by Bijou Hunter
Bronco scowls darkly. “Are you saying you think they left?”
“I don’t know. Roadrunner probably did. Gak, maybe not. But he won’t show up in the middle of the night to a possible ambush. Roadrunner, though, is likely making decent cash back in Cleveland.”
“So, Gak is a fucking moron that’s still hanging around?” Bronco asks.
“Gak was an addict. Meth mostly. He might have gotten clean, but I doubt it. Back when I ran with them, he was always blowing through money. That meant he was in a constant state of panic over not having the cash to pay for his next fix. A guy like that would be willing to play along with Marks. However, a guy like that might also kill Marks and steal the shithead’s wallet before blowing town. Gak doesn’t care about revenge. He cares about getting his next fix. I’m not sure what Roadrunner cares about, but he isn’t suicidal.”
“I’m thinking of hitting the Village tonight,” Bronco says, lowering his voice. “Sneak onto the compound and set off the fireworks again. I figure we can get to where Marks is holed up and off him along with any others in our way.”
“Maybe the Killing Joes didn’t need to travel to the Village because they were already there,” I suggest and then decide to fess up my theory. “I think we should also assume two other guys from the Killing Joes might be around. Gak was tight with two assholes named Cole. If they’re alive, he’ll bring them to Elko.”
Lowell narrows his eyes. “But you said Gak wanted money. Sharing with three other assholes means less for him.”
“Gak and the Coles go back to childhood. Where Dumb goes, Dumber One and Dumber Two usually go, too. It doesn’t have to make sense.”
“But you think Roadrunner left?”
“I would. They came here probably thinking the Village was a doomsday cult with lots of guns and warm bodies to fire them. They could lead those assholes into war with us. All the money and power could be theirs. Except Marks has an army of starving people. Worse, there’s no money. If I saw that setup and then saw this club, I wouldn’t stick around. Well, I mean, the current-me wouldn’t stick around. When I was an addict, I would definitely follow Roadrunner down here. Then, when he went for a cigarette break and never came back, I would remain with the shitheads I knew. That’s how addicts think. We’ll sink with a ship rather than make a big move.”
Bronco sighs. “I’m fucking paralyzed. That’s how it feels. I know what I want to do. Then, I think about Conor’s big ideas and start believing I ought to play shit smart. Then, I think of me catching a bullet and leaving Lana with four kids in a town she barely knows.” Lowering his voice, he adds, “I’ve lost my edge.”
“What do you want to do?” I ask, sensing Lowell already knows the answer.
“I want what the younger version of me would want. None of this big-picture shit. I tried starving the Village. Yeah, it put pressure on them. But, mostly, the blockade is killing people like that little boy,” he says, gesturing toward Future. “I bet Marks hasn’t felt his stomach growl once these last few months. Now, he’s brought in the Killing Joes. If I had stormed the Village back in July, we wouldn’t be wasting time worrying about the inner workings of a man named Gak.”
Lowell gulps down half his beer and shrugs. “It’s easy to think all that now. But if you did what Wyatt was pushing for, innocent people would have died. Maybe not only Volkshalberd, either.”
Edgy now, I imagine Pixie and her family suffering through an attack on the Village. My gaze flickers to Fairuza with a handful of flowers she picked from a nearby bush. She slides one above Sidone’s right ear and then Desi’s. The girls smile at each other and then giggle when Fairuza puts a flower in Future’s hair.
This moment might not have happened if Bronco went into the Village guns blazing months ago. We didn’t even know about Marks yet. He might have been anywhere during the night we attacked. Even out of town. But my people would have suffered.
“You did the right thing,” I state. “You gave the Village a chance to rise up against Marks. And a chance for him to back down. Without knowing about Marks and the Killing Joes, you’d be rolling in blind. Easier to catch a bullet when you don’t know one might be headed your way. I’m glad you waited.”
Bronco’s dark eyes study my face. After a long minute, he nods. I don’t know if he respects my opinion or just appreciates me saying he made a good choice. Either way, I savor his approval.
