at the security gate of his fancy community in Elko. I told him I had a peace offering. Or maybe I claimed it was a thank-you gift. I can’t really remember. By the time I showed up in Elko, I hadn’t slept in days, and I was beyond wasted.
Despite my rotten brain, I do remember the look on Bronco’s face when he looked in the duffle bag filled with severed heads.
“What do you want?” he asked, frowning while his men pointed guns at me.
“A new home.”
High and exhausted, I couldn’t find the words. Mostly, I wanted to explain how the mercy he showed me that day was more compassion than I’d gotten in my entire life.
Accepting the duffle bag, Bronco let me crash at the apartment building the Executioners used for their club girls. I didn’t know how long he would allow me to stick around.
Three years later, I’m still here. I’ve built a house in the swanky community where the Executioners live—Woodlands at Dry Creek. I wear their vest and even claimed the Sergeant at Arms title. I’m one of the Executioners. And I’m clean.
But the claws of addiction never completely released me. When stress builds, I can’t see straight. Then I can’t think of anything except getting a fix. Sometimes, I don’t even need a trigger to set off that need. A happy day isn’t enough of an antidote to a decade-long toxic love affair.
Pot helps the most. Enough booze to knock me on my ass does the trick too. If a craving is mild, I’ll hit the gym in my basement. Or if the weather isn’t too bad, I’ll ride Elko’s back roads until I settle down.
During one of my drives, I come upon a young woman dancing on the side of the road to no music. Though she stops when I slow down and idle, she doesn’t run off or look embarrassed.
I know right off that she’s one of the cult members from the Village. The Volkshalberd believe they possess a superior bloodline that must be protected from the modern world’s pollution. Living on a large acreage of land surrounded by woods, the weirdos keep to themselves.
Like all Volkshalberd, this girl’s long, dark brown hair is tied into many braids. She wears an ankle-length brown skirt and a raggedy red shirt. Her tanned face is without makeup. Her feet are bare.
I ought to keep riding. The Volkshalberd are bad news.
Yet, the girl’s gaze is too direct. I start wondering what she’s doing out on the road. Have the Volkshalberd moved into prostitution? If so, they need to pick a better spot than this back road.
“Whatcha doing out here?” I ask after shutting off my Harley and strolling to where she stands in the long grass.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, swaying in a way that makes me think she’s likely high.
“I’m driving around Elko. What are you doing?”
“I’m not driving around Elko.”
I think to walk back to my bike and ride away. The Volkshalberd are a strange breed of people living off the grid. They believe in pagan gods and joyfully raise their kids in poverty. Beneath her baggy clothes, this young woman is likely underweight. Possibly, bruised and battered, too.
But I don’t have a lot going on in my life, and she’s especially pretty.
“What’s your name?”
“What’s your name?” she asks, and I wonder if she’s sick in the head.
“Anders.”
“Like Andy?”
“No, like Anders.”
She smiles at my irritation and sways in my direction. “You’ve got a lot of hair,” she says and reaches out to touch my beard. “You’re a blond bear.”
There’s something innocent about her behavior. Women usually flirt hardcore with me or act as if I’m a horrifying monster. Well, some ignore me. I’ve never had one act as if I’m an animal she wants to pet.
“What’s your name?” I ask softer as she circles me.
“Pixie Yabo.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“My mom’s a pretty woman. She names the trees after spirit nymphs.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Neither do I,” she says and teases the stitching on my Executioners vest.
“How old are you?”
“I don’t know. How old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Is that a good age?”
“Sure.”
Pixie smiles big and tugs at the seam of my white T-shirt. “How come you stopped riding your rumbling bicycle? Are you going to kidnap me?”
“Are you a kid?”
“Everyone is someone’s kid.”
“I guess,” I say as she circles me faster. “I didn’t know what you were doing.”
“What do you care?”
“I want to keep Elko safe.”
“From me?”
“For you.”
“Who’s gonna be unsafe?” Pixie asks, looking around