Glancing at me, Bronco lowers his voice. “Do you have your people?”
“I don’t know about the stepdad.”
“He isn’t available,” Gunther says immediately.
There’s something about his expression that makes me think Perry might not be alive. Or possibly, he bowed when his woman wouldn’t. After all, Fairuza is sporting a nasty black eye and a swollen lip.
No way to be certain, though. John Marks is banking on juggling lies and loyalties long enough to get what he wants out of the Volkshalberd. I have no doubt he’ll ditch them as soon as the bill comes due for all the shit he’s pulled. Until then, he wants to keep up appearances, and killing Perry may not be good for morale.
“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.