by Bijou Hunter
“We’ll take two-thirds of your guns,” Bronco says, returning to his original point. “That’ll leave you with as many as you had before you began stealing from the Executioners.”
“We never steal, Mister Parrish,” Gunther mutters.
Bronco steps closer and growls, “For decades, the Volkshalberd have paid the Executioners a piece of everything you’ve sold in Elko. Since John Marks came along, you’ve kept what you owed us. What the fuck do you call that if not stealing, asshole?”
Gunther exhales deeply. “The torch bearer wants to renegotiate.”
“Yet, he’s not here,” Bronco announces, offering a mocking smile. “The fucker’s hiding somewhere, getting sucked off by your woman while he stuffs his fat face with your food. If he wants to make a deal, why am I talking to you?”
The old man doesn’t know the answer. He’s no longer in power. The Village used to be run by a committee or whatever they called themselves. Normally, a woman leader joined Gunther to speak with the Executioners. I don’t see Hester in the crowd of faces today.
“Tell Marks about the guns offer,” Bronco tells Gunther and signals for us to leave. “We know he’s spent the money he owes us, meaning the Village will be starving through fall and into winter. Most of the elderly and children won’t survive. When you run out of food, John Marks will bail on the Village. Then you’ll finally come crawling back for a new deal. Or, instead, you can convince that little shit to back down before half of you die. Either way, we’re getting our fucking money.”
Bronco turns away before Gunther can speak. I admire my president’s willingness to take his eyes off the enemy, despite knowing their guns are focused on him. With four daughters, a new wife, and a powerful club, Bronco has a lot to lose. But he doesn’t hide like John Marks. Maybe the Volkshalberd with any sense can see how my leader will survive far longer than theirs.
Once Bronco and our club brothers are on their bikes, revving engines, I return to my SUV. In the back seat, four sets of eyes watch me. My chest clenches in panic. These people are my responsibility now. I hadn’t really considered that part. Everything spiraled too fast.
I wanted to visit Pixie.
Visiting Pixie led to taking her.
Then I had to free her family to keep her.
Now, they expect me to take charge.
But that’s not something I’ve ever done. Not with my grandparents or the Killing Joes or even the Executioners. I’m a follower—one of the sheep. The only reason I left the Killing Joes was to follow a man like Bronco. I don’t know how to lead anyone.
Now, I have four people expecting me to be the guy in charge. The thought of giving them what they want fills me with dread. I’m better at being lonely than a member of a family. I’m so on edge that I could tear the steering wheel free.
But then I catch Pixie’s gaze in the rearview. She offers a simple smile. No crying with relief and thanking for me for saving her family. She doesn’t seem wide-eyed and waiting for me to do something special. Pixie just smiles in the same way she did on the side of the road when we’d sit in the grass.
That modest gesture is likely the only reason we arrive at my place without me descending into a fit of violence.
In all the years I’ve been clean, I doubt I’ve ever needed a fix as badly as I do right now.
Bronco doesn’t help by idling next to my garage and behind the SUV. His tension feeds mine until I find myself nearly breaking my fingers in frustration.
“You need to deal with this shit,” Bronco says when I walk over to him. “This afternoon, you get them settled. Tonight, you’re at the clubhouse where we figure out what happens next.”
“I don’t know what to do with them,” I admit, but Bronco’s dark eyes offer me no pity.
“I’ll send Topanga and Lana over to help, but you better show up at the clubhouse tonight or else. I don’t give a shit if you’re bigger than me. I’ll kick your ass if you blow this off, Anders.”
“Why would I blow anything off?”
Bronco narrows his eyes, glaring at me. “Because you’re a junkie with a new addiction. I know how that turned out for your last president.”
Frowning at him, I can’t see his side of this situation. The noise in my head is making me crazy. Hell, I can barely see my side.
Bronco glances at Pixie shuffling over with Future in her arms. He notices her bare feet and then focuses on me.
