Page 17 of Desert Loyalties

MANDRAKE

Being woken up at the ass crack of dawn was not what I had planned. Not after last night. Not after how hard we partied. But Church waits for no man, and definitely not for one who’s now got the title of “claimed.”

I’m still shaking off sleep when I walk into the Chapel, the meeting room buried in the back of the clubhouse. The table’s already half full. Ashes in the tray, empty coffee cups scattered around. Everyone looks like varying degrees of death warmed over.

I drop into my seat, rubbing my hands over my face. “Who the fuck scheduled Church the morning after a celebration?”

Caine’s sitting across from me, jittery as fuck, his leg bouncing. He looks like he’s aged ten years since last night. Bags under his eyes, jaw clenched, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds like someone’s gonna bust in with a warrant.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” I ask out loud.

Joker doesn’t even try to hide his laugh. “Oh, you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

And just like that, the vultures descend. Every guy around the table grins like they’ve been waiting for the right moment to unload this one.

“Caine,” Knuckles starts, drawing it out. “Had himself a good time last night. Double throttle.”

“Double throttle?” I repeat.

“Yeah,” Joker leans in, eyes gleaming. “One girl riding his face, one bouncing on his cock. Man looked like he died and went to pussy heaven.”

I raise a brow. “So why does he look like he just watched his dog get shot?”

They all laugh, and then Knuckles delivers the punchline.

“Because halfway through round three, in walks the wife. ”

I nearly choke on air. “You’re shitting me.”

“Oh, we wish,” says Vulture, grinning like a hyena. “She walked in wearing hot as fuck mom jeans. Said she came to check on him since he missed their son’s game and hadn’t answered a single call.”

Caine groans like the shame is physically painful. “She wasn’t supposed to come to the clubhouse,” he mutters.

“She wasn’t supposed to find you with your face full of someone else’s pussy either, but here we are,” Joker fires back.

“What’d she say?” I ask, trying not to laugh, but I’m already losing the battle.

“Dead calm,” says Knuckles, mimicking her voice. “‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were busy.’ Then she turned around and walked right out like she hadn’t just witnessed softcore porn starring her husband.”

“And then?” I press.

Caine rubs his face. “And then I died.”

“No,” Vulture says, barely keeping it together. “ Then she texted him a picture of a butcher knife and said: ‘See you at home.’”

The whole table loses it.

Caine tries to hide his face behind his coffee cup, but it doesn’t help. His ears are red, and he looks like a man who just realized he might not survive the week.

“Think she’ll really kill him?” I ask, smirking.

Joker shrugs. “She won’t kill him. Probably just take a finger. Or a nut.”

Ranger and Micky choose that moment to walk in, both stone-faced as usual, but Micky’s lips twitch like he heard half of it.

“Alright, shut it down,” Ranger says. “Church starts now.”

The room quiets instantly. Whatever jokes, whatever shit-talking stops once Church begins, it’s all business now. But right before we go silent, Joker leans over and whispers, “If you want us to scatter your ashes after she guts you, let us know where you wanna be buried.”

Caine flips him off under the table.

Ranger speaks, ignoring the mess of laughter still dying out from Caine’s trainwreck of a night. His voice is low, tired, too damn tired. The man’s exhausted, and honestly, I can’t blame him. He just found out one of his own, a patched brother, turned traitor.

And I dropped the fuckin’ ball. I was too busy living it up last night, wrapped up in Skye and the moment, letting Ranger carry it all on his back. That shit doesn’t sit right with me.

He clears his throat and keeps going. “Thanks to Joker,” he nods toward the idiot, who for once doesn’t look smug, “and the lovely little surprise text he sent, the DEA is officially off our backs.”

That gets everyone's attention.

“I had Micky tap into the lead agent’s calls. This morning, he phoned someone, a supervisor, maybe and said they don’t have shit without Locke. Said they barely had anything with him. Considering the raid came up empty, it’s done. Case is cold.”

For a second, no one says anything. Just silence, tight, waiting. And then we fuckin’ explode . Cheers echo through the room, fists pounding on the table in celebration. It's not often we get a clear win, but this? This is a damn victory.

We're still clapping each other on the back when Ranger raises his hand again, and the room settles quick. His gaze scans over each of us before he speaks.

“One more order of business.”

I sit up straighter. The tone’s shifted, I have no idea what he’s gonna say.

Ranger looks straight at me as he says, “I move to change the stipulation of the Old Lady Ceremony.”

My chest tightens.

He holds up a hand before anyone can jump in.

