Page 3 of Desert Loyalties

MANDRAKE

Dirty. Unclean. That’s what she thinks the reason is.

Not that I’ve been too much of a coward. Not that I’ve been too stupid to see what’s been right in front of me for over a goddamn year.

No. She thinks it’s her . Thinks I stayed away because she’s used goods. Because she made the mistake of warming my brothers’ beds when she first showed up, before she figured out how this place really works. Before either of us figured us out.

Truth? I’ve had my head shoved so far up my ass I can taste regret. I thought I was giving her space, letting her grow.

Yeah, I pulled out of the fog long enough to stop screwing around with the clubwhores, started turning them down, even when they were practically begging. That part was easy. What wasn’t easy was admitting what I’d known for a while.

I’d already met my old lady.

Her.

Skye.

And if I could go back and rewrite history? I’d scrub the memory of her with anyone but me. Especially my brothers. That shit burns deeper than I’d ever say out loud.

But it isn’t like I’m clean either. I’ve left a trail of broken, clawing, desperate women behind me. Some of them are still here. Still watching. Still waiting for me to slip back into old habits. Women who’d rip her to shreds if they thought it’d give them one more night in my bed.

So, if I have to swallow my pride and let that part of her past slide, I will.

But what I won’t let slide?

Her dragging herself through the dirt like she’s not worth a damn.

No one disrespects Skye.

Not some mouthy clubwhore. Not the brothers. Not me.

And sure as hell not Skye herself.

She thinks she’s broken. Thinks she’s not worth it. What she doesn’t know is that she’s the only thing around here that still feels real . The only person I’ve seen walk through this life and come out shining like it never touched her.

She doesn’t need to be clean. Doesn’t need to be untouched. She just needs to be mine . And I need to start acting like it.

Starting tonight, she’s gonna know who I am.

No more silence. No more watching from the shadows while she slips further away.

I head back inside and take a seat at the bar, my usual spot, end stool, clear view. I don’t drink much, not these days, but I sit where I can see her . Where I can make sure no one steps too close, talks too rough, looks too long.

Nobody touches Skye.

Not if they wanna keep breathing.

She’s behind the bar now, moving like she’s on autopilot, with her smile back in place, the mask up again. But I can see it. The crack in the armour. The way her eyes don’t really light up when someone calls her name. She’s hurting, and no one but me seems to notice.

The brothers are scattered around the room like always. Loud. Drunk. Rowdy.

Caine’s on the sofa, a clubwhore wriggling in his lap.

Laughing like she’s got a chance at something permanent.

She doesn’t. Caine’s got a citizen wife up north, one we’ve never even met.

I’m probably the only one who knows. Guess that’s what being VP means: knowing the things people don't say out loud.

Next to him is Locke, pretending like he’s about to take the redhead next to him upstairs. Man hasn’t touched a woman since his old lady overdosed two years ago. She died in the clubhouse bathroom. He found her. Took something out of him that’s never come back.

The thing about this role? It’s not just meetings and patches and calls at 2AM.

It’s knowing everything . The keeper of secrets.

The quiet gossip chain that runs through this place like blood through veins.

I decide what makes it to Ranger, what stays buried.

And I keep the buried stuff buried deep.

There’s small talk around the room about trouble with the Vikings.

Old partners, back when the club still ran guns and washed drug money through strip clubs and poker nights.

But that was before Ranger took the gavel and steered us toward legitimacy.

Most of the old guard either walked away or patched over to clubs still living in the past.

Now we only deal with clean business.

Like the meeting I had today. Quiet, low-key.

No heat, no guns. Just a duffel bag full of cash and a signature to close on that warehouse off Route 91.

Prime Vegas property. Close to the Strip, close to nothing but possibilities.

Don’t know what we’ll do with it yet, garage, distribution centre, maybe something smarter, but I know it’s a damn good move.

And while I’m making moves for the club, I’m making one of my own tonight.

Because Skye? She’s not gonna go another day thinking she’s alone in this place.