PIXIE
Located at the center of the Woodlands community is a large building called a clubhouse. Before we arrive, Topanga explains how the indoor pool and play area are good for when the cold weather makes the little ones act batty. Thinking of that pool, I imagine Dove upstairs with Summer. Earlier, she told me how Bronco’s oldest daughter said she didn’t have to act like anyone else.
“I can just be me,” Dove whispered, looking flustered. “I’m glad because I don’t understand anything she talks about. Or how she had her friends on the computer. I just heard voices and thought she was talking with a television.”
This new world overwhelms my sister. Mama also seems overly agitated about the smallest things. We know enough not to be complete simpletons, but we’re less certain about how things work.
Mama decides she doesn’t want to come to the party. I don’t blame her. Playing in Bronco’s backyard looks far more fun than talking with a lot of strangers. Wearing makeup and this expensive dress makes me feel as if I’m no longer Pixie Yabo.
Anders doesn’t like the way I look. He frowns a lot, seeming prickly. This morning, before we came to Bronco’s house, Anders told me to never stop being the woman that loves him. Based on his scowling face, he doesn’t think I’m me right now.
The clubhouse’s ballroom is larger than I expect. The walls are a pale gray, and the wood floors are black. There’s a large light with many shiny parts dangling from the ceiling. Happy birthday is printed on a large paper hanging near the front doors.
Everyone is dressed up for the party. The biker men wear black jeans and shirts, mainly. Some women are in dresses, others are in fancy shirts and sleek pants.
Located in the center of the room is a long table filled with trays of food. My curious gaze lingers on all the strange choices. I’d rather try them than talk to anyone, but I’m not here to eat.
I take Anders's hand with both of mine as we go from one group of people to another. The men don’t smile much. The women watch me as if I’m diseased. Eventually, Topanga appears at our side and tries to lighten the mood. Her efforts don’t particularly help.
“Have you tried the food?” Topanga offers when we finish making a circle in the room, and I’ve met everyone.
Feeling uneasy after seeing how much people don’t want me here, I ask her, “Can I leave now?”
“And miss out on all this food?” she says, ignoring my pout. “Anders’s muscles won’t feed themselves.”
I can’t help smiling at the thought of Anders's body needing food. When I lift my gaze to meet his, I find him scowling. I tug him down so I can whisper in his ear, “I love you.”
“You’re better than anyone here,” he mutters, nearly snarling.
“Can you show me the food?” I ask and stroke his clenched jaw. “We can try a little of everything. I might find new foods to like.”
Anders’s icy blue eyes warm, and he stands up straight. “The caterers are usually good. Let’s see what they made.”
I share a little smile with Topanga before walking with Anders to the table. He fills a plate with a spoonful from every tray. Then he takes a bite before giving me one. I feel as if he’s proving to me that the food is safe.
Ignoring the people in the room, I see only Anders. They feel like enemies. Do they normally treat Anders well? I know they hate me, but he’s one of them. Why do I sense they don’t like him much more than they do me?
No, that’s probably me feeding my monster. Bronco and Lowell wave over Anders once we have food. Topanga offers me a glass of wine. Lana seems as nervous as I am. Not ev
eryone is hostile.
Over the next hour, I eat and drink too much. Music plays from the overhead speakers. Though I like some songs and want to dance, Anders doesn’t move once he’s found his spot near Bronco. Is this how he behaves at all the community parties?
“Have you tried the dumplings?” Topanga asks when I inch behind Anders as if to hide once the music gets louder.
I don’t know what my answer is, but then there’s more food in front of me.
“You shouldn’t drink wine,” Anders says when I finish a second glass.
“Can I drink what you’re drinking?” I ask, but he frowns darker and doesn’t answer.
Anders gets more agitated after Barbie appears to tell him that he’s too old for me. Bronco orders his sister to “lay off” and to stop causing trouble. Before she can reply, Conor claims he wants to marry a woman three times his age. This gets his mother so agitated that they go outside to discuss his stupid dreams.
As soon as I swallow the second dumpling, I know I’ve made a mistake. My stomach sends a painful signal to my brain, forcing me to the restroom.
Soon, I hide in the stall, where I can still hear the music. However, this area is quieter, and my stomach stops rolling.
