by Bijou Hunter
But then the doorbell rings, and more people show up. These newest women don’t drop off anything. Instead, the four of them come inside and talk to me. All while squinting as if they have dirt in their eyes.
As Anders continues working with Conor in the dining room, Topanga and Lana return. There’s tension between those two women and the four who arrived earlier.
Of the new women, two are younger, two are older, three are blonde, and one has red hair. The four are all connected to Bronco in some way. That makes them powerful since he’s the man in charge.
The younger of the older blondes—Barbie—is Conor’s mom. He doesn’t look anything like her. I’m not sure if they’re related by blood.
The younger blonde woman—Taryn—is related to the oldest blonde woman—Bambi. It’s very confusing. I think Taryn is Bambi’s daughter and Conor’s cousin and Bronco’s niece. The women keep explaining their relationships to each other as a way to confuse me. At the Village, people sometimes tried to say very little while using many words. It’s a trick!
The redheaded lady—DeAnna—isn’t related to any of them. She is married to Taryn’s brother and Bambi’s son and Barbie’s nephew and Conor’s cousin and Bronco’s nephew. Yes, they keep overexplaining things to confuse me!
Mama holds back in the kitchen, wary of these women. Dove stands next to me and focuses her gaze on the ground.
“No shoes,” DeAnna whispers loudly to Taryn.
They’re mocking me! I feel as if I should make fun of them back. I could lean over to Dove and whisper loudly about all the makeup the redhead wears to hide her freckles. Is that a good insult, though? Their shoe thing wasn’t.
However, I lose interest in their insults once I notice Taryn’s son—and Bambi’s grandson and Barbie’s great-nephew, etc.—stealing Future’s toys. My little brother’s happy face loses its smile when the older boy takes each one. Finally, Future only has the block in his hand.
Back in the Collective, everything belonged to everyone. There was no individual ownership. My toys were available to all the children, just as theirs were to me. With the Dandelions, those were the rules. Greedy people didn’t survive long.
But the outside world works differently. The people here are greedy. At the apartment the government put us in, our neighbors stole our stuff because we didn’t lock everything up. We forgot to view them as the enemy.
At the Village, some things were owned by people, others were owned by the community. Mostly, the important objects—food, vehicles, tabernacles, tools—were owned by the Volkshalberd. We shared them. But a shirt or a small toy could belong to an individual. Then John Marks came along. Soon, I noticed everything good belonged to him and his brainless toadies while the leftovers belonged to the rest of us.
But this house isn’t part of the Collective or the Village. Outsiders’ rules work here. That means Devlin would never share his toys with Future. So, why should my brother share his things with the five-year-old?
“Doesn’t your mother give you toys?” I ask Devlin before shooing him away from Future’s blocks that I’ve taken back.
“Don’t talk to my son that way,” Taryn demands.
“Don’t raise a thief.”
Comforting her greedy son, Taryn glares at me and mutters, “I thought you people were hippies.”
“And we gave you so many free things yesterday,” DeAnna complains. “Those toys are only yours because of our charity.”
“I sent those over,” Lana says of the blocks.
The mood shifts around me. These women have histories. I knew right away how Topanga and Lana weren’t friendly with DeAnna and Taryn. Their faces are different when talking to each other versus the new women. I’m not sure about Barbie and Bambi. They both frown a lot, mostly at Mama, who remains in the kitchen frowning at them.
“That’s not the point,” DeAnna says and turns back toward me. “You need to be more grateful. Tell ‘Future’ to share.”
After doing that bendy thing with her fingers, DeAnna glances at Taryn and snickers at my brother’s name.
“It’s your devil boy that won’t share. Doesn’t he have toys of his own? Why is he so greedy?”
“Stop talking shit about my grandson,” Bambi says, pointing at me. “You need to watch your mouth.”
“No,” I say and reach down to take back the blocks Devlin stole from Future again.
My brother smiles when I place the blocks in front of him. Devlin just growls at me like a dumb little dog.
