Fairuza doesn’t stare with wide eyes. She looks angry as if wanting to fuck up someone. I suspect she’s still pissed-off about our earlier guests or maybe the beating she got from the Volkshalberd.
I consider giving the ladies guns, but neither knows how to use one. They’re more likely to hurt themselves or an ally.
Once the house is locked down, I show them the security device that I know for a fucking fact they do not understand. Then I leave them to watch TV in the living room while Fairuza keeps a big kitchen knife nearby.
The odds are slim of someone attacking while I’m gone. The sun hasn’t gone down, and security in the Woodlands is solid. However, I remain on edge. My part of the community is less lived in. Though the younger men and newer guys are building houses here, many lots are currently empty.
Arriving at Bronco’s house located at the center of the community, I see a few Harleys parked in the long, curved driveway. Lowell opens the door for me, and I walk inside to find all of my president’s blonde daughters.
There’s the oldest—fifteen-year-old Summer—chilling on the couch, looking at her phone. The two middle ones—eleven-year-old Sidonie belonging to Bronco and nine-year-old Desi belonging to Lana—run around the backyard with their black-and-white border collie and a Chihuahua mix. Lana holds the baby she shares with Bronco.
Over a few months, Carina went from a lump to a human being complete with a personality. The kid looks a lot like Bronco lately, and she even wears his frown.
Right now, she looks at me over her mom’s shoulder as Lana talks with Summer. The baby probably doesn’t see me. I don’t know how much little kids understand. I keep talking to Future as if he’s an adult, but he just stares. Kids might as well be rocket science for me.
But I can’t look away from Carina.
“What?” Bronco grumbles in the kitchen.
I catch him glaring at me as if I’m the enemy.
A few feet away, Conor pops a chip in his mouth and mumbles, “Now that Anders found a honey, he’s got babies on the brain.”
Bronco’s face turns confused as if he never considered I might want a family. I sometimes wonder if he believes I was spawned out of a tree or a giant troll. He’s never asked about my parents or what I did before the Killing Joes.
I often get the feeling that Bronco chooses to keep us strangers. As if it’ll be easier to kill me when I eventually turn on him. In Bronco’s mind, I’m one bad day away from beheading another club president.
“How old is that girl?” Bronco asks Conor instead of me.
“Twenty,” I answer. “Her mom did the math.”
“They don’t believe in birthdays,” Lowell adds nearby. “They think every day is a celebration of a person’s birth.”
“Wait, so could I get presents every day?” Summer asks from the couch. “I feel as if that could get expensive.”
Bronco finally smiles. “You’d run out of shit for me to buy after two months.”
“Ahh, but what a wonderful two months they’d be,” Summer says, sighing blissfully as Lana laughs.
Bronco grins at his oldest daughter and gives Lana a kiss on the cheek. Then he nuzzles his nose against Carina’s. The baby never likes it when he does that move. She always frowns as if he’s a crazy person. Her expression never fails to crack me up.
Maybe one day, I’ll have a kid who thinks I’m a weirdo. Before I can get too comfy with the family feeling, though, a few people need killing.
After more men arrive at the house, Bronco heads to the basement. I feel Wyatt’s gaze on me as I walk in front of him. Rather than react, I ignore his fucking attitude. Everyone knows his wife is a cunt. DeAnna is uppity and low class at the same time. I see how the other honeys can’t stand her.
Does DeAnna ever worry that Wyatt will get bored of her? Or, more likely, some club bunny will turn up pregnant with his kid. Then she’ll lose her shit, and he’ll kick her out of the house. What can she do? Take him to court for alimony? The people in this community refuse to involve the law in our problems. If DeAnna breaks that rule, her body will never be found for the funeral.
But for now, she’s in good with her husband. More importantly, Bambi protects her. Bronco’s sisters hold a lot of power in the Woodlands. But even they aren’t around for this meeting.
“Hitting the Village is more complicated than we thought,” Bronco says once everyone’s corralled in his basement. “The Volkshalberd called in what’s left of the Killing Joes.”
My club brothers all look accusingly at me. Even after the others refocus on Bronco, Wyatt refuses to look away. I continue to ignore him. Conor treated me real nice today, and I suspect he’ll be the man in charge soon. Caring about Wyatt’s opinion isn’t something I have to pretend to do.
“John Marks might have other people in Elko or in the Village,” Bronco continues. “We don’t know what they’re planning. We could be walking into an ambush.”
“So, is the plan to pass around and fuck one of their bitches to make things square?” Wyatt sneers, bringing up a sore spot for our president from a few years back.
Sighing, Bronco glances at me. “If he speaks up again before I’m finished, punch him in the face.”
My president is well aware of how these men are terrified of his giant. My fist is as big as most of their fucking heads. Not Hoagie’s moon-shaped one, though.
“The Killing Joes like to set up booby traps,” Conor says, and Wyatt opens his mouth to complain about how his cousin gets to speak. Then the blond shithead remembers my fist and closes his trap. “Drummer almost lost a leg when we hit one of their drug houses.