Years ago, when we first arrived at the Village, people frowned at us a lot. My heart hurt most days from missing Papa and the Collective. But I pretended to be strong. For Mama, I never cried. Dove did a lot, though. She was afraid of our new home. The Volkshalberd called her weak, and I would stand up to them.
Tonight, I don’t have Dove to protect. Anders seems unhappy with his friends and me. I don’t know why I’m here. Topanga said the club men and their “honeys” wanted to meet me. Yet, none of them smiled in a real way. I started to feel as if I was only here so the other people could make me feel like an outsider.
Well, okay, then! I’m a Dandelion. I’ve been an outsider for years. First at the Village and now here. I don’t care if they hate me. I don’t like them either!
I love Anders, though. Does he care if they hate me? Or if I hate them?
Tonight, Anders seems far away like when he wouldn’t visit for days. I never knew if I would see him. Would he find someone else to talk to? Why was he visiting me at all? What was the world like where he lived? How could he fit in my life?
Now, he’s just outside this room, talking with his friends, but he feels out of reach. My family exists in a different universe. My head spins, and my heart gets heavy. I wish I could leave this clubhouse and return to Anders’s home.
I’m startled when the door leading back to the party opens. I remain very still. Unsure why I’m afraid, I ought to walk out and wash my hands. Hiding shows I’m intimidated by them.
“Stupid-ass Village trash eating like a pig and stinking up the place with her hairy pits,” DeAnna says, now standing in front of the mirror.
I know the voice belongs to her after I peek through the crack in the door. She checks her made-up face and tilts her head to admire her hair.
Next to DeAnna, Taryn smiles at her reflection. “Did you notice how she’s wearing a long dress with sleeves to hide her hairy Sasquatch body?” Taryn asks, and DeAnna laughs.
I think back to Bronco’s house. Topanga and Lana said shaving would be too much trouble since they were on a time crunch. I figured they meant them shaving. I know women in the outside world shave and pluck and paint their faces. I have a little makeup on. Dove said my hair shined. Mama told me I was beautiful. Yet, Anders didn’t like the way I looked.
“Why her?” Taryn asks. “Anders is hot. I’d let him fuck me sideways if he wanted. Lots of good women would. All this time, he only fucked the bunnies. Then he goes and gets obsessed with a tit-less hick? Is he turned on by all the body hair?”
“You know what I think?” DeAnna asks while applying more lipstick to her already scary red lips. “I was telling Wyatt how Anders destroyed his brain before getting to Elko. That’s why he follows Bronco around like a big, idiot dog. He built a house just like Bronco’s because he’s too stupid to come up with his own ideas. Anders has no clue about women. Doesn’t even have a preference with the bunnies. Nothing is happening in his drug-decayed head. That’s why he zeroed in on that weird, ugly bitch.”
DeAnna throws her head back and laughs. “Anders is a junkie who’ll snap her fucking neck one night in bed. Serves them both right. Once Wyatt takes over, he’ll cut that brainless freak loose. Maybe put a bullet in his empty head. The Executioners can’t chance the junkie going crazy like he did with his last president.”
Opening the door, I yell, “You’re terrible people! How can you say such cruel things?”
The women turn around and smile at me.
“Told you she was in here,” Taryn says, and DeAnna’s smile grows.
“I’m telling Anders what you said.”
I move toward the door when they suddenly grab me. Taryn shoves me back into the stall. Then DeAnna pushes me until I fall into the toilet. My dress quickly soaks up the water.
“Listen up, you crusty horse-faced fuck,” Taryn says and slaps me across the cheek. “I don’t know what hillbilly, hippie sex shit you’ve used to trap Anders, but you don’t belong here. Your crunchy rawboned bitch family needs to stop trashing up our community.”
“She’s going to fucking cry,” DeAnna mocks and pushes me back when I try to wiggle myself out of the toilet. “I’d call her a butter face, but the rest of her is hideous, too.”
Kicking at them, I realize I’m stuck. They notice the same thing and laugh so hard DeAnna has tears in her eyes.