“Did you know,” Topanga says as if she just discovered her voice, “that Lana and Bronco have four girls between them?” Before I can explain how I do know that since she told me yesterday, the woman continues, “I bet Dove is around Summer’s age.”
Lana smiles despite not wanting to. “Dove could come over and meet the girls. Summer could talk about whatever teenage girls talk about. It’ll be fun.”
“Yeah, I’m sure Bronco’s princess will fucking love that,” Taryn mutters to DeAnna.
“Why do you whisper so loud?” I ask the blonde. “We can all hear you. Just talk normal.”
“I’ll do what I want.”
“She’s got a mouth on her,” Bambi mutters to Barbie, who is focused on Conor nearby.
“I was thinking,” Topanga says, getting her chatty personality back as she takes me by the arm and waves Mama over. We walk outside with Lana. “There is so much space in your yard. You could buy a playset for Future. And put a vegetable garden over in that corner.”
“Or one of those atriums,” Lana suggests. “You can grow plants and vegetables during the bad weather. The sunroom gets enough light for you to grow herbs, too.”
I look over the flat green yard and try to imagine the things they’re describing. I don’t know what swings and a slide look like at a house. I’ve only seen them at big parks.
“We had greenhouses at the Collective,” I tell Topanga.
Mama walks past us with Future following her. I notice he carries a single block. Back in the house, the devil child stole the others for the third time! My brother isn’t used to having things of his own. That’s why he doesn’t fuss over losing his blocks. Instead, he follows Mama to the grass where he plops down and looks at his remaining toy.
“Oh, I just had a thought,” Topanga says, gasping.
“Big shock,” DeAnna mutters behind us.
Ignoring the younger woman, Topanga continues, “You could keep a few chickens back here in a coop.”
“That’s against the bylaws,” Bambi says immediately.
Topanga rolls her big blue eyes. “Bylaws are rules we make up as we go along. We can vote to change them.”
“I vote we keep them the same,” DeAnna says, raising her hand.
Topanga takes my hand and lifts it. “We vote to change them. Pixie has a say through Anders.”
“But only her. Not her mangy family,” Taryn grumbles and raises her hand. If I knew what mangy meant, I might have to insult her back. Since I don’t, I just glare while she adds, “I vote no change.”
“Doesn’t seem like you should have a say since you live in your mother’s house,” Topanga says, getting feisty like she was yesterday.
Bambi shakes her head. “Screw that. She’s been a member of the Executioners family for longer than you have, Topanga. I vote for no changes.”
“I vote yes,” Lana says, stepping closer to Topanga and raising her hand. “Three to three.”
“No, four to three,” Bambi says and nudges her sister. “You lose. And if we have a full vote of the community, you’ll lose by more.”
“Rules are for sissies,” Barbie announces. “I say let them have the fucking chickens. Who cares?”
“Chickens stink and make noise,” DeAnna whines.
“Why do you give a shit?” Barbie mutters, seeming bored. “You live two blocks away in Bambi’s house.”
“I’ll be moving here when our house is finished.”
“For fuck’s sake, you’ll be fi
ve houses from here. No way will you hear any chickens, especially with your loud-as-fuck dog barking his head off in the morning.”
“Slave is protective.”
The older woman narrows her blue eyes in a really cold way. “On more than one occasion, I’ve struggled with the urge to shoot him.”
“Barbie Parrish, don’t you dare shoot her dog,” Taryn growls at her aunt.
“Cunt, did you just call me by my maiden name?”
I step back as Barbie goes for Taryn, who jumps behind her mother. While Bronco’s sisters shove each other, I glance at the corner where the coop would go. Even though I suspect Anders won’t want chickens, I keep my mouth shut and let the women fight. I don’t know them well enough to get involved with their mess.
“Ladies, chillax,” Conor says, popping his head out of the back door.
“Shut up,” Taryn growls at her cousin. “You're just protecting your crazy mom.”
“No, my behavior comes from a deep guilt over not defending Wyatt when Anders was ready to snap your brother’s pencil neck.”
