Page 20 of Desert Loyalties

SKYE

The next month flies by in a blur of packing, sorting, and low-key stress.

I manage to get all my stuff together, though not as fast as Drake would’ve liked.

He didn’t say anything directly, but I caught the subtle glances at the ever-growing pile of boxes still waiting to be moved.

His closet at the clubhouse was never going to cut it for my wardrobe.

Not even close. So, I’ve decided to start moving the non-essentials to the house.

Still, I’ve been dragging my feet. Not because I’m second-guessing the decision, I'm not. I know this next step makes sense. Drake and I are building something, and the house represents that future. But this guesthouse… it was the first place that ever really felt like mine . No roommates, no drunken family members breathing down my neck, no past chasing me. Just me. My space. My rules. Letting go of that isn’t easy, even for something better.

Drake hasn’t pushed. He hasn’t even mentioned the guest house, and I appreciate that more than he knows. I think he understands maybe more than he lets on. Or maybe he just values the privacy it gives us when we’re on the compound. Either way, I’m grateful.

We still use the house, mostly for swimming.

Drake’s been teaching me, and I’m actually getting the hang of it.

He says I’m a fast learner, though I think he might just like watching me float around in his pool.

There’s something peaceful about being surrounded by water, quiet, weightless.

It’s like all the noise in my head just fades out.

The MC’s been shifting too. Lately, we’ve had an influx of old ladies; wives, girlfriends, long time partners.

Turns out guys like Knuckles, Pick, and Lehi (still an asshole, by the way) weren’t just particular about fuckin’ clubwhores, they were already taken.

Some of them have been married for years, but kept that side of their life separate from the club.

At first, I thought it was strange, but I get it.

It was a big risk, the ceremony. Especially with kids, if something happened to the club, they’d loose both parents.

This world can be brutal, and keeping your family out of it is one way to protect them.

Still, it’s wild seeing all these hardened bikers suddenly showing up with diaper bags and juice boxes.

What I find the sweetest is the fact that these brothers, the loyal married one, have their own little club. They would show up to parties, make an appearance, then slip off to be with their families, their own get-togethers.

Caine definitely is not a part of that club.

The man screwed up bad. Like, scorched-earth bad.

And now he’s trying to climb his way out of the hole he dug with the kind of grovelling that makes me cringe, and I’m not even the one he hurt.

Doesn’t look like it’s working, either. Good for Alecia.

She deserves better. Alecia is an amazing mother and an even better friend.

We’ve gotten to know her lately, especially since family days started up again.

Drake wasn’t the only one getting burnt out.

The grind, the chaos, the pressure, the nonstop tension it wears on you.

So now, Sundays are for family. It’s not exactly cozy picnics and board games, but it’s something.

A step in a different direction. The rest of the week?

Business as usual. Which, unfortunately, still includes orgies, booze, and a whole lot of secrets.

I was present for the initiation of every one of these women into old ladies. And yes, I scrapped the old ceremony. It sounded way too much like a damn sacrifice.

The initiation now is simpler. Cleaner. More honest. It's basically a vote. No confessions, no staged drama, no digging through someone’s past like we’re the FBI.

Just the women, those who’ve already earned the patch by standing by their men and surviving this world, getting together and deciding whether the new one belongs.

It has to be unanimous. One ‘no’ and it doesn’t go through.

And yeah, that makes it harder. But I’d rather it be real than performative.

This life isn’t easy, and it’s not for everyone.

We have to trust each other. Fully. If even one old lady has doubts, we listen to that.

Because when things get ugly and they will we have to know the woman beside us isn’t going to run, or fold, or sell us out.

So far, no one’s been rejected. That’s not because we’re easy to please, it’s because the women coming through now?

They’re solid. Grounded. They’ve already lived through some version of hell and come out swinging.

Some have kids, some don’t. Some wear their scars out in the open.

Others hide them like jewellery. Doesn’t matter.

What matters is that they get it. This life.

The risk. The loyalty it demands. The price it sometimes costs.

I didn’t think I’d care about this kind of stuff, the community, sisterhood, whatever you want to call it, but here I am, helping build it. Watching these women step into something fierce. And feeling proud to stand with them.

I finally managed to catch up with Ben. She’s somewhere in Malaysia, trekking through God knows what. We tried video chatting, but halfway through the call, the feed froze. Then I heard her cussing like a sailor before the whole thing dropped. Typical.

Things haven’t been smooth here, either.

The DEA officially dropped the case against the Horsemen, since their only lead disappeared but now the FBI’s poking around.

Locke’s disappearance is suddenly back on their radar.

New evidence came up. Don’t ask me what it is, they’re not sharing that much.

But apparently it was enough to open a full-blown missing persons investigation.

Because Locke wasn’t just some nobody. He was a confidential informant for the DEA. And that changes everything.

They’ve already questioned Ranger and Drake twice.

They even pulled in people from our claiming party, including me.

The questions were sharp, repetitive. Where was Drake that night?

