Titan (EEMC Book 2)

by Bijou Hunter

  Lana and I look up at the area running from one set of bedrooms to another.

  “Your house is just like Bronco’s house,” she says and then mumbles, “I mean our house.”

  “I liked his house.”

  Lana’s blue eyes size me up and then look around the family room and kitchen nearby. She must notice a few differences in the cabinet colors and furniture. I assume that’s why she stops frowning as if I’m a stalking bitch.

  “They’re fun,” Topanga says, reappearing from the bedroom. Her smile falters a bit when she adds, “Underfed. You should make sure they get the right number of calories to put on weight quickly.”

  Again, the women react to something on my face. Lana gives me a sympathetic smile.

  “We’ll research that,” she says.

  Topanga nods. “And I’ll see about doctor visits.”

  “I don’t know if they’ll want that.”

  “Well, the baby should get checked. He’s nothing but skin, bones, and an adorable head,” Topanga says and sighs. “The mother got a nasty beating. It’s good you took them out of that place. A real hero.”

  Even knowing how Topanga babies me, I don’t ask her to stop. I’m overwhelmed by so many people in my usually empty house.

  “What do I do next?”

  “I will help you if you let me,” Topanga says, holding my gaze with her big eyes. “Bronco is also sending over his sisters.”

  “Well,” Lana mutters, “they’re mostly sending themselves over.”

  “They’re curious, but we told them to hold off until tomorrow. For today, we’ll figure out what your family needs.” Topanga notices the chair at the stairs and smiles at me. “You’re so cute sometimes.”

  “I haven’t put one by the basement. I don’t even know where they’ll sleep.”

  “Now, I’m not an anthropologist versed in the living habits of Ohio hippies,” Topanga says, and Lana snickers. “However, I sense you should let them settle gently into this new life.”

  “Do they have electricity and running water at the Village?” Lana asks.

  “Some parts do. I don’t think Pixie’s family was that lucky, though. They’re new to the community.”

  “Where did they live beforehand?”

  “We were Dandelions,” Fairuza announces as she exits the bedroom with Future in her arms.

  The little boy's wild, wavy hair drips on his firetruck shirt, and he holds a toy block in his little fingers.

  “What’s that?” Topanga asks about the Dandelion thing.

  Fairuza glances at Pixie, who smiles at me. I don’t know what the mother sees on her daughter’s face, but she doesn’t explain her old commune.

  “I hadn’t expected to be here,” Fairuza tells me. “I don’t know what will happen next.”

  “Neither do I,” I admit.

  Pixie scoots over, so she’s now between her mother and me. I feel her fingers tease the palm of my hand.

  “Apple?” Future asks his mother.

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Let’s make a list,” Topanga announces, excited to take charge.

  I stand back while Lana, Fairuza, and Topanga walk to the kitchen. Dove remains next to her sister, staring at the ground.

  “Can Dove go outside and sit in the sun?” Pixie asks, still teasing the inside of my hand.

  When her dark eyes hold my gaze, I feel a warmth wash over me. Not so much that I’m calm. Yet, I can now remember why I agreed to all this trouble in the first place.

  Pixie is the most beautiful, gentle woman I’ve ever met. She looks at me as if I’m the most handsome, gentle man she’s ever met. I want to be the person I see in her eyes. Her mother is probably right that Pixie can’t fix what’s broken inside me. Our sudden, makeshift family is bound to fail.

  But swimming in her inviting brown eyes gives me a taste of something I’ve wanted for the longest time. No amount of stress can make me walk away.

  PIXIE

  I learn the blonde women are wives to Bronco and Lowell. Though I get confused about which lady goes with which man. Bronco is bossier, and I assume the bossier woman is his wife. However, I think it’s the opposite.

  Either way, they help Mama cut apples and grapes for Future. I take a bowl of them and water outside to where Dove rests on a long, plastic chair. Anders doesn’t join me. He stands outside, near the door, alone even with so many people around.