Not while I’m still breathing.

The laughter's too loud. The music's a little off. Too much bass, not enough soul. It’s the same playlist we’ve had since before I made VP, and nobody’s bothered to change it because nobody really cares.

I keep watching her as I nurse a beer I don’t even want. She’s mixing a drink for Caine who walked up to the bar, with that fake smile again. She’s holding something in so tight I wonder if she’s still breathing under it all.

“Yo, VP,” Locke calls over, lifting his bottle in my direction. “You look like you’re gonna kill someone.”

I don’t answer at first. Just raise my chin in his direction like I heard him but am not in the mood.

“You always look like that,” Caine adds with a grin. “But it’s worse than usual tonight. You got that ‘I’m two seconds from putting a bullet between someone’s eyes’ look.”

I shrug, eyes still on Skye. “Maybe someone deserves it.”

They laugh like they’re not sure if I’m joking or not. Good. I’m not sure either.

The redhead next to Locke leans across the table, twirling a strand of over-processed hair. “You’re real quiet tonight, VP. Usually, you’ve got something to say.”

“She’s fishing,” Caine mutters under his breath, amused. “Don’t take the bait.”

I don’t. I’m not even looking at her. My attention’s on Skye again, just in time to see some dumbass reach too far over the bar, trying to grab a bottle she was pouring from. She doesn’t flinch, but her shoulders go stiff. I stand before I even realize I’ve moved.

The guy’s some new hanger-on. I don’t even know his name. But I know he’s too close.

Before I can make it halfway across the room, Skye handles it. With a firm tone and a cold glare, she slides the bottle back behind her and points toward the door. “You’re cut off. Try that again and I’ll have a Prospect dump you in the alley.”

The guy scoffs, but he steps back. Good choice.

I sink back into my seat, jaw tight.

“She doesn’t need saving,” Caine says beside me, casual but pointed. “You know that.”

“I know.”

“But you still want to.”

I glance at him, and for once he’s not wearing that cocky grin. He just lifts his drink, takes a slow pull, and keeps his gaze on the bar like he sees the same things I do.

“She’s a good one,” he mutters. “Too good for this place.”

“Then why’s she still here?” I’ve always wondered why she stayed.

He shrugs. “Maybe for the same reason you are.”

I don’t answer. Because I don’t know if I can answer. Not out loud.

“Word is,” Locke cuts in, tapping his bottle against mine, “we’re running a job near her old community college. Warehouse off Route 91.”

I arch a brow. “You really gonna talk shop with a clubwhore in your lap?”

He smirks. “She doesn’t listen.”

The woman beside him giggles and proves him right.

“Yeah,” I say slowly, “we closed on that today. Legit deal. Might turn it into a front office or some shit.”

“You thinking long game?” Caine asks, watching me more closely now.

I nod once. “Ranger is. I am too.”

“Good,” he says. “Club needs to start thinking about tomorrow. Been living like we’ll die any day for too long.”

He’s right. And not just about the club.

Because the truth is, I’ve been living like tomorrow didn’t matter. Like none of it did. Until she showed up and threw off my whole rhythm with that smart mouth and those too-bright eyes and that way she walks like she’s ready to fight anyone who underestimates her.

“So what are you waiting for?” Caine asks, and I know what he means. He doesn’t say it loud, but it’s there in his tone. “Why not just claim her?”

I glance at him, eyes narrowing. “You think it’s that easy?”

“I think nothing worth having ever is,” he says, and it surprises me. The depth. The honesty.

The music shifts and some old Southern rock track the guys always yell the lyrics to when they’re drunk comes on and it fills the silence for a moment.

“She’s not just another girl,” I say, finally. “And she doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine.”

Caine nods slowly. “Then make her believe it. Before it’s too late, trust me.”

I push back from the table. Toss my half-drunk beer to the side and stand. “That’s the plan.”

The room’s still loud, still alive with the chaos of our world. But for once, I’m not looking for an escape from it.

I’m walking straight into it.