Lana doesn’t help by looking as freaked out as I feel. But she’s a new member of the Woodlands community, too. I remind myself that she only came here after Carina was born, and the baby is still very small.
Topanga pats my free hand and shushes me. “I know hearing those bitches talk shit about your man got you riled up. I’d be just as pissed if they said that about Lowell. But here are a few facts that should help calm you, okay?”
Once I nod, she continues, “Wyatt will never be the Executioners’ president. Everyone in this community except for Wyatt and DeAnna knows this fact. Even Taryn knows Conor is who Bronco plans to tap for the top spot. So, when Wyatt and his bitch bride talk shit about how they’ll run things, they’re living in a fantasy world. The founding members of the Executioners will have a say. They want Conor as president. Not only because he’s calmer and smarter than Wyatt. It’s also a gift to their dead friend, Wheels. When they look at Conor, they see the man that helped build the club.”
After thinking about her words, I ask, “What if Wyatt still decides to hurt Anders?”
“Baby, that shithead doesn’t have the balls to challenge Bronco in a fight. How the hell will he grow testicles big enough to take on a giant?”
Her words are meant to soothe me, but they only reaffirm how people don’t realize my blond bear bleeds just like everyone else.
“Anders is very big, but he has been hurt so many times. I don’t want anyone else scarring his body.”
“I know, but you’ll need to learn how to tell when people are full of hot air.” When I frown at her wording, Topanga shrugs. “Lying? Full of shit? Bragging?”
“Like John Marks,” Mama says, and I exhale uneasily.
“Can you understand how the rules are confusing?” I ask Topanga. “Taryn and DeAnna can shove me into a toilet without getting in trouble because they’re special. But they’re also not to be believed?”
“They get special treatment because of Rooster and Bambi, who founded the club. Those bitches haven’t earned anything themselves. DeAnna’s family has a little money, so she feels like a princess or some shit. But Wyatt cheats on her just like he would if he married a waitress or a homeless chick. DeAnna will stop being special the day Wyatt gets bored of her. Taryn will always be special because she came out of Bambi’s snatch. That’s just the way the world works, but Bronco is the one who calls the shots. Notice how your man is always with him, and DeAnna’s man is always somewhere else? That’s what really matters. Not some crap they say in a restroom.”
“So, I shouldn’t tell Anders?” I ask, wanting to avoid upsetting him.
“I’ll talk to Lowell about it. You and Lana are still new to this world, and talking club business with your men isn’t easy. I have no trouble blurting shit out to Lowell, and he keeps no secrets from Bronco. If they think Wyatt is a threat, they’ll deal with him. You just worry about getting healthy and settling into your new home.”
Exhaling easier this time, I squeeze Mama’s hand. Topanga might rub us the wrong way with all her joking, but she’s been very loyal and honest.
No matter what anyone says, though, I can’t shake my fear for Anders tonight.
ANDERS
Bronco and Lowell drag John’s and Steph’s bodies to the center of the Village. Despite my wound, I keep watch over my president and VP while they wait for the adult Volkshalberd to shamble over.
People sob in the distance. Likely the parents or wives of the men killed. The Volkshalberd don’t believe in Christian heaven or the Dandelions’ new lives. They accept some kind of afterlife but only for those worthy enough. I doubt the dead assholes make the grade.
My shoulder and back hurt where the bullet tore open flesh on its way through. I might need a few stitches, but I’ve felt worse. I wish the pain stung more. I’d prefer a distraction from the sight of these starving people staring at me.
Most days, I struggle to find empathy for most people. I’ve rarely seen the purpose of caring. I’m surprised I can feel empathy at all. But I do, for my people.
And my family was starving less than a week ago. I didn’t let myself really imagine what that was like for Pixie. Leaving her behind after our visits would have been impossible if I thought about her suffering. I knew her little brother’s body looked weird, as did her sister’s sunken cheeks. They were losing weight fast. Bronco warned me that would happen, and I pretended their suffering was short term.
Except if those assholes hadn’t shot at me, Pixie and her family would still be here. And we wouldn’t know about John Marks. How much longer would the blockade go on? Weeks, months?
Those ugly voices in my head point out how Future wouldn’t have survived that long. One day, when I visited with Pixie, she would have told me how her little brother was living his next story. She would cry, and a part of her would know I helped kill him.
Guilt isn’t something I deal with often. I don’t let myself feel bad about the things I did in my youth or when I was high. I pretend they weren’t my fault. Or if they were, life sucks for everyone. I view my time with the Killing Joes as separate from who I am now. Killing my club brothers and suffering through withdrawal were the prices I paid to forget my sins.
But, tonight, I feel the guilt of leaving Pixie in this place for so long. I had the power to force her to go with me. Then, things would have played out like they did anyway. She would tell me about