“What?” DeAnna demands and then shrinks when she notices Anders appear behind Conor. Speaking more quietly, she adds, “That’s unacceptable.”
“You’re a cow, Conor,” Taryn growls, taking one of Future’s toys out of Devlin’s hand and throwing it at her cousin.
Lana stares horrified until Topanga explains, “This is how they are when Bronco isn’t around to play referee. Fun, huh?”
I catch Anders’s gaze and frown hard. He acts so passively sometimes, even though he’s bigger than everyone. I know these people have demon guns and can kill him, but he has those weapons, too.
“This is my house,” he says, frowning right at Taryn. “I earned it fair and square. These are my people. I don’t come to your house and fuck with your people. Now, if you want to keep acting this way, we’ll be at Bambi’s place tomorrow. I’ll take a shit on the living room floor, and Future can piss in the corner. Real caveman behavior. Or you can all calm the fuck down.”
Though the younger women shrink under his angry gaze, Barbie and Bambi don’t even notice him. They're too busy shoving each other to care what anyone else is doing.
I walk past the women and take Anders’s hand. “Can I show you?”
When he doesn’t want to walk with me, I accept how Anders hides in the background. Confronting these women isn’t what he’d normally do. The only reason he spoke up was for me. Now, I want to calm him.
We stand in the grassy area, feet away from where Mama and Future sit. I don’t know where Dove is hiding, but she’s probably afraid to walk past the crazy Woodlands women.
“Topanga is talking about an atrium and a chicken coop and a plaything for Future,” I say, and Anders looks horrified. “I don’t know what most of that would even mean in a yard, but I don’t need any of them. We can just plant carrots, and Future will play in the grass. Your house doesn’t need to change.”
Shaking off his initial disgust, Anders frowns. “I don’t care about the backyard.”
“But this is where we first put your penis-cock in my pussy-vagina. It’s special.”
His frown softens before shifting into a smile. When his large hand cups my face, I lean into the palm. “I know these people are annoying.”
“Topanga and Lana are nice. Barbie voted on our side. I do not like that little boy, though,” I say, and Anders glances back at the devil child.
“No one does. But that’s how it works in the Woodlands. People at the top, the leadership people, get to be obnoxious assholes. People like us have to fight for everything just to stay even.”
Nodding, I realize there’s as much political stuff happening in the Woodlands as at the Village. Mama once said she wouldn’t kiss the ring of the new man in charge. Perry wanted to be nice to John Marks. He figured we had nothing to lose by pretending to like the dumb-dumb who smelled like beets and couldn’t poop.
I hadn’t wanted to pretend, though. Mama and I believed we shouldn’t change from how we were at the Collective. But that thinking could have gotten us killed.
No longer at the Collective or the Village, I’ll need to learn the rules to survive in Anders’s world.
ANDERS
When Pixie mentions us in the hot tub last night, life doesn’t seem so ugly. Then. I see her little brother crawling in the grassy yard and his mother running her fingers over the leaves of a tree at the back fence. This moment feels real comfortable despite the arguing women behind us. I even find myself searching the sea of faces for Dove. My people should all be together. Yeah, I like having a family of my own.
But there’s no denying how quickly life can get ugly.
That’s why I’m on edge over leaving my people. Even with the house locked down and located in a gated community. And I’ll be at a meeting only blocks away. They should be safe. But nothing feels right now that I know members of the Killing Joes Motorcycle Club are in Elko.
On the ride to Bronco’s house, I imagine what those men would do to Pixie and her family. Knowing Gak, he’d slit Fairuza’s throat right off the bat. Take out the strongest, oldest member of the group. Let the rest know they’re fucked.
Pixie would fight them, but her little fists and slight build would be no match for men quick to violence. They’d break her body before fucking it. Dove seems submissive. They’d hurt her, anyway. As soon as Future cried, they’d kill the boy. I know those men. They feel no pity for anyone. They’ll crush that boy’s skull without a second thought.
