“Don’t fuck with my people,” I warn Wyatt.
“Easy, man,” Lowell adds, using the same soft voice as when his wife is pissed.
My hand unwraps from Wyatt’s throat, and I step back. But in my head, I still see myself killing Wyatt. I’m ready to burn down this life. If I do wrong by Pixie, there’s nothing left for me. I might as well end everything.
“I have an idea,” Conor says and keeps talking while everyone still focuses on me. Bronco’s other nephew—Barbie’s boy instead of Bambi’s—is the ice to Wyatt’s fire. His voice cuts through the red-hot tension around us. Speaking calmly, he continues, “There are two reasons the Village hasn’t paid us. One is that John Marks is testing our resolve. The other is that they’re using their income to buy weapons for war.”
Bronco stops watching me and glances at Conor. “And?”
“When we go out today, you could loudly offer to make the club and the Village square and end the blockage. They’ll claim poverty. You can then ask to be paid in weapons.”
“We don’t need guns,” Wyatt grumbles, feeling like a big man when he’s facing off against his younger cousin. Of course, he wasn’t so tough when I was ready to pound him.
“No,” Conor replies without losing his temper, “but we don’t want them to have the weapons. John Marks will likely refuse since his loyal people aren’t starving yet. However, the rest of the Village will understand how their children go to bed hungry because Marks chooses to buy things they don’t need.”
“Create discord,” Bronco says, liking the idea. “I don’t know how a whiny narcissist like Marks convinced those people to let him lead the Village. Maybe enough of them will revolt.”
“The leadership has guns,” I point out. “Many people in the Village, like Pixie’s family, don’t own shoes. How will they find the weapons to take on armed men?”
“But the leadership is fewer in number,” Conor says in a soft tone. I respect how he can correct someone without acting like an asshole. “John Marks and his people have to sleep too. And they’re eating while the sheep starve. Entire governments have been overthrown when food becomes scarce. Hungry people get desperate, and they will fight a stronger force to avoid starvation. Getting torn apart by a group of pissed cultists isn’t how John Marks wants to die.”
Bronco prefers to think smart. His childhood was rough like mine, and his power came in the same way mine did—physical over intellect, violence over peace. But then he got to be the man in charge, and killing doesn’t solve every problem. Now, he thinks hard about stuff.
I’ll never be good at that. I just want what I want. Like how Pixie needs to be mine. If I have to take a bullet or tear off a head to make her love me, then I’ll do it. Give her money, feed her family, live in a tent. I don’t care. Few things in my life ever mattered, and she’s one of them.
Now, she paces around by the car, hurting her bare feet on the rocky ground. She doesn’t like the pants, feeling trapped in her clothes.
“I plan to take Pixie’s family with us. That’s why I brought the SUV,” I say and then add when they all stare at me, “They can’t fit on the bike.”
Bronco watches me with his dark, unreadable eyes. I never know what to think when he studies me in that way. His eyes were easier to understand when he pointed the gun at me in the drug house. I felt relief at knowing my life was about to end. I’d been in pain for so long. What was the point of tomorrow if it was just another shitty, painful version of today?
But Bronco didn’t kill me. And I got right with the Executioners. Now, I have a woman. Living ended up being a good thing.
“She can’t come with us,” Bronco says, gesturing toward Pixie.
“She can’t stay behind at my house.”
“Leave her with Topanga and Lana.”
Glancing at Pixie, I know she’ll run away. She won’t settle down until she sees her family.
I hold Bronco’s gaze and explain as respectfully as I can, “She needs to convince her family to come.”
Maybe Bronco understands how, if I don’t get Pixie’s family with his help, that I’ll go back later and take them alone. He’s a smart man who must show strength. Except I’m acting weak and stupid. He needs me to listen to him, but I have no choice. Pixie will go back to the Village if I don’t save her family. John Marks could kill her. Would Bronco let his honey die? No, so how come I need to be a bitch and put mine at risk?
“Bringing Village freaks here,” Wyatt grumbles, moving away from me and toward his father, Rooster, in case I get grabby again, “is a bad idea. What the fuck are they going to do in the Woodlands?”
I realize right away how Wyatt’s big mouth is the reason I’ll get what I want. Bronco can’t stand his nephew, and he likes to undercut the younger man. Having Wyatt say no inspires Bronco to say yes.
“If we drive into the Village and demand her family, we’ll piss off a lot of people,” Bronco says and then smirks at Lowell. “We’ll make Marks appear weak. The Volkshalberd believe weakness is a sign of a poor bloodline.”
“His people will also think of how Pixie fucked with Marks and got fed. How they behave and starve,” Lowell says and glances at Pixie pacing around my black SUV. “We can go in there respectful, or we can go in like a bunch of assholes.”
“I’ve never been respectful, and I’m not starting now,” Bronco says, nearly snarling. “If those Village shits want to think of me as a Parrish, I’ll show them how the Parrish family handles a problem. Get everyone saddled up. We’re going in hard.”
Exhaling quietly, I ignore Wyatt’s anger and Bronco’s quick disapproving glance at me. I turn around toward Pixie, who instantly notices my gaze on her.
“Let’s get Mama,” she says breathlessly when I approach.
“You have to stay calm,” I insist, and she shakes her head. “You can’t run around or jump out of the car when we get there. No yelling for your family.”
Pixie can’t obey. She grew up with “no” on the tip of her tongue. Apparently, the Dandelion Collective was big on expressing oneself. Living in the Village under the thumb of Marks must drive her nuts.
As much as I understand how she wants to break free, Pixie doesn’t know how the world outside her cult works.
“If you don’t behave, your family might die,” I say, and she stops shaking her head. “The Village has guns. My club has guns.”
Pixie runs her fingers over her chest. “Guns kill. Like Papa.”
“Yes, and there will be a lot of nervous people holding those guns. If you run around or yell, they might make a mistake and start shooting.” Pixie’s dark eyes study my face. Her father was killed by a gun. She doesn’t understand them like I do. That’s why she agrees to behave and let me take charge. “Whatever happens, stay in the car. Don’t run around, looking for your mama. Okay?”
Her expression is as unreadable as Bronco’s was earlier. Then she smiles and takes my hand with both of hers. “You’re strong like a grand sequoia.”
“And I’ll keep you safe if you let me.”