“Yeah, man, we remember,” Lowell taunts.
Grinning, Bronco watches me. “Tomorrow, you’ll do this party thing at the Woodlands’ clubhouse. Soon, we can kill whoever needs killing. Things will settle down. You’ll find a routine and see if you can make shit work.”
I don’t mention to Bronco how I’m never letting Pixie go. If she decides my house is no good, we’ll move. I don’t give a shit about my property or possessions. My only concern is to keep Pixie looking at me like she did last night when we fucked. For the first time in my entire life, I felt down deep appreciated, acknowledged, and accepted. I’m not giving her up for anyone.
But tonight, I can’t run home to Pixie. John Marks and the Killing Joes are a threat to our future.
In fact, I’m pumped—ready to kick asses, break skulls, crack bones. Violence would be a relief.
Rather than drawing blood, we plan and plot for a few hours. Then we eat pizza delivered to the house. Next, we plan more. I’m so bored that I smoke a joint to avoid losing my shit. The tension in the basement is palpable. The men expect me to prove myself to them again. After three years of living here, I’m back to square one.
Before Pixie, these men’s disapproval would have crushed me. But, right now, I’m far more interested in my future than whatever guilt they want to put on me for my past.
More than once, I text Pixie. Eventually, I also hide in the bathroom to call her.
“You sound strange,” she says, talking too loudly into the phone.
“It’s just how I sound on calls.”
“When will you return?”
“Probably not until early tomorrow.” She reacts to my words by inhaling deeply. Realizing she’s panicking about staying in the house alone for that long, I add, “You can order food if you run out.”
“There’s more than enough food.”
“But if you’re ever hungry, you can order a delivery.”
“But we’re not supposed to answer the door.”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, chuckling. “Thanks for remembering what I told you. But I can bring food if you’re hungry.”
“Stop feeding me. We already ate leftovers from the lunch delivery. We didn’t finish it all. You ordered so much.”
“I miss you,” I say since she seems agitated.
“I want to see you,” Pixie insists. “Can I come to where you are?”
“You need to stay at the house and protect your family.”
“What can I do to protect them?”
“Hit the bad guys with a rock. It worked on the Volkshalberd.”
I feel Pixie’s smile when she says, “I miss you too.”
“Bronco thinks everything should settle down in a few days. Like when you moved from the government apartment to the Village. Everything was very stressful at first. Then you found your pace. It’ll be that way in the house.”
“Can I go to the grocery store and look at vegetables?”
“Tomorrow, I’ll take you.”
“Can Mama come and look too?”
“Sure.”
“I’m afraid to sleep alone in your room,” she says, and I can imagine the fear on her face.
“Then maybe you can sleep downstairs with your family. There are two beds and a couch.”
“But where will you sleep?”
“I’ll crash in my bed when I get home,” I explain softly, wanting to calm her in the way she’s always willing to do for me. “If you want to come up, there’ll be room. If not, that’s okay. I plan to spend a thousand nights with you, Pixie Yabo.”
“I miss you,” she says again. “I want Mama, Dove, and Future to get to know you. And for you to know them. But everything conspires against us.”
“Soon, our lives won’t be about bullshit and enemies. We’ll spend every day together. I promise.”
I imagine Pixie smiling at my words. She falls silent, likely forgetting how I can’t see her. Or she might have accidentally put me on mute. Finally, she tells me goodbye.
Hearing her voice and knowing she misses me eases my tension more than the pot. I gear up for whatever might happen tonight.
In theory, the fireworks will send the Village into chaos. They’ll run around like headless chickens, possibly shooting blindly into the woods. None of that matters to me.
My concern is Roadrunner and Gak. Despite what I told Bronco, I bet they’re not here alone. I went over the numbers with Conor earlier, and there are six remaining members of the Killing Joes Motorcycle Club. Even if a few met violent ends in the last few years, I suspect the two Coles—Bloody and Redbeard—are in on this deal with Marks. They tended to follow Gak around like useless, angry toddlers.
Tonight, when the fireworks go off, and Marks thinks he’s under attack, he’ll call for help. Will Roadrunner respond? Or is he smart enough to smell a trick?
At twenty before midnight, the first group of Conor’s surveillance drones silently hovers over the Village. Bronco and Lowell are nearby in a van, keeping tabs on our club brothers spread out in the area.
I stick close to Conor in a parking lot a block from the entrance of the Village. We’re hidden in the darkness when I light the fireworks. Then I attach them to another drone, which Conor quickly flies over the center of the Village.
On a screen, I study the surveillance footage from over the Village. Only a few lights can be seen in the otherwise dark area.
Conor’s main drone tilts to the right, allowing the fireworks—ready to pop—to land in the center of the community. He flies a short distance and then leans the drone to the left. Another batch of fireworks hits the ground.
“What if the fuses go out?” I ask Conor in the darkness.
As if answering me, the fireworks wake up the night. On the night vision footage from the drones, we watch the Volkshalberd rush panicked out of their tents. As quickly as they bolt
