Located close to the Village’s entrance, Drummer messages about the activity there. “Six guys. Weapons. Walking the outer perimeter of the Village.”
While the young men check for threats, the drones scan the area inside the Village. There isn’t much movement. I wonder how many Volkshalberd silently hope Marks will die in this attack, so they might finally get fed.
The thought of Pixie in that place hurts my heart. All these months, I avoided imagining how shitty her life was at the Village, especially after we locked them inside. Feeling too guilty over her suffering might lead me to doubt Bronco’s decision. My loyalty to him won out.
“How long do we wait?” I ask Conor as we hide behind the sandwich shop.
“Fireworks go off, Marks calls the Killing Joes for help, and they agree to drive over. How long do you figure that’ll take?”
“Thirty minutes, tops.”
“Bronco will likely wait another thirty minutes to an hour. If the Killing Joes don’t show up, Mark didn’t call them, or they’re not his bitches. Either way, Bronco knows something new.”
After twenty minutes, we accept the Killing Joes aren’t coming. But Conor isn’t ready to leave. I suspect he’s afraid to miss an important detail. He thinks too hard about shit. That habit will trip him up when he’s the guy making all the decisions.
Of course, if I were him and these men were connected to my dad’s murder, I’d want to wait all night, too.
At one a.m., Bronco finally orders everyone to head home. By then, my ass is cold and numb from sitting on the asphalt. I get to my feet and stretch out the kinks in my back. Even in the darkness, I notice Conor’s obvious disappointment over the Killing Joes’ no-show.
Once the drones are stored in his SUV, I split off from Conor and return to my quiet house. In the kitchen, I warm up food and fish out a brownie edible from the fridge. I need to stay relaxed, so I can sleep. Between work and that party, tomorrow will be another pain in my ass.
While I eat in the dark dining room, I study the security footage from the cameras around the house. Fairuza and Future sleep in one basement bedroom. In the other, Pixie and Dove share a bed with my honey over the blankets and her sister under them. The doors on both rooms are shut. I bet they’re locked too. I smile at how seriously they took my instructions.
Though I love seeing Pixie stretched out and peaceful, she’d feel damn good against my body. I hunger to taste her lips, including the ones between her legs.
I shiver at the thought of eating her out again. Soon, life will settle down. Then the opportunity to fuck my honey will no longer feel like a prize at the end of an obstacle course.
PIXIE
Dove is already awake when I open my eyes. Her pale blue eyes glow at the sight of me. We share a smile and then kiss our two fingers and press them against each other’s lips.
“Do you think I will be allowed to try the pool today?” Dove whispers as we climb out of bed.
“Yes. I will ask Anders for the buttons to open the gate. Then we’ll swim.”
“Do you think he’ll be angry?”
“Why would he?” I ask, taking the kitchen knife located on a side table and preparing to open the locked door.
Last night, my family remained wary. We finally moved down to the basement and locked ourselves into the bedrooms. I didn’t think I could sleep, but the mattress was so comfortable. Waking rested, I’m worried about Anders’s fate, though.
I step into the basement hallway and swing around the weapon. Dove watches me with wide eyes. When I realize no one is around and how silly I must look, I glance back at my sister and laugh. She giggles behind her hand.
Mama’s door is already open, and we find her on the couch with Future. My brother feeds from her breast, though she has little milk to offer, and he mostly wants comfort.
“Shall we head upstairs?” I suggest.
I lead Dove and Mama upstairs while Future sucks fruitlessly at her breast. The sun brightens the family room and kitchen. I pause to admire the beautiful house Anders built it for himself.
Dove hurries to the back doors, where she lifts her face to the sun and exhales joyfully. Mama smiles at my sister’s reaction and then sets down a curious Future. While I open the fridge and pour milk into a baby cup, Mama digs out the leftover food from yesterday.
“Did Anders come home?” she asks, using the microwave.
“I don’t know. Once everyone has food, I’ll sneak into Anders’s room and check on him,” I say and then gasp. “Would you like to eat breakfast outside?”
Mama and Dove smile, feeling overwhelmed by the enclosed space. Soon, they’re out at the table on the back patio. Future brings a few toys with him and then sits in the kid chair that he initially hated but now knows belongs to him. My family’s faces wear such beautiful smiles when I leave them.
Soon, I hurry to see the man who brought joy to their lives.
As usual, Anders sleep on his side with his long limbs pointed downward. He appears comfortable yet cold. His tanned skin—wearing not a stitch of clothing—is covered with ink.
I study the mostly black tattoos along with a few colorful ones. I find names of people and places. Pictures of dogs and motorcycles. There are skulls, guns, and knives. On his back, a winking woman smiles at me. His skin tells the chaotic story of a tragic life. Anders hid his scars under pictures with little meaning.
How can the winking woman be important when she isn’t in his life? She was just something to have drawn onto his large body. The tattoos hide the man he was taught to
