“His place is supposed to be a few houses down from Wyatt’s. That’s a bunch of bullshit right there.”
“Their houses are located in the next section to be developed.”
“Why can’t we start another section for Conor and me?” I ask, pushing my luck. “Then, Conor’s spot can be saved for when Bronco’s kids are older, or Dunning needs a house.”
“What makes you think Dunning will want to live in the community or be in the club?”
“Oh, he’ll definitely be an Executioner. Look at the way he struts.”
Lowell grins like a proud father as he watches his son throw play punches at a dodging Conor. Through the double-pane back doors, I can’t hear what Topanga is saying. However, she’s smiling in that proud mama way my mom did when I’d accomplish even the smallest thing. Lowell and Topanga love their boy so much. Maybe one day, they’ll genuinely care for me.
But no one can fill the hole my mom’s absence has left behind. If I were braver, I’d go to her now. Ask if she wants to run away with me. Risk her saying no.
But I’m scared. Of her response, and now of bringing trouble to Elko and these people I’m starting to fall for and the man I already love.
PART 7: QUESTIONS ABOUT THE PAST AND FUTURE
CONOR
Bronco and Lowell like to brainstorm at the Lickety-Split Ice Cream shop, one of the club’s front businesses. I get a message to meet them there after checking on the Village’s latest weed harvest. I took on a lot of responsibility overseeing the local cult’s marijuana production, but I sensed the club’s future lies in pot products rather than the harder drugs.
I arrive at the shop to find the seating area empty except for a bunny working the register. She smiles at me and then goes back to typing on her phone. In the back office, I grin at giant Anders trying to be casual in a corner while Lowell and Bronco sit at a small desk.
“This room feels like a violation of my privacy,” I mutter as I get stuck standing too fucking close to Anders. “I might need to crawl into your big strong arms.”
“No,” is all he says while smirking at my comment.
“What’s so important that we need to cuddle like this?” I ask when my uncle just eyes me.
“I’m not retiring,” Bronco finally says in a chilly voice. “Not in the normal sense. No big retirement party where I leave and you take over.”
Rather than reveal how his words kick me in the nuts, I ask, “What makes you think I even want to be president?”
“Shut up,” he mutters, refusing to grin despite me knowing he wants to. “I plan to step back. Go part-time, really. Let you take over more day-to-day shit. When we have club meetings, I’ll do some of the talking, and you’ll handle the rest. Over time, you’ll do more, and I’ll do less.”
“Because you don’t think I’m ready to take over or because you don’t think the men will follow me?”
Bronco forces me to wonder for nearly a minute before finally shrugging and saying, “More the latter than the former. Mostly, I’m not ready to let go of power yet. I’ve been in charge for too long to just hand over power, throw a party, and retire. My ego demands a gradual process to let me and the men ease into it. Eventually, it’ll feel as if you were always in charge.”
“Well, since we’re being honest about the future, the club needs younger guys. Wyatt and I are on the older side of the new generation. Younger guys are coming up like Dunning and John Boy, but they have a few years before their balls finally drop. Meanwhile, Rooster whines about his back all the time, and Akron no longer rides his bike because of hemorrhoids. We need fresh blood or to hire an outside enforcer group to do beatdowns.”
“Which do you think is better?”
“Enforcer group,” I answer, having considering this question for years. “Elko doesn’t have much talent. No one around here seems like prospect material. And we can’t bring any shithead off the street into the club. We ought to outsource a lot of the bloodier stuff. No offense to Farts, but he isn’t even willing to fight for a better name. Can’t imagine he’ll have much fire in him if someone dangerous throws down with us.”
Bronco considers my point and how most of the men he founded the club with are now grandpas. We need more men in their twenties and thirties. To find talent, we’ll need to scout elsewhere for it. That’s something Bronco’s mentioned in the past, but he remains leery of new people in our community.
Changing the subject back to his original one, he asks, “So, are you fine with the power-sharing arrangement until I’m ready to step back for good?”
“Sure. I’m in no rush to hear the old-timers bitch about how I’m doing everything wrong. Besides, Monroe needs to settle into Elko, and we have to start work on our house. A lot of shit’s in play. Sharing power sounds good to me.”
“What about Wyatt?” Bronco asks, again testing my response.
“He and I will hash things out. I’ll explain how he can’t be president, so he needs to bow to my fucking will. He’ll throw a fit, of course. I’ll explain how if he pushes me, I won’t play favorites like you do. Then, he’ll freak out some more until I make clear how if he challenges me, he’s gone. I’m not doing your shtick where anyone can try to knock the crown off my head. If they challenge me, they’re instigating war. I’m not against tossing Wyatt out of the Executioners. He’s only in the club because he’s Rooster’s boy. No way would you patch in a guy with his temper.”
Bronco’s smug little smile is gone once he accepts I’m serious about cutting Wyatt loose. “Won’t he be dangerous if you kick him out?”
“What can he do? If he goes to the cops, he’s ratting out his own father. If he sides with another club, he’s starting a war with his family. If he burns down Elko, he’s killing everyone who loves him. Wyatt acts like a moron, but he understands how he can’t stand on his own. Once he knows I’ll cut him loose, he’ll behave. Then, I’ll try to channel his temper into positive things like crocheting and macrame.”
“Funny. But if Wyatt was that easy to tame, why wouldn’t I have done it yet?”
“Because you’re weak with him,” I say, and Bronco’s dark eyes flash menacingly. “Just like you are with me. We’re your blood, and you remember us as little boys. You’d only kill us or cut us loose if you were in a very dark place. I don’t have that fucking problem. I didn’t invite Wyatt into the Executioners, so I feel no loyalty in keeping him in the club. If he’s a threat, he’s gone. If he’s a big enough threat, he’s dead. I have other cousins, after all.”
Lowell chuckles. “I get goosebumps when you get cold-blooded like that.”
Shrugging, I suspect they think I’m full of shit. “We all know Wyatt was babied as a kid. I didn’t grow up unloved or abused, but my childhood wasn’t nearly that fucking pretty. Bambi taught her kids they were special, so the world should bow to them. My mom taught me that I came from trash people and was lucky not to be eyeball deep in shit now. Barbie might be crazy, but she knew I wouldn’t get handed anything just for showing up.”