  “Does the sun soothe your sadness?” I ask Dove, who looks silly in the baggy shirt and shorts. Her hair is a mess, but she lacks the energy to braid it.

  My sister sighs and lifts her face toward the sun. “Why does he have such a big house?”

  “I think all the biker people have big houses. It’s what makes them feel good.”

  Smiling, Dove takes my hand. “You came back for us.”

  “Of course.”

  “They said you wouldn’t,” Dove whispers, losing her smile.

  “The Volkshalberd lie.”

  “Perry went with them.”

  “He isn’t our concern right now.”

  Nodding, Dove closes her eyes and rubs her cheek. She’s remembering when the men in black with their demon guns put a hole in Papa’s chest. His blood got on her face. I remember how she begged me to leave it there so she could keep him with her.

  I fight that painful memory, focusing instead on how Dove rests in the sun just as she did back at the Dandelion Collective.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Dove barely opens her eyes as I feed her cut grapes. “They have so much here.”

  “Anders is very kind.”

  My sister opens her eyes wider and frowns at him standing alone nearby. “He looks miserable.”

  “When you’re feeling better, I’ll help him find his smile.”

  “Go now before he gets angry and sends us away. Future will die without food.”

  Once I make sure Dove's trembling fingers grip the bowl, I leave her side. Anders slumps to the ground, holding his head again. He looks as weak as Dove.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, squatting next to him. “Are you in pain?”

  “No. Just leave me alone.”

  I study his face. His blue eyes rage when they meet mine.

  “Come with me,” I say, taking his big hand and tugging him.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “I said no.”

  “I said yes.”

  Anders suffers from a stormy heart, but mine is hard and unyielding. He will submit long before I do. First, he tries to intimidate me with his angry face and rough breathing. I know he is big enough to break me. But I also know I can’t back down.

  “Come now,” I say, tugging at his hand again.

  Relenting, Anders stomps behind me as I pull him toward the grass. “We will sit like we did on the road. You will talk to me without so many gray clouds in your thoughts.”

  “I don’t have time for this shit.”

  “How can you be busy when you were just sitting on the floor?”

  Anders leans down and unleashes a terrifying glare at me. I want to run away, but Mama is always brave against those who hurt her. I refuse to believe Anders owns a heart ugly enough to use his hands to break me.

  “Sit your bottom down, Anders,” I say, stroking his fist. “I want to feel the sun on my skin and talk about your favorite movie.”

  Anders nearly throws himself on the ground. He’s agitated like the time Olivia at the Collective got ants in her clothes and rolled around trying to get them to stop biting.

  I don’t sit like I normally do with Anders. Instead, I cross my legs and have him use them as a pillow. He obeys only because he’s too angry to do otherwise.

  I stroke his scowling forehead and then let my fingers caress his jaw. “Are you afraid of snakes like Indiana Jones?” I ask.

  “These are stupid fucking things to talk about.”

  “I have never been in a plane like Indiana Jones. Have you?”

  “Shut up,�
�� he growls, glaring at me.

  “I don’t believe you hate me.”

  “I never said I did.”

  “But you act that way. Is that how your people love?”

  “I don’t love you.”

  “But I love you.”

  “Because I’m full of fucking sunshine, right?”

  “Yes, Anders. Your heart might be broken, but it’s still full of sunshine.”

  Exhaling roughly, he can’t control himself. I stroke his face tenderly, sensing little breaks in the wall of rage he’s built this morning.

  “I didn’t want your family here.”

  “I know. We can leave.”

  “I want you here.”

  “I know, but my family can’t survive without me.”

  “Then, I’m stuck with all of you.”

  “I’m sorry, but you brought me here.”

  Hesitating, he mutters, “I didn’t think.”

  “No, but you seemed happy when we watched the movie together.”

  “I was happy,” he says, seeming tired now.

  “What do you do when you get upset?”

  “I work out. Or smoke pot. Or get drunk. Or fuck. Not so much the last one. I get too rough. Is that what you want? For me to hurt you?”

