tell Mama, but I’m really talking to the grand sequoia listening, too. “He worked hard to help us. You can trust him.”
Though I’m probably too emotional right now to see the downsides, I can’t think of any when it comes to being Anders’s honey.
ANDERS
The Village was founded long ago by men who believed their superior bloodlines needed protection. They bought land, put up their fences, lured in women, and bred a new community of believers. Then, they made up shit as they went along to keep people in line.
That’s why their dogma remains unclear. Pixie certainly doesn’t seem to know what they believe, and she’s lived with them for around three years. Besides working hard, maintaining bloodlines, and praying to the sun for blessings, the Volkshalberd—aka the people’s halberd—exist in the Village simply to avoid existing anywhere else.
Possibly, their lack of strong doctrine explains why a conman like John Marks swept into power so easily here.
Of course, I’ve never met anyone from his family. Apparently, decades ago, John, his sister, Steph, and their brother, Craig, were weak morons running Elko into the ground. The Marks family lost everything when Bronco and the five other founding members of the Executioners went to war with them.
All this happened back when I was a kid, before the drugs and the killing. Yet, I wasn’t innocent when Bronco seized this town. I’d already been ruined. No way could I imagine how my future would become linked to a long-simmering feud between two men—Bronco Parrish and John Marks.
Right now, dozens of people stand in the line of fire of this escalating war. Marks remains at a disadvantage against Bronco, despite the angry armed men under his command. Some of his sheep are too weak to hold their weapons correctly. Others don’t seem to know how to use them. Even outgunned, these true believers want blood.
If the shooting starts, they’ll aim for Bronco. Marks has undoubtedly filled their heads with how the Executioners’ president is behind all of the Village’s problems. If only they can rid Elko of this single man, the Volkshalberd will flourish.
I’ve seen how bad men lie to keep their moron followers in check. I heard plenty of bullshit from Lonnie. He also thought killing Bronco and taking out the Executioners would make him more money than he could count. I suspect he believed his own bullshit right up until I started cutting off his head.
Today, though, John Marks isn’t front and center to be killed. He sent his idiot followers to play cannon fodder. The Executioners are ready for a shootout, having survived more than a few over the years.
My concern is keeping Bronco safe. The other men matter, sure. Yet, they weren’t the ones to offer me a new life. Dying for Bronco is my purpose. I’ve believed that for years.
Except now there’s Pixie and her family. I feel them behind me in the car. Fairuza’s voice is as clear as day when she says I only want Pixie for her body. I’m a monster using my power to force her to submit.
Then Pixie defends me, saying I’m a good man with a big heart. In her eyes, I’m not a big hulking thing, only useful for violence. I’m Pixie’s giant sequoia, her blond bear. I’m filled with sunshine and other crap I don’t believe. Whether or not she’s naïve, I really like hearing her praise.
That’s why I don’t know how I’ll react if the shooting starts.
Next to me is Bronco, the man who saved me from my past. Behind me is Pixie, the woman who offers me a future. I’m a big guy, but even I can’t act as a shield for them both.
“Gunther,” Bronco says to the old man with his braided beard and dirty feet, “the Volkshalberd and the Executioners lived side by side in Elko for a long time. Former torch bearers wouldn’t have allowed this to happen.”
Bronco’s playing with the old man’s mind. Gunther knows, too. Like most of the Volkshalberd, he only wants a meal and to be left in peace.
However, nothing will convince me the Volkshalberd are good people. There’s always been a nasty underbelly to them. Not just in the mismanagement of their resources or how they allowed a man like John Marks to take leadership. Their talk of strong bloodlines rubs me the wrong way. My father was a bad man. How many people believed I was filth because his blood flowed through me? Even as a baby, I got judged. That’s