seem to be necessary to achieve them. No one touches Anders tenderly. His big biker friends won’t hug him. I can do that if he’ll let me.
“The police dropped the charges against my mother in exchange for her signing me over to my grandparents. I think the cops heard my mom’s story about the devil raping her and figured she was crazy. Then my mom hung herself or OD’d, and no one had to pretend to care about what happened to me anymore.”
“Were your grandparents always bad?” I ask when he falls silent for a long time.
“Yes.”
“Did they ever love you even a little?”
“No. When they lost their jobs and needed money, they had me fight grown men. It was a show, and people would bet on the winner. Everyone laughed and cheered. I don’t know why I didn’t run away. Where could I go? No one wanted me. Not even when I was little. Why would they want me when I was big and ate a fucking feast every night? I guess I should have taken off, anyway. I could have still fought, but the money would have been mine. I don’t know why I never thought of that.”
I consider suggesting how Anders was a child, and children aren’t smart. Or how he was hit so many times in the head that thinking was probably hard.
But those words feel wrong. Anders knows he stayed because he loved his grandparents, even if they didn’t love him. That’s how the Volkshalberd are with John Marks. Not all of them, but some believe he is their messiah and will lead them from the darkness into the light. When he lets them starve and makes their lives worse, they view it as a test of their loyalty. If they suffer enough, they’ll prove their love for him.
I think Anders believed the same about his grandparents. He didn’t know any differently. Just like how the people in the Village don’t. They were never Dandelions. The Volkshalberd have always embraced hardship. They don’t celebrate blessings, instead treasuring their suffering. If they don’t know better, they can’t change.
Somehow, Anders learned better, though.
“How did your grandparents die?”
“I killed them.” When I say nothing, he sighs. “I wish I killed them. Once I had money and pussy and drugs from the Killing Joes, I stopped coming around my grandparents. They offered me nothing, and I offered them nothing. That was my revenge. I don’t think they cared. Or maybe they did. It’s possible they were so poor without me that they starved to death or ended up homeless. I don’t know. Once I started getting high, I didn’t give a shit about them or much of anything.”
“Do you miss getting high?”
“Yes,” he says in a rough, rage-laced voice. “I miss how easy it was not to care.”
“Why can’t you get high now?”
“Is that what you want?”
Glancing back at him, I shrug. “How can I answer when I don’t know anything about getting high?”
Anders glares at me, but I just turn back around. “You don’t know much of anything.”
“I feel as if you think it’s okay to say hurtful things to me, but I’m not allowed to say them to you.”
“Fuck it. Say them. I don’t care.”
“I think you do. I don’t believe you would have visited me or brought me food if I said cruel words to you.”
“I only came around so I could fuck you.”
I feel my heart deflate. All the energy leaves my body. The dream I had earlier feels like a lie. I believed Anders was a blessing. He offered my family food and a home. He was so handsome, and I would provide him with the warmth he craved.
Now, I realize I don’t understand this world or this man. He’s cruel for no reason. I would never hurt him for fun. I threatened him last night to save my family. I don’t know how to make people listen in this world, but I wouldn’t hurt him just to see him suffer.
My tears fall silently. I feel as if I should run inside and find my family. But I don’t move. Anders isn’t the man I thought, and disobeying him isn’t safe.
“I don’t trust anyone,” Anders says, holding me tighter. “Even Bronco. I know he doesn’t trust me, either. But I’ll die for him. He gave me a chance, and I’m trying to do right by this club. But maybe it’ll never be enough.”
Wiping my eyes, I think of Mama curled up with Dove and