Titan (EEMC Book 2)

by Bijou Hunter

  But, tonight, I feel the guilt of leaving Pixie in this place for so long. I had the power to force her to go with me. Then, things would have played out like they did anyway. She would tell me about John Marks. Bronco would decide to raid the Village. And those extra weeks—even months—of suffering Pixie, her family, and these people went through wouldn’t have happened.

  In a different story, maybe I take charge earlier. When Bronco said I had to let her starve, I could have been stronger. Told him how Pixie was mine. I needed to save her. He would’ve been disappointed in me, but that happened anyway.

  Yeah, in a different story, I make better decisions. Of course, in one version, I likely never take Pixie away from the Village, and she dies. I guess I should be grateful my current story turned out this well.

  “The Village belongs to the Executioners now,” Bronco announces as his foot rests on John Marks’s corpse. “You let this piece of shit run things for too long. People suffered and died. Tonight, some of your people were killed trying to save Marks. If any of you believe this man gave a shit, look at his fat gut, and then feel your empty stomachs.”

  The people around us are impossible to read. Their miserable faces rarely reveal any emotions. The Volkshalberd believe in stern joy and painful freedom. They chose this life because the outside world is weak, pampered, and fallen.

  I’m sure some of them still blame Bronco and the Executioners rather than John, Steph, or themselves. The Volkshalberd believe they’re living a blessed life. And their suffering is a badge of honor.

  “We will return tomorrow with more supplies,” Bronco says. “Food, medicine, and gasoline for your generators. Any resistance will be met with violence. Those deaths will be on you.”

  At the tree line, a bloodied Conor appears with Gunther. They walk to the center area where Bronco stands. The old man doesn’t look to have much life left in him.

  “Will you bring the police to the Village?” Gunther asks Bronco.

  My president realizes the old fucker’s game plan. What these people fear more than anything is the boot of the law. Giving them an enemy is as important as offering them food.

  “The law doesn’t run Elko,” Bronco says in an icy cold voice. “The Executioners do.”

  Nodding, Gunther stumbles as he turns around to look at the others. “Leaders fail and fall. Death comes to us all. The Village must persevere. The Volkshalberd can’t vanish into a fallen world.”

  Bronco glances at Lowell, who nods. The old guard—though too weak to stand up against the big false promises of John Marks—still have the pull to keep these people in line. I suspect many of the Volkshalberd would refuse our food if not for Gunther’s words.

  Soon, Wyatt drives the small box truck into the Village parking lot. Many of my club brothers stack the boxes filled with nutritional drinks near Gunther. I remain with Bronco, who keeps his foot squarely on John Mark’s ugly face.

  “To get you through the night, we’ve brought these,” Lowell explains, handing a bottle to Gunther. “The children can drink them, too. We also brought formula and water for the babies.”

  The old man leans forward, forcing Lowell to crouch down to hear what he’s saying. My guess is Gunther is thanking us for saving them from their idiot selves.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll do an inventory of people and supplies,” Lowell says after Gunther’s shaking hands open a bottle of nutritional drink.

  With lifeless eyes, the Volkshalberd watch the Village’s former male guide finish the bottle. Suddenly, the mood in the community shifts. Desperation overwhelms these people as if they’ve awoken from a daze and realized they’re starving.

  Women begin crying. A few scuffles break out as people hurry to find relief for their hunger. Bronco whispers to Lowell how we need to stick around long enough to ensure the stronger members don’t steal shakes from the women and children.

  “We’ll have to carry in all the supplies,” he tells Wyatt and Rooster. “These people are too weak to help.”

  “What about the dead?” Lowell asks.

  Bronco scowls hard at the people around us. “Oh, they’ll deal with that themselves. I want them to feel the weight of every shovelful of dirt they move.”

  The next hour is like corralling cats. A few people behave well, accepting their given supplies and returning to their tents. A few others help with the dead, though John’s and Steph’s bodies remain on display. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bronco leaves those fuckers to rot in the sun for a few days.