“Anders, you built a good life here,” he says, using his dad voice. Then he sounds more like my club president when he adds, “Don’t fuck it up.”
After I watch him ride away, I’m forced to deal with my instant family. A part of me wants to run. Not so different from when I was a kid and considered escaping my hellish home.
Of course, I never ran away, just like I never killed myself whenever I considered that exit. I always backed down and stuck with the hell I knew. Mostly, I feared any new direction would make things worse.
The only times I leaped into the unknown were after Bronco spared me, and when I brought Pixie to my house.
Looking at my honey, I accept how running isn’t an option.
PART 2: NO LONGER IN THE WILD
PIXIE
Anders behaves as if he’s a stranger in his house, and we’re acting cruelly by inviting him inside. I’m overwhelmed between wanting to calm him and needing to help my family. Mama keeps sniffing everything. Dove has no energy to do more than breathe and follow me inside the house. Future buries his face in my chest, afraid of the big house’s high ceilings.
“Who lives here?” Mama asks Anders.
I stand in the kitchen with Future and Dove while Mama lingers at the back door looking out on a large green area called a yard. Anders stalks over to her, irritated by her question.
“I do.”
“Who else?”
“No one,” he mutters, frowning down at her. When Mama glares up at him, unafraid by his size or angry face, he starts rubbing the back of his neck too hard. I can see the skin turning red.
Mama opens her mouth to yell at him. I know the look on her face. That’s the one where she’s about to explain what someone did wrong. Then she takes him by his wrists and stares up at his big face.
“As much as I loathe to hurt an already broken man, you need to hear the truth. Pixie can’t fix what’s torn up inside you. No one can. What you want isn’t something we can offer. Coming here was a mistake.”
“You were starving,” he says in a cold voice.
“People are starving everywhere. Are you planning to put them all in this big house of yours?”
When Anders looks scolded, Mama sighs heavily. If Dove wasn’t so tired, she could help me think of how to make everyone feel better.
“Mama, I saved food from last night,” I explain in a soothing voice. “So much is left over. Potatoes and broccoli. We can eat. Then we’ll shower and find clothes brought over by Anders’s friend.”
“Why do we need to shower? We’re clean.”
“The smell of our clothes makes Anders sad.”
“So, we’re his slaves now?” she asks, chuckling angrily. “Should we kiss his feet next?”
“You were taking shit at the Village,” Anders growls down at her. “Why can’t you take a little here?”
Mama refuses to admit her fear of Anders. She isn’t young like Dove, and her heart doesn’t warm for him like mine does. She’ll climb on a table if she needs to punch him.
“Mama, food,” I say, and Future whines.
His little belly isn’t satisfied with apples. They taste good but aren’t enough. Dove is so weak that she slides to the floor in the kitchen. I barely ate this morning. One big dinner didn’t make me strong enough, and Future feels heavy in my arms.
“Please,” I beg when she seems unsure.
“Show me,” she finally says and walks to the kitchen.
I rest Future on the ground next to Dove. Then I open the refrigerator where the food from last night is in a container.
“It’s cold but so good.”
“Warm it up in a microwave,” Anders grumbles. When we look at him confused, he rolls his blue eyes. “How can you not know how to use one?”
I don’t know what he sees on my face, but his anger fades. Stomping to the kitchen, he instructs us on how to use the microwave. The food container gets warm, and the smell makes even Mama’s stomach growl loudly.
Anders gets angry again when we sit on the floor to eat. Though he has many rules about how things are supposed to work, he lacks the patience to explain much.
Plus, I don’t think he likes Mama. And I sense he’s mad at me. I also wonder if he got in trouble with Bronco. I saw the way Anders looked when the president man frowned at him. He doesn’t want to disappoint Bronco like I don’t want to upset Mama.
But I can’t worry about his feelings right now. My family needs to eat. Then they can shower and put on the clothes Anders likes. Once we’re clean in the way he wants, I’m certain he’ll frown less.
