Crossing his arms, Lowell adds, “But they’re limited to how much they can protect or patrol. The area is too big, and there are plenty of weak spots in the fencing running around the Village.”
Bronco looks over the men and explains, “We know the Killing Joes aren’t at any local hotels within twenty miles. They might be shacked up with a chick or sleeping in a tent in the woods. That’s why we’ll bait them with Conor’s idea.”
His nephew nods. “The problem with attacking the Village is that we only want to kill John Marks and his allies while avoiding the deaths of a shit-ton of civilians.”
“Do we know Marks is in the Village?” Rooster asks.
“He was there the night those assholes shot at Anders. Based on the way Gunther behaved yesterday,” Bronco answers, “Marks is still in the Village. Sneaking around Elko won’t be easy now. We have everyone in town looking for Marks. Let’s assume he’s there and in communication with the Killing Joes.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Rooster asks after his son—Wyatt—gets antsy.
“We use drones,” Bronco says and gestures for Conor to continue.
After his nephew explains the plan, I notice Wyatt wanting to bitch. A few other guys seem unsure, too. Bronco’s been in charge for too long to remain blind to their signals.
Trying to settle them down, he says, “A week ago, we didn’t know about Marks or the Killing Joes. Going in half-assed will get people killed. Maybe some of us. Now, I know a few of you might like to catch a bullet just to avoid dealing with your woman. Personally, I like my wife and would prefer to see my kids grow up.”
Squirming around in his chair and breathing heavy, Wyatt can barely keep his mouth shut now. He always acts like an ill-tempered child rather than a guy prepared to lead.
However, Wyatt keeps his mouth shut. No way has he forgotten how my hand felt wrapped around his throat.
“We have the chance to clear out two enemies at one time,” Bronco continues. “The Killing Joes never put their club back together. These assholes are mercenaries now. They have no loyalty to Marks, and he doesn’t play well with others. Neither side is coherent enough to take us down, but that doesn’t mean one of us can’t end up buried.”
“What happens when Marks and the Killing Joes are dead?” Rooster asks.
“Then we pick a new leader for the Volkshalberd,” Conor says, seeming to startle Bronco with this idea. “The Village needs to fall under our control. We’ll claim we’re doing them a favor after Marks destroyed our trust. In reality, the club can’t worry they’ll crown a new madman to run the place.”
Though Bronco might approve of this plan, he’s on edge now. His nephew is acting like the man in charge. Wyatt notices the shift in mood and stops fidgeting. A smug grin takes over his face.
“The Killing Joes,” I say, drawing everyone’s attention away from Bronco and Conor, “are muscle. That’s it. They aren’t coming up with strategy. They just want money and a shot at punishing the Executioners. Don’t waste time viewing them as a threat like the Reapers. They’re no more than trigger-happy clowns.”
“Do you think we could hit the Village from the back, where Pixie slipped out and met you?” Lowell says, glancing at Conor.
Bronco clears his throat. “First, we attempt to draw out the Killing Joes. Once they’re dead or we’re certain they’ve bailed on Marks, we hit the Village.”
My club brothers nod, approving the idea of attacking the enemy. But none are ready for dead kids. I know that much. If we hit the Village too fast or hard and kids die or cry next to their dead mothers, the men in the Executioners will struggle with their choice to attack.
I know I will. Back with the Killing Joes, I likely did horrible things. Those memories can’t haunt me, though. My mind was too far gone to remember my sins. But I no longer enjoy such a luxury. If I accidentally put a bullet in a child, I’ll never be able to shrug it off as an accident or the cost of war.
PIXIE
For a long time, Anders owned my thoughts, even if I only saw him every few days. Occasionally, we went a week without meeting. Now in his house, I should be able to enjoy his company. Except people and circumstances keep pulling us apart.
“I have to go out,” he said earlier while changing clothes. “I’ll be at Bronco’s. It’s two blocks away. If you need me, I can get back fast.”
Anders handed me a phone as he prepared to leave the bedroom. I tugged hard on his hand, making him stop. Despite his frown, I maneuvered him closer to the bed. Then I climbed on the mattress, using its height to hold him against me.
“I love you,” I said, stroking his head. “You are special. Your heart is filled with sunshine, and I want it to belong to me.”
Anders’s tension faded, and he looked up at me. “I’m glad you’re here. It drove me crazy not knowing if you were safe.”
I ran my fingers over his forehead before kissing the tanned flesh. His arms wrapped around me. My lips pressed against his, careful to avoid encouraging his sexual urges. Walking around with an erect penis-cock seemed distracting.
But Anders still deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against mine, wanting more. His fingers gripped my thighs, tugging them apart and demanding what he knew he couldn’t have.
“When you come home,” I said once my lips were free.
“We can be quick,” he muttered and then shook his head as if coming out of a trance. “When I come home.”
“No, when you come home, we’ll take our time,” I whispered, kissing his cheek. “How long will you be gone?”
Rather than enjoy thoughts of our future sexual fun, Anders started explaining how we might be attacked. He showed me all the
