Except Pixie keeps looking around as if everything bothers her. She stomps on the furniture and keeps eyeing the door. I don’t know if she wants free of this place or me. No, she’s probably just worried about her family.
“I’m so used to people running from me that I don’t know what to do when they stay,” I mutter after Bronco and Lowell leave.
Pixie climbs on the dining room table and lets out a wild roar. At first, I think she’s playing. Then her dark eyes find my face, and she exhales like a bull ready to attack.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” I mumble, watching her thin body get wound up with anger.
“I want to go home!”
“I can’t take you back.”
Screaming, Pixie jumps up and down on the table. I hurry over to catch her if she takes a tumble. Instead, she looks ready to punch me.
“I know how people in the world are,” she says, swinging her fist like a little girl. “I can be a demon and hit you.”
“What’s that going to do?”
Pixie’s furious frown changes to a more confused one. “I don’t know. How does it usually work?”
“You can hit me, but I still won’t take you back,” I explain, and her usually smiling lips turn into a disappointed pout. “Driving out to the Village tomorrow with my friends will be safer.”
“Mama needs me.”
“Yes, but if you go back tonight, Marks and his idiot allies might hurt you. Right now, they don’t know what happened. Or if you’re coming back. Or if they can use your family as a shield. Your mama and siblings are safer now than if you return alone.”
Pixie touches her lips, thinking about my words. I know she doesn’t understand strategy. Her world is small and uncomplicated. Knowing how to manipulate and hurt people isn’t part of her skill set.
Pixie’s dark eyes size me up, and then she looks at the doorway where Bronco and Lowell disappeared outside. I suspect she’s putting together how we’re bad people with demon guns while she’s just a flower child with no hate in her heart.
Though she sure did fuck up that Volkshalberd shithead damn fast. I can’t help smiling at the memory of her jumping on his back and bashing in his head. I didn’t think my hippie girl had it in her. But I shouldn’t be surprised. I know she’d hurt someone to protect her family. They matter to her.
And I guess I do too.
“I’ll bring your family here,” I promise and hold out my hand so she’ll come down from the table.
Pixie gives me an “Are you fucking nuts?” look and refuses to take my hand. Then I realize she isn’t reacting to the idea of bringing her family here. She just doesn’t plan to get down.
“You could fall.”
“You could fall. You’re bigger.”
“Not when you’re standing up there.”
“You’re scared of me,” she hisses and swings her fist.
“No, not really.”
Pixie’s smile returns. “You’re a grand sequoia standing against the changing seasons.”
“Sure, but I’m also nervous about you falling. What if you get hurt and can’t come with me tomorrow to get your family?”
Pixie’s expression goes blank. I accept right then how she’s caught on to my bullshit. Though she acts like a child at times, she isn’t one. Pixie is very aware I’m manipulating her to get what I want.
Rather than take my hand, she leans over and climbs into my arms like I’m her tree. I carry her to the kitchen and set her on the island. She plays with my hair and smiles.
“Your house is too big.”
“It’s basically Bronco’s house. I didn’t know what else to build.”
“Build your house.”
“I did,” I say, sliding my finger across the scab on her bare knee. “It just happens to look like Bronco’s.”
“Mama won’t like it here.”
“No, probably not. But I have food, and no one will hurt you here.”
Pixie’s gaze flickers to the fridge. She’s thinking about eating and maybe how I don’t own enough food. She likely doesn’t understand about restaurants. After the ATF came busting into her old commune, she only spent a few weeks in an apartment before moving to the Village. I’m not sure how much of the normal world makes sense to her.
“I’ll order dinner. I can also call a girl I know who’ll pick up food from the grocery store.”
Pixie just stares at me as her feet bang against the cabinets. She’s wired since the soda.
“I’ll order sugar-free drinks from now on,” I say when she remains silent. “Can’t have your entire family bouncing off the walls.”
When Pixie’s thinking, her face goes so blank that she looks sorta dead inside. That’s why, when she suddenly offers a huge smile, I’m startled.
“You were scared of the Bronco man and his friend.”
“They gave me a home here.”
“You’re bigger than them. Why don’t you smash them into pieces?”
“Because they’re my friends.”
“And your heart is full of sunshine,” she says, patting my chest. “You care about your biker club people. That’s why you were scared. My heart beats faster when I think Mama is angry with me.”
“Is your mom sweet to you?”
Pixie smiles again, seeming childlike in her reaction. “Mama is the best mama in the world.”
I don’t know what Pixie sees on my face, but she wraps her long arms around me and hugs my body against her.
“You’ll have a better mama in a different story,” she promises.
“Maybe, but doesn’t that mean you’ll have a worse mama in another story?”
“Yes, but I’m not in that story. I can’t have all the good stuff while you have all the bad stuff. That’s not fair.”
“No, it isn’t,” I say, feeling as if the kitchen is too small now. Her body seemed more untouchable on the side of the road. Here, in my home, I’m very aware of her every curve and how soft her tanned skin feels under my fingers. “I better order food. What would you like?”
“Nuts.”
Sighing, I realize she won’t be much help choosing from the menu of Bambi’s Bar & Grill. While I look over the menu, Pixie jumps down from the island and starts walking around on the furniture again.
While messaging our food order, I watch her bounce around. Then I text a club bunny to have her pick up groceries for me. These days, Jena doesn’t get much attention. Hitting thirty killed her confidence, and my club brothers have noticed. Lowell now has her in charge of other shit, making her more of an assistant than a party girl.
Anxiety rises in me as Pixie bounces on the couch. Not from my obsession so close I can touch. I also don’t care if she uses the furniture as a trampoline. I sensed Bronco was irritated by that stuff, but I barely sit in here.
What bothers me is Pixie’s earthy scent. The smell returns my thoughts to my grandmother’s reaction after I’d play outside all day. The scent of heat on my skin drove her crazy, and she’d roughly scrub my skin to get rid of it.
“Pixie,” I say, fighting the rage inside me. “I need you to take a shower.”