Nodding, I smile when Pixie presses her face against the glass door and waves at her family. They smile and wave back. The four of them love easily. There’s no competition or resentment.
Sure, I notice them get on each other’s nerves at times. But those small annoyances are normal. Whenever someone is irritated with me, I assume I’m a horrible person. My mind immediately reaches for the worst-case scenario. I thought that might be normal. How would I know? People don’t tell me shit.
But now I watch Pixie and her family. Their happiness feels organic and never for show. I have the opportunity to be part of what they share. Every day, I can wake up to their happy faces.
All I need to do is survive the raid on the Village.
Bronco is already working out plans with Conor and Lowell in the basement when I arrive after lunch.
“I looked at that boy last night,” Bronco says when I join them. “He was rolling around, and I noticed his bones sticking out. We’re starving little kids while John Marks doesn’t miss a meal. I’m done waiting. Fuck the Killing Joes. Tonight, we go in, kill who needs killing, and avoid killing anyone else. If a few bullets hit unintended targets, we’ll need to remember how many kids are starving like that boy. Waiting is no longer an option.”
When Bronco decides on something, there’s no talking him out of it. His certainty is one reason I respect him. Bronco grew up treated like shit, too. He made a decision to take Elko and wage a war with the Marks family. That’s why I know he won’t change his mind about the Village.
“While I didn’t like Conor’s idea about us running shit in the Village, I now realize killing Marks and his sheep isn’t enough.”
Frowning, I glance at Conor. His dark green eyes look to Bronco for permission to answer my unasked question. His uncle gives him a head nod, and I realize the young man’s ego is back in check.
“Personenkult has come to the Village,” Conor says, and I frown darker. “Personenkult means a cult of personality. The Village never flourished, even before Marks. But they had a different kind of leadership. Basically, a committee of different factions who negotiated how to go forward. No one guy or group had all the power. But then their elders died, and Marks made promises. These kinds of leaders are always the same. He saw the people were suffering. He focused them on an enemy. He sold them on the idea of returning to a glory the Village never knew. The older Volkshalberd saw that Marks was full of shit, but the younger ones believed the lies. Those assholes will shoot at us, and they will need to die. If they survive, they’ll look for a new asshole to sell them bullshit. Then, next time, they won’t stockpile weapons. Instead, they’ll send a few martyrs out to kill us. The Volkshalberd have proven they can’t be trusted. To protect our community, we’ll need to run theirs.”
“If we get them organized, the club’s power will expand while also improving things for those people,” Bronco says, having bought into Conor’s plans for the future. “We’ll turn a problem into an income source.”
“But first, we kill Marks and his supporters,” Lowell says, eyeing me.
“Last night, I set off more fireworks and watched their reactions,” Conor explains. “The idiots sent those same dumbasses to walk the perimeter. If the Killing Joes are still around, they’re likely in the Village. The good news is the rest of the Volkshalberd hid in their tents when the fireworks went off. If we start shooting, they ought to stay out of the way.”
“Based on the map created by Pixie and Fairuza,” Bronco says, “our main target is an old warehouse at the center of the Village. That’s where the Marks family is likely shacked up.”
On a few whiteboards, we go over how to raid the Village—access points, hiding spots, and team leaders.
“If we have the manpower to spare,” I suggest despite normally keeping my mouth shut, “we could park a large truck near the front gates. Turn on the lights real bright and rev the engine. If Marks thinks we’re coming in hot from the front, he might be more likely to bail out the back rather than digging in.”
Conor studies Bronco. “We could put Wyatt in the truck. He’ll act as our last line of defense between the Volkshalberd rushing into town. Plus, if the Killing Joes do show up, he’ll be there to take them on.”
Bronco fights a grin. We all know Conor just wants to keep his hotheaded cousin from going wannabe Rambo inside the Village. Best-case scenario, Wyatt kills an innocent Volkshalberd. Worst case, he tries to take down the president with a little friendly fire.
Bronco eyes the whiteboard. “Rooster planned to keep an eye on him. If we leave Wyatt loaded up in the truck and Rooster nearby with backup weapons, the front should be safe.”
“If those Volkshalberd dipshits come out to take on the truck, you know he’ll shoot them, right?” Lowell asks.
“Honestly, I don’t give a crap,” Bronco mutters. “They’re armed, and I have no doubt they’ll shoot us if they get the chance.”
“Yeah, but four dead bodies out on the street isn’t a good look.”
“The cops will be busy somewhere else. The Volkshalberd don’t bury their dead in town. If this goes well, not a single civilian will be the wiser.”
For the next two hours, we roll through various strategies and imagine every possible bad outcome.
I’ve never seen Bronco plan this thoroughly. Of course, he has a new wife and kid to worry about. I know the feeling. That’s why, before the rest of my club brothers show up to go over the final plans before sunset, I speak up.
“If