“This rule was written long ago. After a betrayal none of us can fully understand unless we live it. Back when this club was still finding its roots. A brother shared too much with his old lady. She shared it with the wrong people. One thing led to another, and the brother had to removed.”

We nod. Even if we weren’t there, we’ve heard the story. The pain in it has rippled through the club for years. It’s why the ceremony even exists.

“But here’s the thing,” Ranger continues. “We’re not just a club anymore. We’re a pack . That’s what brotherhood really is. And if we’re gonna ask our women to bare their souls to us, then they should do it surrounded by their own. Their pack. Their sisters. And definitely not on tape.”

There’s a quiet moment, and then Micky, leaning back like this is a damn soap opera, says with a smirk, “Well, since Skye’s currently the only Old Lady, I guess she’ll just have to confess to herself.”

Laughter breaks out around the table.

“I mean, she does talk to herself,” Joker chimes in.

“And she always wins the argument,” Vulture adds.

The room settles into chuckles and jabs, but then Caine straightens in his chair, clearing his throat. “I second the motion.”

And just like that, one by one, voices ring out.

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Hell yes.”

“Fuckin’ right.”

I’m the only one left.

Everyone looks at me. Ranger. Micky. Caine. Joker grins like the bastard he is and leans forward, elbows on the table.

“Well?” he says. “You gonna say it, motherfucker? Or you want to cry first?”

I smirk. “Aye, asshole. Of course, I fuckin’ agree.”

The room cheers again. Ranger nods once, firm, satisfied. Another decision made. Another weight off our shoulders.

We all file out after Ranger calls church to a close. The brothers are still razzing Caine about whether he’s brave or dumb enough to go home. I'm still chuckling to myself when I reach my room.

But it’s empty.

Skye’s not here.

She must’ve slipped out, probably headed to her guest house. That needs to change and soon. Especially now that the bullshit ceremony isn’t holding us back anymore. She should be in my bed. In my house. Every damn night.

I hit the shower, scrubbing the stale beer, smoke, and weight of church off me. By the time I’m dressed, I’ve made up my mind. I’ll take her breakfast… lunch since church ran long. Maybe that’ll sweeten the conversation I’m about to have with her.

The walk to her place feels too long. Her door’s unlocked, even on the compound that’s not safe. I don’t like it. I make a mental note to bring it up later.

I push the door open and head down the hall to her room. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, wet hair curling at her shoulders, dressed but unmoving. Just... staring.

My chest tightens.

“Hey,” I say, stepping in slow.

She startles like she didn’t even hear me come in. Her eyes snap up, wide and guarded.

“Everything okay?” I ask, voice lower now, cautious.

“Yeah,” she says quickly. Too quickly.

I don’t believe her. Not for a second. But I don’t push, not yet.

Instead, I take a step closer. “I got news,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

Her gaze flicks up. “Hmm?”

I grin just a little. “The plan worked. Joker’s message did the trick. The DEA’s off our backs. Officially. We’re in the clear.”

Relief blooms on her face, and she stands to hug me. I wrap my arms around her tight, holding her longer than necessary. Feeling her heart beat against mine.

But I can still feel the tension under her skin. Something’s off. I don’t let go. “One more thing,” I say into her hair. “We don’t have to leave; Ranger changed the rule about the Old Lady ceremony.”

She pulls back just enough to look up at me, brow furrowed.

“From now on, it’s not about the three choices,” I explain. “It’s just the old ladies. Their pack. You know, sisters looking out for each other, no confessions, no gangbangs.”

She nods slowly, like she’s trying to figure out what that means for her.

“But since you’re the first,” I continue, “you don’t have to. Not to anyone.”

Her breath hitches.

“You can still tell me,” I add, voice lower now, more serious. “But I think I already know it.”

Her eyes go glassy, her mouth opens, then closes. She looks down, fists clenching in the hem of her shirt like she’s holding onto the world by a thread.

And here’s the thing about me: I’m not the hero. I don’t play by good-guy rules. I’ll burn down the world to protect what’s mine.

I reach out and take her chin between my fingers, tilting her face back up to mine.

“Whatever it is,” I say, “you tell me when you’re ready. But don’t mistake my patience for distance. You’re mine, Skye. No matter what you did. No matter what it is.”

She doesn’t respond right away, just stares at me like she’s waiting for the catch. But there isn’t one.

There never will be.

Because I already know, whatever her secret is, whatever darkness she’s carrying, I’ll take it. I’ll carry it for both of us if I have to.

That’s what it means to be hers. And for her to be mine. There is nothing she could say to make me see her differently. Not even when she says:

“I set the fire that killed my grandparents.”