  “You know I don’t want that. You’re just ill-tempered.”

  “Then leave.”

  “I can’t. My family is here.”

  “Then you can all leave.”

  I smile at his expression since his words no longer match his sad eyes. “Why can’t you work out or smoke pot or get drunk right now?”

  “Working out won’t help. I’ll just end up breaking the equipment.”

  “And pot and drunk?”

  “I can’t do those things when there are kids in the house.”

  “Are those things dangerous?”

  “No. The drunk thing won’t work anyway. I need to be alert later for my club meeting.”

  “And the pot?”

  “I told you that I can’t do it with kids in the house.”

  “Why? Pot is marijuana, yes? My parents used that at our commune when I was little.”

  “It’s not how things are done here. People will think I’m shit.”

  “The people in your club?”

  “It’s not right.”

  “Says who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is it your mother who says that?”

  “My mother is dead.”

  “But you hear her in here,” I whisper, rubbing his temples.

  “Not her. It doesn’t matter.”

  “I would like for you to calm down. I think pot will soothe your stormy heart. You should do that since we can’t have you breaking your equipment, and I don’t want you to hurt me with fucking.”

  For a few minutes, Anders stares up at me while I stroke away the frowns from his forehead.

  “Do you fear me?” he finally asks.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Do you want to leave me?”

  “No. I care about you. That’s why I killed Rusten,” I say and think of the man’s blood on my hands. “I feel a little bad inside over ending his story. He wasn’t ever cruel to me. I never wanted to hurt him before. But he planned to kill you, and I’m not ready for your story to end.”

  Anders’s big handsome face smooths out to an expression I saw so many times on the side of the road.

  “You’re beautiful, Pixie.”

  “So are you, Anders.”

  “I feel like a monster.”

  “Did someone teach you to feel that way, or did it happen naturally?”

  “I don’t know,” he lies.

  “My mama and papa and the Dandelions told me I was beautiful. That’s why I feel beautiful. I don’t think anyone tells you how beautiful you are.”

  “You do.”

  “Yes, but you only just met me. Does Bronco say you’re beautiful?”

  Anders lets out a loud laugh. “No. Men don’t talk like that.”

  “Then it’s good that I’m not a man.”

  Finally, Anders smiles at me in the way he used to on the road. His rage wall crumbles, revealing the broken man underneath. I kiss my index and middle fingers before pressing them against his lips.

  “You did a good thing for my family, Anders. I’m not your enemy. I hope you will remember that when the ugly voice in your head tells you otherwise.”

  His gaze softens, and he reaches up to caress my lips. “No one’s ever loved me. Not a single person ever. I think seeing your family love so easily makes me jealous. Also, I started thinking about how you don’t belong with me.”

  “Do you see how we create sunshine together? Well, I will shower like you want and wear the clothes you like and keep quiet so you won’t feel overwhelmed,” I say and then add more quietly, “But I won’t let you browbeat my heart. The mean voice in your head is my enemy, and I won’t bow to it.”

  Anders gives me a half-smile. He takes my hand and holds it against his cheek. “Did you really like the movie?”

  “Can we watch it again tonight?”

  Though falling back into distrust, Anders nods. He always assumes the worst. The ugly voice in his head keeps causing trouble. I’ll have to watch out for that one.

  ANDERS

  Between Pixie’s soft fingers on my warm skin and a joint, I’m ready to face Bronco and my club brothers at the Executioners’ clubhouse—Rooster’s Tavern. I’ve always liked this bar with the decorative wooden details. My old crew worked out of a scuzzy pub that smelled like piss and only served watered-down booze. Everything about that place felt cheap and evil.

  Rooster’s Tavern was my favorite place before I got my house. I’d sit in here for hours, not even drinking, just listening to music or my club brothers talking. I liked the scent of leather seats and wood cleaner. Being in here left me feeling as if I was part of something solid and meaningful.

