlie swears she spotted a red spade tattoo on the forearm of one of the guys.”
His words send a painful jolt up my spine. My hands turn to fists. I’m seconds from punching Conor just to have a target.
“You think the Killing Joes were in Elko?” I growl like a rabid dog.
Conor ignores my tone. “You tell me. Bronco and Lowell didn’t recognize them, but we never knew all the guys in your crew.”
Unaffected by my heavy, rage-filled breathing, Conor proves why he got the club name “Frost.” The guy shows me the security pictures from the night before. They’re clear enough for me to immediately make out the faces of the two men sitting in Rooster’s.
“That’s Gak and Roadrunner,” I say, pointing at the dark-haired men. “They were younger guys in the club. Lonnie used them for stupid, violent shit anyone could do. They were hiding out of town when I did my head collection.”
“Them showing up now isn’t a coincidence,” he says. When I only frown, Conor continues, “John Marks needs muscle. You saw what he had out at the Village. Marks can’t remove the club from power with a bunch of teenagers and old folks. So, he considers who might hate the Executioners enough to join his fight.”
“How would Marks find them?”
“The youngest Marks brother was an addict. Bronco assumes Craig got cozy with people in the major Ohio cities. John might have used an old contact to track down these two assholes.”
“What’s their play?�
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“How many members do you think are left?”
“Six, maybe. The Executioners killed seven.”
“Ten, actually.”
“Then maybe it’s four guys,” I say, having trouble recalling everyone still around when the Killing Joes lost their leader. I butchered Lonnie along with any other brothers I found nearby. Then I stuffed their heads in a duffle bag and left Cleveland. The names of the guys I killed are foggy. Hell, they could be the ones I still think are alive.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I was wasted back then. I’m not sure how many guys Lonnie had in the club or how many were on his payroll. It’s a blur.”
“That’s good,” he says, and I frown. “I’d rather you be honest than give me shitty numbers.”
“Glad you approve, because I don’t fucking know. Until I saw the picture on your phone, I thought Roadrunner’s head was in the duffle bag.”
“Well, in case you’re unsure, you brought five heads that day. Why don’t we go inside and create our own list? Who we know is dead, and who we know is alive and then all the maybes? That’ll help Bronco make his decision.”
Our president is in his mid-forties and could run shit for decades more. Yet, I sense he wants a break from the stress. The current Bronco is the only one I’ve ever known. But having listened to other people, I suspect he lost a part of himself when Wheels died. Even though his crew bled plenty over the last few decades, that one death broke Bronco a little.
Now, he’s found a woman worth calling his own. Between them, they have four daughters, and I see him wanting to focus more on his family and less on whose ass needs kicking.
But if Bronco plans to step back, he’ll need to pick his successor. Lowell doesn’t want to stop playing the second fiddle. Most of the guys are either older than Bronco or younger like Conor. Choosing a family member makes sense for Bronco, leaving hotheaded-fucker Wyatt or ice-in-his-veins Conor as the only two options. I know who I’m rooting for.
PIXIE
The world is chaos! I thought today would be quiet with my family and Anders getting to know each other. Then Conor arrived, and we worked on attack stuff for the Village. Okay, that was fine. The food delivery was very delicious, and I liked how there was a lot left over for later.
