Page 29 of Desert Loyalties

SKYE

Today was a good day. Even from the gallery, I could tell the government didn’t have enough evidence.

Drake might actually have a chance. But I can’t stop thinking about the body they found in Nye County.

It could be Locke’s. I was there when Ranger told Grim to get rid of it, but you can’t just make a body disappear.

Grim had to have dumped it somewhere and it could have been in Nye County.

I can’t talk about it. We’re not supposed to.

Ever since Christina told me, the only way we can actually communicate about this shit is if we get married, it’s been eating at me.

I haven’t told Drake. Once Christina left, we went into a bubble, a bubble where Drake couldn’t leave the house.

But we were ignoring the looming hearing and trial.

I got his help running the businesses by letting the real Skye out and she threw a few punches, verbal and one physical.

It was needed. Dino knows who’s boss now.

I haven’t been back to the clubhouse since Drake was released. Not because I don’t miss it, but because Christina warned us it might look like I’m playing messenger between Drake and the club.

They can’t really accuse moms with toddlers of running contraband, though. So, the old ladies have been stopping by regularly, dragging the little terrors along. Drake loves it. Instead of acting as birth control, it’s actually given him baby fever.

The truth? I was already feeling like we were ready for kids before everything went sideways with his arrest. But now, we’ve agreed that we’ll wait. At least until this mess is behind us.

The girls have also taken on the most important task: slowly bringing over my things.

I’m guessing the Marshals won’t check diaper bags too closely if they happen to drive by, which they have, several times.

They can’t come in, though. Only the pre-trial officer is allowed inside.

Christina made sure of that when she argued bail, had it written into the conditions that the Marshals don’t have that kind of authority.

Not that there’s anything illegal in the house. Still, I’d rather not give them the chance to rifle through my panties. We’re walking a tightrope. Doing everything we can to avoid giving the judge or the Feds even the smallest excuse to yank Drake’s bail.

I’m driving what Drake calls “a cage” and I’ve got a plan I’m about to spring on him.

The pre-trial officer was clear: Drake and I have to be home within an hour, or the ankle monitor sends a signal to the cops who’ll haul him in for breaking bail conditions.

Pulling into the parking structure, I park the car and say, “Come on, quick. We don’t have much time.”

He looks confused but hears the urgency in my voice and follows.

We rush inside, up the stairs, and into a chapel. Yes. We’re getting married today.

I can’t take another minute of not being able to talk about the elephant in the room.

Drake needs to let out his frustration, or I’m afraid he’s going to blow up in court.

I know the prosecution’s got nothing. All they have is that everyone’s scared of clubs, motorcycle clubs, full stop.

Even though the Horsemen are now technically business owners, might be time to change the name.

He looks around the chapel, grinning a little. “You’re already my old lady. Why do we need to get married?”

“I want to be able to talk to my husband,” I say. “To my old man. I love you.”

We quickly enter. I called ahead and made arrangements. The forms are already filled out.

“Right,” she says, flipping through a worn ledger. “You're the couple in a rush. Paperwork’s ready. Just need signatures and vows.”

The officiant is already standing under the little plastic archway wrapped in twinkle lights. He’s wearing a bolo tie and has the calm, efficient vibe of someone who’s married half of Vegas at 2 a.m.

I’m not wearing a dress just jeans and a top. No bouquet, no veil. No regrets. This isn’t about flowers or fanfare. This is about us.

The truth is, we already had the real ceremony. The night we claimed each other at the clubhouse, surrounded by our people, with whiskey shots and engine roars, that was the night we said everything that mattered.

This? This is just paper. A shield. A legal excuse to talk to my husband when I need to. A way to make sure no one can twist the rules to keep us apart.

We grab the pen and sign. The vows are short, recited in a rush, but they hit just the same. Drake squeezes my hand when he says “I do,” and I know he means it like a blood oath.

The whole ceremony takes maybe ten minutes. We’re back out the door before the neon sign can finish blinking through its full cycle. No photos. No audience. No rice.

But there’s this moment, when we step outside, that the sun breaks through the clouds just for a second. Drake looks at me and says, “You were already my old lady. But now it’s legal. Guess you’re stuck with me.”

I grin. “Good. I was never leaving anyway.”

We pile back into the car and head home, the clock ticking on our curfew.

The ankle monitor won’t wait, and neither will life.

But for a few minutes, we’re just husband and wife, racing the sunset with no rings and quiet smiles.

There’s barely any time left when we pull up to the house, parking in the garage.

Drake stops, turns to me. “Wait.”

Before I can ask what, he gets out, opens the driver’s door, and reaches for me.

“I’m gonna carry my bride over the threshold.”

And he does, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Drake scoops me up effortlessly, one arm under my legs, the other around my back. He carries me from the kitchen, through the living room, and up the stairs to our bedroom.

Setting me on my feet gently, his hands linger at my waist, eyes locked on mine. Then he starts tugging at my clothes.