We finish the smashed potatoes and vegetables. Mama says the meat is too much for Future, but Dove eats a few bites. I find almond milk in the refrigerator that Jena brought last night. We drink almost half of the container.
“That’s enough for now,” Mama tells us. “We don’t want to vomit.”
I crawl over to Dove and lean her head against my chest. Her long, wavy brown hair hides her face. She’s as lifeless as a doll.
“There’s so much sun in Anders’s yard. After our shower, you can rest outside where it’s warm.”
“The stairs,” Mama says. “Future will try to climb them.”
Frowning, I whisper, “There are stairs that go down too.”
“I can get those gate things for babies,” Anders says from somewhere in the room. I can’t see past the kitchen’s center cabinets. How does such a big man hide? “I’ll make a list of stuff you need.”
After readjusting Dove, I crawl around the center cabinets to find Anders sitting on the floor near the front door. He hides his face in his big hands until I touch his head.
“Thank you,” I whisper, nuzzling my face against his.
Anders exhales deeply.
“Do you want us to leave?” I whisper.
His blue eyes lift to study my face. “Do you want to leave?”
“I want to be with you.”
Anders exhales deeply again, seeming very tired. “I need to think.”
“Then think, blond bear,” I say, kissing his forehead before crawling back to my family.
Mama shakes her head when I return.
“Where is this shower?” she asks.
“In his bedroom. It’s big enough for all of us.”
Mama’s eyes dance from side to side as she considers such a big shower. “That’ll save time.”
I smile at her pleased expression. She stands and carries Future. I help Dove to her feet. Then I hurry over to where the bag of clothes was left last night by the Topanga lady.
“She’s the wife of the important biker man,” I explain to Mama as we get naked. “I didn’t meet her.”
Mama wants to say something negative. She’s got that look on her face, but her focus switches to the many showerheads raining water down once I turn the knobs.
“It’s fun,” I say, tugging Dove under the water. “I’ll wash your hair.”
Future starts crying when he sees the shower. He thinks he’ll get in trouble for going in the rain. Yet, his cries turn to laughter once under the water.
For a long time, we play in the shower. Dove even smiles after she sits in the corner and lets the comfortably warm water relax her weak body. Future puts his face up and opens his mouth. Proud of himself, he claps. Mama smiles in a way I haven’t seen in months.
Even though I remain overwhelmed, I’m also overjoyed to see them so happy. For a short time, I forget about Anders’s bad mood and his biker men’s even worse ones.
There are several other concerns I avoid thinking about, too. Such as how none of the clothes Topanga brought will fit Future. Or that I don’t know where everyone will sleep tonight? Or what happens if Anders decides we need to leave his house?
I’m unfamiliar with making choices for my family. However, today, I’ll have to figure out a way to take care of everyone, including Anders.
ANDERS
There’s no disappearing with my size, but I feel invisible when Pixie takes her family to the master bathroom. I imagine them in my stone shower, having a ball like she did yesterday. I even hear them laughing.
And I’m out here alone with my nerves on fire. I need something—booze, pot, heroin, a bat over the head. I don’t care what happens as long as I can soothe my overstimulated brain. Every nerve in my body screams for relief. I won’t last long in this state.
The doorbell makes me flinch, and I ignore the sound. I can’t talk to anyone right now. If the Woodlands people see me losing control, they’ll rat me out to Bronco. How can I protect Pixie when I’m putting a target on my back?
Refusing to be denied, Topanga rings the doorbell a few more times just to make her point. If I don’t answer, she’ll jump the fence and come around to bang on my back door.
Relenting, I find Lowell’s longtime, big-mouthed blonde wife along with Bronco’s new, quieter-mouthed blonde wife. Both of them have their long hair pulled up in bouncy ponytails. They continue the twin mode with blue jeans and pink T-shirts.
Lana seems nervous to be here. The club life is new to her, and she isn’t naturally friendly. I like her, though. She makes Bronco happy, and he deserves to have the best. As the top guy, he makes sure we enjoy our lives.
