Page 27 of Desert Loyalties

SKYE

I’m heading home after a long shift at the diner. Don’t ask how I got roped into it, I just did. I smell like fryer grease and onion rings. My feet are screaming. Ever since I got with Drake, I’ve been his Queen more and bartender less . I’m out of practice.

Running a business is hard. Running three businesses? That’s heartache on a timer.

I went from being the queen who handled rowdy bikers with my eyes closed to suddenly becoming Boss Lady well, Lady of the Boss Man. Drake's name carries weight. People fear him, respect him. Me? They think I’m just some blonde bimbo he married.

Christina said appearances matter, and maybe she’s right. I’ve been hiding my real self, trying to play it sweet. Using my smile instead of my fists to get people to do their jobs. But honestly? I’m one excuse away from cracking someone over the head with a plate.

Like this waitress at the diner Drake owns, she’s been calling off every other day with some excuse: her mom, her dog, her dead goldfish.

Everyone in her family’s sick, except her.

Pretty sure she’s being petty just cause she has a crush on my man.

When I first came to the club, it was the same thing.

I understood real quick. You gotta walk into the yard, find the biggest bully and punch her right in the face.

Prison rules. Show everyone who's boss. I think it’s time I stop being “Smiley Skye” and remind them why they call me Queen of the Horsemen.

Stepping into the house, I’m hit with the sound of laughter.

Real, belly-deep, kitchen-table laughter.

The table, the one we never use, is filled with dishes, women, and kids.

My sisters. The ladies from the club. Their little monsters are passed out on couches, on the floor, draped in towels from the pool.

It looks like they had a damn good time.

Drake’s the first to notice me. “Hey, darlin’. We missed you.”

Just like that, my mood lifts.

The girls chime in too, smiling like they’ve just pulled off a heist. One of them says, “We had to hang out at Uncle Drake’s house. Had to entertain your man. Or annoy him. Same thing.”

“He’s been a champ,” another adds. “We already had dinner, sorry, the guys will be here soon but we left you plenty in the microwave.”

I start to ask why the guys are coming over when one of the ladies answers first: “We came in our own cars this morning, but they said they wanted to make sure we got home safe. Escort service.”

“Liars,” I mutter. “They just wanted to see their VP.”

“It’s like separation anxiety,” one says, laughing.

We’re still chatting when we hear a low thunder, if thunder rode Harleys. All the kids get up and bolt outside. The moms stay behind to clear the table.

“I’ll do it,” I tell them.

“You look tired,” one says. “Let us. It’ll be done in a jiffy.”

And they mean it. Within seconds, dishes are in the washer, and the table is spotless.

I follow them out the front door. Drake’s already standing there, arms crossed, watching his brothers from a distance.

They can’t come in. He can’t step out. So, they just stand there, silent, staring.

Men and their pride. But the girls? The kids?

They run to them like it’s a family reunion.

Drake’s brothers give me hugs when I follow them, surprisingly warm. One even says, “Take care of our VP.” God, it’s like a bromance, don’t tell me he’s gonna start crying. I give him a cringe smile and then they’re off, engines roaring.

For a moment, I catch Drake watching them leave, something distant in his eyes. Maybe loss. Maybe pride. Maybe just missing the chaos.

Christina pulls in right after, parking inside the gate. I hit the button to close it behind her.

“Tell me those bikers didn’t coming in,” she says, eyeing the retreating headlights.

“They just stared at each other like long-lost lovers,” I mutter.

We head inside. I ask, “Did you eat?”

“No. I’ll eat at the hotel.”

I start toward the kitchen but Drake steps in.

“You two sit. I’ll get the food.”

Christina looks at me like, wow . I smile. “Yeah, he’s pretty awesome.”

We sit. I don’t want to talk about the trial just yet, not without Drake. So instead, I ask the question that’s been sitting in my head all week. “How do you know Alecia?”

She freezes a bit, caught off guard. “We went to high school together.”

“Friends?”

“Sort of. We had... history.”

Before I can dig deeper, Drake walks in with the food. Christina lights up, too much for it to be about Drake or the food, which does smell like heaven. She’s relieved. It’s clear.

While eating, she says, “So, about this hearing—”

“You can eat your food first,” Drake cuts in.

Christina chuckles, setting her napkin on the table. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow. Need to get back to the hotel and catch a few hours of sleep.”

Turns out she wasn’t just in Nevada for Alecia; Christina has an office here too. Some kind of satellite branch she's quietly been setting up.

“You’re going back already?” I ask, halfway through my plate.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back in time for the hearing,” she says. “I’ve just got a few open matters to wrap up before making the move.”

I blink. “So, you’re really doing it. Moving here for good.”

“Yeah,” she says, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I like D.C., but Nevada is home.”

She says it like it’s simple, but I know it’s not. Still, it means something. People don’t move their whole lives unless they’re serious.

“Anyway,” she continues, leaning back slightly, “the probable cause hearing is basically just to see what the government’s holding.