“We’re really married,” I murmur, my breath catching as he peels my shirt over my head, fingertips grazing my skin.

I never pictured my wedding day, never believed I’d find someone I’d trust enough to bind myself to, legally at least.

He tilts his head, that crooked grin I’ve memorized since our first meeting lighting his eyes. “You’ve been mine from the moment you walked into the clubhouse. This just makes it legal.”

My fingers find his belt, undoing it, pulling him flush against me until there’s no space left, just heat and need. “No take-backs,” I whisper into the hollow of his throat.

His lips brush mine, soft but insistent, sending sparks down my spine. “Not even a thought of it.”

He slides his hands around my waist, warm and steady, anchoring us both in this new reality. His forehead rests against mine, steady breaths syncing as if to say, ‘We made it.’

The electricity between us shifts, settling into a slow burn. We tumble onto the bed, skin pressing against skin, his arms wrapping me in certainty. Drake’s kisses are vows of flesh; words we don’t need a chapel to utter.

This moment isn’t about release alone; it’s about belonging. About finding home in the hollow of someone’s arms, in the way his fingers lace with mine and never let go.

He parts my thighs, slick fingers tracing my wetness before he lines himself up at my entrance. I gasp as he presses in, stretching me deliciously.

He pulls all the way in, and I arch against him with a moan, his hips pistoning into mine with growing urgency.

I try to match his rhythm, but his weight pins me to the mattress, so I lock my legs around his waist, clinging to him as he dives deep.

Every thrust hits exactly where I ache, and stars bloom behind my eyes.

“Who do you belong to?” he pants, voice rough with need.

“Drake.” I gasp around each thrust. “Drake.”

At every whisper of his name, he hammers into that sweet spot until my muscles flutter around him, and I scream. He doesn’t falter, each stroke gets harder, deeper, as he nears his edge. Then his hand finds my clit, strokes in perfect sync with his pounding, and I shatter around him.

Our cries mix in the dim room, my high, his raw grunts, while he fights to hold back, neck muscles taut with restraint. I clench him tight, refusing to let go. He buries his face in my neck and spills into me with a guttural growl. We cling together in the aftermath of our release.

Later, wrapped in the sheets and the warmth of his chest, I can’t shut my mind off. “Do you think the body is Locke’s?” I murmur into the darkness.

Drake exhales, the sound deep and thoughtful. His hand rubs slow circles on my back, grounding me, even as the answer hangs in the air.

“Do you know why I trust Grim so much?” he says finally.

I shift just enough to see his face, but he’s staring at the ceiling, his jaw tight.

“When he first came to the club years ago, we didn’t know what to make of him.

Big, quiet guy. Accent thick as hell. Didn’t talk much, just did the work.

Kept his nose clean. One night, after an encounter with the Viking MC, it was just me and Grim, trying to get that busted truck back on the road.

Middle of nowhere, no cell signal, desert all around us.

Took hours just to get the engine unseized.

By the end of it, we were beat, dirty, and just waiting for the sun to rise. ”

He pauses, and I can tell we’re getting to the part he never tells anyone.

“I stepped off the road to take a leak, maybe twenty yards out. That’s when I heard bikes rolling in. Figured it was our guys coming back to help.” A grim chuckle leaves him. “But no. Two Viking motherfuckers. Not ours. Just backtracking, maybe scouting for a hit.”

My stomach twists, but I stay silent.

“I saw them before they saw me. They had a gun on Grim before he could even move. And he was just... calm. Didn’t flinch.

One of ’em asked if there were more with him, and Grim just smirked and answered something in Russian.

I don’t even know what he said, but whatever it was, it pissed the guy off. Gave me just enough time.”

I pull back slightly, watching his face. He’s somewhere else now. Back on that dusty road. That night.

“I came up from behind. Took them both out before they could blink. Thing is…” He looks down at me, eyes dark. “Grim didn’t know I was still there. He thought I’d bailed. Thought I ran when I saw them.”

“What did he say?” I ask.

Drake’s lips tilt, not quite a smile. “Afterward, he looked at me, all bloody, and said, ‘You didn’t run.’ I told him I never would. He promised then that he’d show me the same loyalty I’d shown him.”

He brushes a hand through my hair.

“We chained the truck to the bikes and dragged it back with their own machines. Grim rode off with the bodies. Said he’d take care of it.”

I can feel the chill in his voice, the kind that comes from knowing what "taking care of it" really means.

“They haven’t been found since. Hell, no one even knows they’re dead. Just two ghosts that vanished into the desert.”

He exhales and looks at me. “That’s why I trust Grim. He doesn’t forget a debt. Doesn’t miss a step. If he said he handled Locke, then it’s handled. That body they found? No way, it’s Locke’s.”

I nod, but there’s a cold little knot sitting in my gut now. This life, it doesn’t leave clean edges. Loyalty runs deep, but so does blood.