And they’re in Elko because of me! I should have taken out the entire club before coming to this town. Instead, I found the easy ones and used their heads to barter my way into a new club. I should have hunted down each man and ended the Killing Joes completely.
Oh, who am I fucking kidding? I was too wasted to track down anyone. The only reason I killed the five I did was that they were nearby. If I had to do detective work while high, I’d still be looking for the assholes.
Yet, I feel guilty. After today’s visitors get the fuck out but before I leave my house, I explain to Pixie and Fairuza how dangerous men are hiding in Elko. They’re here to help John Marks.
“Do not let anyone in this house while I’m gone. There is a panic room,” I say before showing them the hidden space in the basement. “Keep the house locked up. If someone tries to bust their way inside, you hide in this room and hit this red button. Then you do not open that door for anyone you haven’t met. Meaning, only Conor, Bronco, and Lowell. No one else, okay?”
Pixie stares at me with wide eyes, terrified by my tone and the idea of her family in danger. In many ways, she’s an adult, ready to face the world. At other times, she’s a kid accustomed to her mother’s guidance.
Fairuza doesn’t stare with wide eyes. She looks angry as if wanting to fuck up someone. I suspect she’s still pissed-off about our earlier guests or maybe the beating she got from the Volkshalberd.
I consider giving the ladies guns, but neither knows how to use one. They’re more likely to hurt themselves or an ally.
Once the house is locked down, I show them the security device that I know for a fucking fact they do not understand. Then I leave them to watch TV in the living room while Fairuza keeps a big kitchen knife nearby.
The odds are slim of someone attacking while I’m gone. The sun hasn’t gone down, and security in the Woodlands is solid. However, I remain on edge. My part of the community is less lived in. Though the younger men and newer guys are building houses here, many lots are currently empty.
Arriving at Bronco’s house located at the center of the community, I see a few Harleys parked in the long, curved driveway. Lowell opens the door for me, and I walk inside to find all of my president’s blonde daughters.
There’s the oldest—fifteen-year-old Summer—chilling on the couch, looking at her phone. The two middle ones—eleven-year-old Sidonie belonging to Bronco and nine-year-old Desi belonging to Lana—run around the backyard with their black-and
-white border collie and a Chihuahua mix. Lana holds the baby she shares with Bronco.
Over a few months, Carina went from a lump to a human being complete with a personality. The kid looks a lot like Bronco lately, and she even wears his frown.
Right now, she looks at me over her mom’s shoulder as Lana talks with Summer. The baby probably doesn’t see me. I don’t know how much little kids understand. I keep talking to Future as if he’s an adult, but he just stares. Kids might as well be rocket science for me.
But I can’t look away from Carina.
“What?” Bronco grumbles in the kitchen.
I catch him glaring at me as if I’m the enemy.
A few feet away, Conor pops a chip in his mouth and mumbles, “Now that Anders found a honey, he’s got babies on the brain.”
Bronco’s face turns confused as if he never considered I might want a family. I sometimes wonder if he believes I was spawned out of a tree or a giant troll. He’s never asked about my parents or what I did before the Killing Joes.
I often get the feeling that Bronco chooses to keep us strangers. As if it’ll be easier to kill me when I eventually turn on him. In Bronco’s mind, I’m one bad day away from beheading another club president.
“How old is that girl?” Bronco asks Conor instead of me.
“Twenty,” I answer. “Her mom did the math.”
“They don’t believe in birthdays,” Lowell adds nearby. “They think every day is a celebration of a person’s birth.”
“Wait, so could I get presents every day?” Summer asks from the couch. “I feel as if that could get expensive.”
Bronco finally smiles. “You’d run out of shit for me to buy after two months.”
“Ahh, but what a wonderful two months they’d be,” Summer says, sighing blissfully as Lana laughs.
Bronco grins at his oldest daughter and gives Lana a kiss on the cheek. Then he nuzzles his nose against Carina’s. The baby never likes it when he does that move. She always frowns as if he’s a crazy person. Her expression never fails to crack me up.