Did I ever leave his side? Did I notice anything strange?

Did I see Locke? I held my own, I think.

I kept it simple. Stuck to what I knew for sure, didn’t guess.

It’s been a week since we’ve heard anything, so maybe that’s a good sign.

Maybe they’re moving on. Or maybe they’re just watching, waiting for someone to slip.

Either way, things are shifting. At home. At the clubhouse. In the club itself. And I can’t shake the feeling that something big is coming.

Jenna bursts into my guesthouse, practically singing my name: “Skyyeeee!”

I glance up from the floor where I’m crouched over an open box, carefully packing away my precious books. “Why are you so chipper?”

She flops onto the sofa with dramatic flair, grinning like a maniac. “Because I’m happy, sister. Life is good, the weather is finally turning and —” she pauses for effect, “I got the job!”

I shoot to my feet. “You got the job?!”

She jumps up too, yelling now. “I got the fuckin’ job !’”

And just like that, we’re bouncing up and down like schoolgirls whose crush just asked them to prom, squealing and laughing with zero shame.

Then Rani, Lehi’s old lady walks in holding a bottle of wine and immediately jumps into our little chaos circle. “Ya! Yay! Yay!” she shouts, bottle in one hand, doing some kind of victory shimmy with the other.

Three seconds later, we all stop, gasping for air.

“Holy shit,” Rani huffs, dropping onto the couch. “Thank God you have air conditioning now.”

I head into the kitchen and grab the only thing I’m willing to serve drinks in right now: paper cups. “Yeah, well, one hour of packing my shoes and Drake realized maybe we need AC.”

Rani snorts. “Shoes? Just your shoes?”

“Yep,” I say, opening the bottle. “That man had no idea what he signed up for.”

Jenna takes a sip from her cup and tilts her head. “And things are good with you too?”

“Yeah,” I say, pouring more wine. “Why?”

She and Rani exchange a look, making me feel like I missed something.

“Well,” Jenna says slowly, “there was some… tension last night.”

I sigh. “We were disagreeing about the IUD. Again.”

Jenna winces. “He still thinks it’s about him?”

I nod. “The man doesn’t get that I do want kids. I really do. Just… not yet. Not with the Feds sniffing around, not with everything up in the air. I want us to have time, just the two of us, to breathe. To be normal. At least for a minute.”

Rani, already half a glass in, waves her cup. “He wants kids? I’ll give you mine for the day. He’ll be begging you to keep the IUD in forever .”

We all laugh, but it’s true, Rani’s got four kids with Lehi, and those little monsters are relentless . Adorable. But savage.

I glance at the clock. “I’m gonna head over to the clubhouse. Talk to him.”

I look at my glass.

“…after I finish this.”

One bottle later, the three of us stumble into the clubhouse. Not falling-down drunk, but definitely happy , giggly , poor-decision-making drunk.

Drake’s at a table playing cards with a few of the brothers. I march right up to him.

“VP! Woohoo!”

Then drop straight into his lap.

He catches me without even blinking, one strong arm around my waist to steady me. Even angry, even tense, the man’s instincts are to protect. That’s Drake.

I grab his face in both hands. “I wanna have ten babies with you. Let’s go. Get me pregnant.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re drunk.”

“I’ll get you preganma,” I say confidently. The guys around the table crack up.

Drake opens his mouth, probably to tell me to drink water and go lie down, but before he can get a word out, the clubhouse door slams open.

Men in FBI jackets storm in like a wave.

A second later, the prospect rushes in behind them, out of breath. “I tried stopping them, they’ve got a warrant!”

Ranger bursts out of the back office. “What the hell is going on?”

One of the agents steps forward. I recognize him instantly, it’s Agent Willis, the one who questioned me last week. He holds up a folded document and hands it to Ranger. “We have a federal warrant for your arrest Mr Lloyd,” he says, voice flat, official.

“Mr. Lloyd,” he calls, voice sharp and official. “Step forward, please.”

The room freezes.

Several of the brothers move instinctively, stepping in front of Drake. Lehi is the first, broad shoulders squared like a wall. Knuckles and Caine follow, forming a line between the Feds and our VP.

One of the agents places his hand on the grip of his gun.

Willis holds his palm up. “There’s no need to escalate this.”

Drake is still sitting, his arm steady around my waist. He gives me a look not of fear or regret, just… calm.

He sets me gently off his lap.

Then he rises, placing a hand on Lehi’s shoulder. It’s not a push. It’s a signal.

Lehi hesitates with his fist clenched, but finally steps aside.

Drake reaches for my hand, squeezes once. Warm. Firm. Final.

Then he walks forward on his own.

Willis continues, “Drake Lloyd, you are under arrest for violation of Title 18, United States Code, Section 1111—murder; Section 1512—witness tampering; Section 371—conspiracy to commit a federal offense; and Section 1505—obstruction of justice.

You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.

The cuffs click into place.

And just like that, everything shatters.