had out at the Village. Marks can’t remove the club from power with a bunch of teenagers and old folks. So, he considers who might hate the Executioners enough to join his fight.”
“How would Marks find them?”
“The youngest Marks brother was an addict. Bronco assumes Craig got cozy with people in the major Ohio cities. John might have used an old contact to track down these two assholes.”
“What’s their play?”
“How many members do you think are left?”
“Six, maybe. The Executioners killed seven.”
“Ten, actually.”
“Then maybe it’s four guys,” I say, having trouble recalling everyone still around when the Killing Joes lost their leader. I butchered Lonnie along with any other brothers I found nearby. Then I stuffed their heads in a duffle bag and left Cleveland. The names of the guys I killed are foggy. Hell, they could be the ones I still think are alive.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I was wasted back then. I’m not sure how many guys Lonnie had in the club or how many were on his payroll. It’s a blur.”
“That’s good,” he says, and I frown. “I’d rather you be honest than give me shitty numbers.”
“Glad you approve, because I don’t fucking know. Until I saw the picture on your phone, I thought Roadrunner’s head was in the duffle bag.”
“Well, in case you’re unsure, you brought five heads that day. Why don’t we go inside and create our own list? Who we know is dead, and who we know is alive and then all the maybes? That’ll help Bronco make his decision.”
Our president is in his mid-forties and could run shit for decades more. Yet, I sense he wants a break from the stress. The current Bronco is the only one I’ve ever known. But having listened to other people, I suspect he lost a part of himself when Wheels died. Even though his crew bled plenty over the last few decades, that one death broke Bronco a little.
Now, he’s found a woman worth calling his own. Between them, they have four daughters, and I see him wanting to focus more on his family and less on whose ass needs kicking.
But if Bronco plans to step back, he’ll need to pick his successor. Lowell doesn’t want to stop playing the second fiddle. Most of the guys are either older than Bronco or younger like Conor. Choosing a family member makes sense for Bronco, leaving hotheaded-fucker Wyatt or ice-in-his-veins Conor as the only two options. I know who I’m rooting for.
PIXIE
The world is chaos! I thought today would be quiet with my family and Anders getting to know each other. Then Conor arrived, and we worked on attack stuff for the Village. Okay, that was fine. The food delivery was very delicious, and I liked how there was a lot left over for later.
But then the doorbell rings, and more people show up. These newest women don’t drop off anything. Instead, the four of them come inside and talk to me. All while squinting as if they have dirt in their eyes.
As Anders continues working with Conor in the dining room, Topanga and Lana return. There’s tension between those two women and the four who arrived earlier.
Of the new women, two are younger, two are older, three are blonde, and one has red hair. The four are all connected to Bronco in some way. That makes them powerful since he’s the man in charge.
The younger of the older blondes—Barbie—is Conor’s mom. He doesn’t look anything like her. I’m not sure if they’re related by blood.
The younger blonde woman—Taryn—is related to the oldest blonde woman—Bambi. It’s very confusing. I think Taryn is Bambi’s daughter and Conor’s cousin and Bronco’s niece. The women keep explaining their relationships to each other as a way to confuse me. At the Village, people sometimes tried to say very little while using many words. It’s a trick!
The redheaded lady—DeAnna—isn’t related to any of them. She is married to Taryn’s brother and Bambi’s son and Barbie’s nephew and Conor’s cousin and Bronco’s nephew. Yes, they keep overexplaining things to confuse me!
Mama holds back in the kitchen, wary of these women. Dove stands next to me and focuses her gaze on the ground.
“No shoes,” DeAnna whispers loudly to Taryn.
They’re mocking me! I feel as if I should make fun of them back. I could lean over to Dove and whisper loudly about all the makeup the redhead wears to hide her freckles. Is that a good insult, though? Their shoe thing wasn’t.