  Most of the Volkshalberd aren’t as cooperative. There is disagreement over who should receive supplies. Some think those too loyal to the Marks family forfeited their right to food. Others believe supplies should go to those more dedicated to the Executioners. Soon, there’s even a bizarre suffering contest, where people fight over who is most hungry and closest to death.

  We shut down each argument. Every man, woman, and child receive a shake. Each baby is fed. The families of the assholes we killed enjoy as much as the ones who silently hated Marks.

  Bronco will punish people later. The Village will likely see more death. But for tonight, everyone is equal and gets enough calories to tide them over until tomorrow.

  After midnight, the Executioners roll out of a sedated community. The trash cans no longer need to drown out the pained cries. Stomachs are full, babies sleep, and bodies are buried. Bronco even lets them toss the Marks siblings together in an unmarked hole.

  “This place smells bad enough without those two dissolving into flesh and bone,” he says as we climb into the now-empty box truck.

  Soon, my chest and back get stitched up by the club’s doctor at the Minute-Clinic. Though I’ve lost some blood, I refuse to go to the hospital. Bronco looks ready to push the issue, but I think he realizes I need to see Pixie.

  After the doctor gets my prescriptions filled, Bronco returns with an SUV to drive me home. Barbie shows up and insists Conor stay overnight. He caught a blade from a crazy bitch screaming Marks’s name. Apparently, she thought the words would act as armor against a bullet to the head.

  “I bet you Conor hesitated with that woman,” Bronco says as he drives me to his house. “He’s got brains, but the boy’s still learning how to swing his balls.”

  “Killing never gets easy for some people.”

  “No, but Conor isn’t soft. He just thinks too much. That’s the luxury of growing up like he did. When I was a kid, failure for me meant going hungry or receiving a beating. However, Conor can fuck up today and start over tomorrow. When he’s president, failure won’t be so simple. But he has time to get his ball swinging perfected.”

  Even smirking at his comment, I feel the burden of today.

  Bronco likely notices where my head is because he says, “Pixie is in the basement, watching TV and waiting for you. Lana said she checked a half hour ago. No one else is in the basement, so use that privacy however you like.”

  When I yawn loudly, I realize sleep might suit me more than a good fuck.

  As we pull into his garage, Bronco asks in a quiet yet dark voice, “Do you think the Killing Joes are still around?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, too tired to lie. “If I had to guess, no. But I never would have thought they’d come here.”

  Nodding, Bronco heads inside. I follow him and then walk straight downstairs. I know Fairuza, Dove, and Future are safe. I need to see Pixie. More importantly, she needs to know I didn’t end up like her father.

  Stretched out on the couch, Pixie dozes while a cooking show plays silently on the TV nearby. Her big brown eyes pop open as soon as I lean over her. She starts to smile but then notices my bloody shirt. Breathing faster now, she jumps up and reaches for me.

  “Don’t leave yet,” she gasps and strokes my face. “Stay in this story longer. I need you.”

  Smiling, I kiss her softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “But you’re bleeding.”

  “Just a minor thing. Got it checked by a doctor. I’m tired,
though. Can we sleep now and talk tomorrow?”

  Pixie gives me a beautiful smile. She jumps over the back of the couch and then fumbles around for the remote. Once the TV is off, she takes my hand and stares lovingly at me.

  “I love you. You’re special,” she says, seeming nervous.

  “I love you, and you’re my everything.”

  Pixie wants to help me remove my boots, but I just kick them off before wiggling free of my socks. Realizing I won’t let her take care of me, she glues herself to my body. We relax on the mattress, neither wanting a blanket. I love how similar we are despite our different paths to this life together.

  I’m excited about tomorrow and the next day and the next. I get to watch Pixie explore a million new things. I’ve missed too many experiences in my life between the lies and the drugs. With Pixie, I plan to soak in every moment together.

  PART 7: EXPANDING THE GARDEN

  PIXIE

  Anders returns to me. Long after everyone—except the honeys—goes to sleep, I worry over my blond bear’s fate.