  Lately, though, I haven’t been around Rooster’s Tavern as much. Fucking the bunnies wasn’t an option after I met Pixie. She might be a kid, and I ought to stay away from her. Yet, I still can’t have the bunnies touching me. Fucking those girls would be disloyal to Pixie. I knew she wasn’t touching anyone else. When I asked if she had a man at the Village, she laughed so hard that she literally rolled around in the grass.

  I’m glad I didn’t cheat with the bunnies. I feel cleaner for Pixie now that she’s in my house. We haven’t done anything sexual, but she does keep kissing her fingers and putting them on my lips. Is that a friendship thing? Does she want me to be her man? I don’t know why I don’t ask. I guess I’m worried she’ll roll around in the grass laughing at me.

  I’d prefer to keep my thoughts on Pixie. Her hair—free of the braids from the Village—felt soft when she brushed it across my face in the yard today. Pixie is effortlessly affectionate, and I want to return to her side.

  “Lowell,” Bronco says once I enter the club’s private area.

  The Executioners’ vice president signals for the bunnies to leave the large back room in the bar. Bronco never deals with the women. He’s weak with the fairer sex, letting them kick him around. He has two rough older sisters who both coddle and torment him. For a long time, Bronco avoided getting close to women. Then he met a sexy stripper named Lana, knocked her up during a one-night stand, and ended up marrying her. Though life changed fast for Bronco, mine went sideways even quicker.

  “Waiting out the Volkshalberd won’t work,” he says once the girls are gone, and the room is locked down.

  Twenty men watch him speak. Some were around from the beginning, like Lowell and Drummer. Others, like me, are newer. Then there are the club’s sons like Rooster’s hot-tempered boy, Wyatt. Conor’s father was a founding member too. Ambushing Wheels meant the end of the Killing Joes.

  Likely, Conor will be the man I follow one day. Not because I necessarily believe he has what it takes to run the club. Bronco believes that, though, and I do what Bronco wants. Well, except for when
he warned me off Pixie.

  “Starving them didn’t work, huh?” Wyatt asks, giving Bronco trouble as usual.

  Bronco ignores his nephew, which probably pisses off the shithead more. I like how our president doesn’t feel the need to freak out on people all the time. He’s unpredictable. Bronco can stay real calm or lash out suddenly. People never know what to expect. Except Bronco isn’t a hothead. Years ago, I learned that he might act unpredictable, but he’s always in control.

  I doubt Wyatt sees his uncle so clearly. Conor does, which is probably why he’ll be president one day.

  “Thanks to Topanga’s ability to chat with anyone,” Bronco says, smirking at Lowell, “we’ll have inside info about the Village soon.”

  A few men look at me as if I’m to blame. I don’t react to their accusing stares. I’ve always assumed they view me as a traitor to my original club and part of the reason their friend died.

  “Anders’s woman is named Pixie. Her mother is Fairuza. A few of you might remember her from the day we went out to the Village and held their bus in town. This woman has iron balls,” Bronco says and then crosses his arms. “But she wasn’t planning a revolt. Her children were starving, yet she was sitting around waiting for the Village’s leadership to fix things. If a woman like her wasn’t plotting, then who will rise up?”

  Bronco lowers his arms. “Today, when I told Gunther the deal about the guns, he didn’t react. The man doesn’t own a poker face. He knows the Village is fucked. John Marks is willing for them all to die, and they’re willing to let it happen.”

  “Why?” Rooster asks, scratching at his thick gray beard. “That woman was feisty. There are tough people in the Village. Why not take on that rich bitch Marks and end this thing?”

  “Cults are built on the idea of submission to a higher purpose,” Conor says, and I notice Wyatt narrow his eyes at his cousin’s words. “They trust in the message, whatever it might be. The Village has always been about living by their own rules and viewing outsiders as the enemy. Even if we show up with food and offer to feed them if they’ll turn their backs on Marks, they won’t do it.”

  “But you had that great gun idea,” Wyatt says loudly and nudges his buddy, Evan “Farts” Jones.