Topanga is one of the friendliest people I’ve ever met. She both annoys and charms me. When I was bunking at the apartment building with the bunnies, Topanga showed up to make sure I had clothes and food. She was so warm that I never realized she was spying for Bronco and Lowell.
Now, her big lips curve into a smile as she bats her blue eyes at me. “Anders Van Der Haas, look at you saving a little hippie girl.”
I roll my eyes like a dumb kid getting teased by his aunt. Shutting the door behind them, I notice a big white plastic bag hanging from Topanga’s hand.
“Where are they?” she asks, glancing around the family room.
“In the shower.”
“Together?” she mumbles and then nods before I do. “Yes, they’re hippies.” Topanga winks at a quiet Lana. “We should assume they’ll do everything odd. Like crap in the yard or brush their teeth with, I don’t know, leaves.”
Though I consider defending Pixie by explaining how she used the toilet just fine last night, I keep my mouth shut. Lana takes the same tact.
“What’s in the bag?” I ask when Topanga starts creeping toward the master bedroom on my left. I suspect she hears Pixie’s family laughing and wants to snoop.
“Well, you’re keeping them, yes?” Topanga asks, talking to me as if I’m the hippie weirdos she thinks crap in the yard.
“I don’t know if the mom will stay here for long. But I plan to keep them until it’s safe for them to return.”
“Oh, they won’t go back,” Topanga says, winking at me. “Who would give up all this luxury to live in a hut?”
“I think it’s a tent.”
“Same difference, Anders,” she says, poking my gut. “So, this hippie girl must be quite a beauty.”
Whatever Lana and Topanga see on my face, they share a smile.
“What’s in the bag?” I ask again.
“Those clothes I brought over won’t fit the baby. A few honeys donated some of their boys’ toddler clothes for Pixie’s brother. Diapers too, and a few toys. It’ll hold him over until you can get to the store.”
“Bronco said the sister is around Summer’s age and size,” Lana adds, mentioning Bronco’s fifteen-year-old daughter. “I borrowed some of her clothes. Shoes are tricky, though.”
“Look at you,” Topanga says, her voice getting high-pitched. “A woman and a teenager
and a baby and a mother-in-law.”
“I know you’re trying to help,” I say through gritted teeth, “but I’m not ready to think of all that.”
Topanga doesn’t believe in personal space. The first day we met, she spelled out how things would be. Everyone’s space was Topanga’s space. Today, she hugs me and pats my back.
“You’re overwhelmed by having four strangers in your home. That’s a sensible feeling, but this is a big house. You can find plenty of places to hide from them.”
“This is a sweet thing you’ve done,” Lana tells me. “I know you care about the girl, but you’re helping her whole family. Not a lot of people would do that. It shows you have a good heart.”
Lana’s words are kind, but they come out sounding awkward as fuck. I don’t think she’s gotten the hang of being the queen of the Woodlands at Dry Creek yet.
“I don’t know what to do with them.”
“Well, first off, do any of them need to see a doctor?” Topanga asks, inching closer to the bedroom before darting inside to leave the bag in the bathroom.
I frown at where she disappears. Her voice carries as she pokes her head into the bathroom and explains about the clothes. I hear other voices in response. My gaze returns to Lana.
“She held off as long as she could,” she explains, shrugging.
We share a smile. “I don’t know how to take care of a kid.”
“Can’t the mom take care of him?”
Frowning, I nod. “Yeah, no doubt.”
“Then you should just worry about feeding them and giving them areas to play. The kids, I mean. When I first visited Bronco’s house, that’s what he did. Fed us and gave us space to relax. He didn’t hold our hands and watch our every move. I don’t think you need to do that, either.”
“What about the stairs?” I ask and then walk over to pick up a chair from the family room. I carry the recliner to the stairs where I drop it in front. “The kid can walk. He could climb up and fall from the walkway.”