If there’s not enough to justify the charges, the case gets dismissed.

But let’s be real,” she adds, “this is federal court. It wouldn’t have gotten this far if they didn’t have something.

They needed probable cause to even get a warrant, and that’s no easy ask. ”

I glance at Drake. His face is unreadable, but I know him well enough to recognize the tension behind his jaw. She pauses, then looks at both of us.

“I’m not going to ask what happened. As your lawyer, I can’t know. I can’t lie in court, and it’s better if I don’t know anything. Just let me handle it.”

Christina sets her fork down, wiping her mouth with a paper towel. Her expression shifts, lawyer mode activated.

“Alright,” she says, her tone crisp. “Before I leave, there are a few things we need to go over. This probable cause hearing? It’s not the trial. It’s just the judge deciding whether there’s enough evidence for this to go to trial. That’s it. But we still treat it like it’s important. Understood?”

Drake nods once, slow. I stop mid-bite, watching her closely. She leans forward, elbows on the table.

“Rule number one: stay silent unless I tell you otherwise. If the judge speaks to you, you wait. Look at me. Let me handle it. No backtalk. No facial expressions. I don’t care if the prosecutor lies outright, you stay cool. Control is power.”

“Got it,” Drake mutters.

“Two: dress like someone who respects the court. No leather. No boots. No biker rings. I don’t care if you feel like a poser in slacks, this isn’t about your image, it’s about winning.”

I smirk at the thought of Drake in anything but black denim and arrogance, but Christina doesn’t pause.

“Three: don’t talk about this case to anyone, not your brothers, not the club, not even Skye,” she adds, looking at me pointedly. “Especially not on the phone. Everything is fair game for the Feds. Assume you’re being recorded.”

Drake’s jaw ticks. Mine too.

“Four: don’t expect this to get dismissed tomorrow. The bar is low. If we walk out without extra charges, that’s already a good day. We're playing defence, not offense. Not yet.”

She takes a sip of water, then sets the glass down with a quiet clink .

“Five,” she says, locking eyes with Drake. “Don’t tell me anything I don’t need to know. I mean that. If you confess something to me, I can’t lie in court. I can’t knowingly put someone on the stand who’s going to lie. That would violate my ethical duties and I could be disbarred.”

She leans forward slightly.

“The less I know, the better I can protect you. But don’t lie to me , either. I need the truth so I can make the best call about what to argue and what to avoid. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I glance at Drake. His face is unreadable. He gives the smallest nod.

“Six: no surprises. If there’s anything out there that can bite you, and I mean anything, this is your one shot to tell me privately. If it comes up in court and I don’t see it coming, we’re screwed.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Seven,” she finishes. “Watch everything. Say nothing. Watch the judge. Watch the DA. Learn who’s who. But you don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

She exhales slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair back from her face. “This is chess. Not bar fights. You don’t win by being the loudest. You win by staying five moves ahead.”

Drake reaches for my hand under the table. His grip is warm, steady, but I can feel the tension beneath it.

“You’ve got me,” Christina says finally. “So don’t give them anything to use against you.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then Drake nods again, more certain this time.

I shift in my seat, frowning. “Wait. So, Drake can’t talk to anyone about what happened, not even you? But… you’re his lawyer. How can you defend him without knowing the full story?”

Christina meets my eyes. “Good question. The answer’s this: I don’t need the whole story, I need the prosecutor’s version. My job isn’t to prove Drake is innocent beyond all doubt. It’s to challenge whether the prosecution can prove he’s guilty beyond a reasonable one.”

“But how do you do that if you’re in the dark?”

“I’m not in the dark,” she says. “I read discovery. I analyse their evidence. I know what they think happened. That’s enough for me to poke holes, offer alternate explanations, or argue they don’t have enough proof.”

“So, you don’t need the truth?”

“I need the version that keeps him out of prison. That version can’t include things he confesses if they’re going to put him in deeper.”

“But doesn’t that mean he has to lie to you?”

“No,” she says, holding up a finger. “He doesn’t lie.

He just doesn’t say more than necessary.

There’s a difference. Think of it like walking a minefield, I can guide him through it.

But if he starts throwing me maps I didn’t ask for, and one of them’s a confession?

I can’t use that. Worse, it could tie my hands in court. ”

I glance at Drake. His face is unreadable. He gives the smallest nod. “I can’t lie to you when you ask. But I’m not volunteering anything that’ll get me locked up either.”

Christina leans back. “Smart. That’s how we win.”

“Thanks, Christina,” I say softly, standing up to clear the plates. But she gathers her things and moves to follow me.

Once we’re alone, she stops and looks me in the eye. “This is going to be really hard, not just for him, but for you too. You need to lean on each other.”

I frown. “How? If we can’t even talk about it?”

Christina pauses, thinking it over. “There is one way you can talk about it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How?”

She leans in, voice dropping low. “Spousal privilege. It’s the one rule no judge would ever break.”

I blink, waiting for her to finish.

She smiles slightly. “All you’d have to do is... get married.”