  In Bronco’s basement, I should remain vigilant until Anders’s return. Yet, fatigue tugs at me, and no television show in the world can prevent me from dozing.

  Suddenly, Anders appears like a dream above me. I’m relieved until I see he’s covered in blood. I’m certain he’s only returned to say goodbye. Papa struggled to speak after the bullet cut him down. He said my name and then Dove’s. I think he wanted to tell us how he loved us and not to be afraid. Except the government men pulled us away from him. I’ll never know what his last words were as he died alone on the ground.

  For hours, I’ve worried Anders would die without sharing his final thoughts with me. Now, he’s here. I inspect his large, bloodied body for injuries. Anders claims the bullet went straight through. That’s better, he says. I don’t know how a bullet in his body can ever be good!

  “You should go to the hospital,” I insist, looking over his bloodied clothes as he guides me to the guest room.

  “I just need sleep,” he says. “The pain meds are kicking in. A good night’s rest will fix more than a trip to the hospital. Besides, I got stitched up.”

  Anders relaxes on the guest bed, wanting me tucked against his body. I’m afraid for him to close his eyes. Will he ever open them again? Anders pretends he isn’t in pain at all, but I know he smoked a lot of pot before going to the Village. The doctor gave him pills an hour ago. Will he suffer when all those chemicals are gone from his body?

  Falling asleep quickly, Anders can’t answer my questions. I squirm free of his large arm and sit next to his body. A small table light illuminates enough of Anders’s face for me to memorize every tiny detail. I don’t want to forget him if he doesn’t wake up. Why didn’t I take pictures? I’ll have none of him just like Papa!

  Crying quietly, I’m not ready for Anders to go to his next story. He needs more love in this one. His heart is still broken. Though I might never have the power to fix it, I need time to try.

  Even exhausted, I don’t sleep well. I should stay awake to protect Anders. I’m angry at myself for dozing at all. No one will protect him.

  The next morning, I’m awake before Anders. I hold his hand in my lap and whisper for his body to survive.

  Finally, his eyes open, and he looks surprised to see me. Then, he tries moving and grimaces in pain as he lifts his body.

  “I forgot about the wound,” he mutters and sits on the edge of the bed.

  “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  “No, Pixie, I’m fine. I just need to get cleaned up. Later, I’ll sit in the hot tub and let the bubbles work out the kinks. Don’t worry,” he says and kisses me as if today is any other morning.

  Despite his casual behavior, Anders moves slower. He also winces in pain as we walk upstairs.

  Everyone is awake when we arrive in the kitchen. Bronco’s older girls are at school. He sits on the back patio with his bundled-up baby. One of his sisters pets the dogs and talks to Mama. Future shivers in our mother’s arms, needing warmer clothes but likely wanting to be outside anyway. Dove sits in the grass and meditates.

  Seeing us awake, Lana offers food first. Followed by pain medicine when she notices Anders hurting. He pops a few pills in his mouth.

  “Papa was shot in the chest, too,” I whimper when Anders insists he’s fine.

  “Not on the same side,” he says, holding my cheek in his wide palm. “The bullet last night didn’t hit anything important.”

  “It was in your body!” I cry, startling myself.

  While Lana excuses herself to let us talk, Anders finally realizes his fake bravery isn’t working. How can I not be terrified of losing him? Would he be so calm if the bullet went in my body? Of course not, but he thinks his pain doesn’t matter.

  “Today, we’ll go to the Village,” he says, holding me against his warm body. “Afterward, I’ll ask Bronco for a few days off.”

  “Off what?”

  “From work,” he says, chuckling at how I don’t understand. “I’ll take a vacation and stay home with you and the family. I can drive you around, and we’ll buy the stuff for the backyard and anything else we need. There’ll be no parties or meetings. No one will bother us. I promise.”

  “And I’ll take care of you,” I say, stroking his jaw with both of my hands. “You have to rest. Promise you’ll do that, too. Not only the stuff for us, but you need to promise to care about you, too.”

  “I swear to you on my Executioners patch.”