“What an absolute train wreck,” she says, backing out of the stall.
“More like a tit-less dumpster,” Taryn adds and then checks her appearance before they walk out.
No matter how much I try to push myself upward and get free, I remain stuck in the toilet. My tears turn to rage. By the time Topanga and Lana find me, I’ve kicked my shoes across the room and nearly broken a bone.
Gasping, Topanga says, “Oh, you poor thing.”
“Who did this?” Lana asks, looking horrified.
Topanga frowns at the younger woman. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah, the bitches.”
They each take me under an arm and pull until I’m free. I stumble forward and fall onto the ground. My dress is soaking wet. My face hurts. Actually, everything hurts from my struggle to get free.
“I want revenge,” I say as Lana dabs me with paper towels.
“Baby,” Topanga says, gently holding my face. “That’s not how it works. Taryn and DeAnna are royalty in the Woodlands. Taryn’s daddy helped create the Executioners. Her uncle is president. DeAnna is married into that family. They get to act like assholes, and we just have to give them the cold shoulder.”
“I tore up your dress,” I whimper, fighting tears again.
“I don’t care. We’ll get you home and cleaned up. It’ll be fine.”
We walk through the door with the plan of sneaking me out of a side exit to avoid people seeing what happened. Except I hear Taryn and DeAnna laughing nearby. I assume they’re saying I’m trash or ugly. What will Anders think?
My blood boils when my thoughts return to what they said about him. How they want to kill him! I change directions. No more side exit. My monster is angry now!
“Pixie,” Topanga says, holding me by the shoulders, “you can’t win this fight. Best to slink away and enjoy the rest of your night.”
I look into her big blue eyes and growl, “I killed a man with a rock.”
Topanga glances at Lana and then shrugs. “Good point.”
My bare feet slap against the wood floor as I run at the women. I grab a mini watermelon from the table and throw it. DeAnna turns just in time to gasp before the food hits her in the nose. I don’t stop running, even after Taryn throws a punch and hits me in the eye.
After I slam into her, we fall to the ground. Around us, people yell, and some laugh. Nearby, DeAnna lets out a wail and claims her nose is broken
. I slap Taryn’s face, once, twice, three times before she shoves me off her. After she punches my chin, I grab her hand and bite down on the pinkie. Finally, she screams in pain.
“Cunt!” Taryn yells, and then she growls, “Watch it, fucker,” to DeAnna, whose big foot manages to kick both her friend and me.
“Cowardly syphilis holes!” I yell, not sure if that’s a real insult.
Kicking wildly from the ground, I try to hit someone. I think I get them both in the vaginas, but they don’t give up. Instead, Taryn reaches down to punch me again while DeAnna looks ready to throw a beer bottle at my face.
Suddenly, the redhead flies backward. Next, Taryn lifts off me. Pushing my hair from my eyes, I find Anders. His face is pure rage. His nostrils flare, his eyes glow, his upper lip curls into a snarl. I have never seen anything as terrifying as the sight of this giant man ready to tear apart the world.
“What the fuck is her problem?” Wyatt yells from somewhere.
Anders swings around and throws his big fist into the smaller man’s gut. Wyatt makes a weird noise as if all the air in his entire body bursts out of his mouth. Then, Anders turns back to me.
I don’t know what he sees on my face, but his mask of rage cracks. The sight of him unhinged a moment ago blinded me. I only felt fear at what his huge body could do to my smaller one. I forgot he was Anders Van Der Haas, and I was Pixie Yabo.
Now, he fears I’ll leave him. Does he think these women have ruined his chance at happiness? I see a million worries raging in his blue eyes.
“Anders,” I say, reaching up for him rather than trying to escape.
Snapping out of his panic, he leans down to help me stand. Then, he keeps lifting until I’m in his arms.
“I love you,” I say, holding his gaze.
Breathing easier now, he carries me from the room. Behind us, some people curse insults while others laugh. I notice Bronco chuckling widely while DeAnna cries next to Wyatt on the ground. Bambi glares at me as she comforts Taryn. I don’t see what the rest of the people are doing, but I think I hear Topanga giggling somewhere.