  Studying his pale blue eyes, I believe Anders is telling the truth. He wants a break. His vacation isn’t only for us.

  Yesterday, Anders brought an extra pair of clothes to Bronco’s house. I help clean the blood from his skin and dress him. He eats well despite the pain. I imagine us at his house with Anders stretched out in his bed or on the couch. We could take care of him while his body heals. That’s what I want to happen.

  Instead, Anders, Mama, Bronco, and I drive in the club president’s red SUV to the Village. We arrive to find a dozen trucks parked in the community’s lot. The scene is chaotic until Topanga, Barbie, and Bambi start yelling at everyone. They get different groups of people doing various activities. Supplies are brought in, mainly food. I notice doctors set up in tents, seeing primarily children.

  To avoid him making his wound worse, I insist Anders only supervise. Bronco overhears me and orders his titan to sit this one out. I smile when the Executioners’ president takes my side.

  “You can’t overdo it, either,” Anders tells me, and Bronco nods.

  “Why? I’m not shot.”

  “You’re malnourished,” Bronco says in his mean, biker-man voice. “And you clearly didn’t sleep well last night. Topanga needs an assistant. That’s your job. I don’t want to see you carrying shit or helping sick people. Just follow Topanga around as she does inventory.”

  I can see why Anders listens to Bronco. When he uses his president’s voice, I have trouble telling him no.

  Topanga enjoys having me at her side. I know the Volkshalberd’s names and where everything is, which makes her job easier.

  When Mama finds Perry, Topanga has them talk in the main hall. I notice blood on the walls and floors from the battle last night. Perry seems aware of it, too. If he wasn’t afraid of the Executioners before, he definitely is now.

  Despite his fear of the biker men, he mostly seems angry at Mama. Their conversation gets heated very quickly. Normally, Perry is weak with Mama. Today, he wants to blame her for all his failings.

  “We’re supervising,” Topanga explains to me as we stand just outside of the main hall and eavesdrop.

  Inside, Perry puts the blame on Mama. She was too rude to the elders. She never learned the rules. Her children were greedy. Now, he’s become a pariah with the Volkshalberd. He accepts no responsibility for the situation he currently suffers.

  “You brought shame to my bloodline!” Perry yells.

  Topanga frowns hard when he says that
, and I want to go inside to help Mama. How dare Perry attack her? When I went missing, they beat Mama, but her helpmate shows no signs of punishment. Coward!

  “You were willing to sacrifice our children to appease a tyrant!” Mama yells back, feeding her monster and standing up for herself.

  “Marks wanted those girls, and they are not my children!”

  “Vile, cowardly man!”

  Topanga whispers, “I hope she hits him.”

  The main hall falls quiet, and I wonder if Mama’s rising temper scared Perry into silence.

  Suddenly, he yells, “Future’s blood is tainted by your involvement. He can never be a true Volkshalberd!”

  “Good riddance to your failed fatherhood! Pathetic cretin!”

  Mama storms out of the main hall and right past me. She’s so angry she forgets I was nearby. Yet, I’m relieved she doesn’t waste more time talking to Perry. He’s always been weak. Now, he’s cruel, too.

  Topanga looks at her clipboard and nods. “Perry is getting a whole bunch of extra crap assignments.”

  “Can we do that?” I ask as she and I return to our inventory.

  “Of course. The Volkshalberd have been ordered to create a new committee. I’ll act as one of the Executioners’ representatives. After the Volkshalberd allowed John Marks to take over, I get to be as big a dick as I want to them.”

  “Thank you,” I say, hugging her in the way she often wants to hug me. “You are a good friend.”

  Topanga smiles softly. “You know, Anders pissed off plenty of men in the club when they found out he was sneaking around with you. But the man knew he’d found someone special. You’re a keeper, Pixie Yabo.”

  Grinning, I glance at Anders, who stands nearby with Mama. I see him pat her shoulder as she wipes angry tears from her eyes. They’ve begun to bond. Once we can enjoy our vacation, I feel as though the five of us will create a comfortable life.