Page 38 of Desert Loyalties

SKYE

Henry Cheng is dead.

The words hang in the room. Heavy, suffocating silence follows. We’re all too stunned to speak.

Christina breaks it first. “This morning, Henry had a meeting with the U.S. Attorney’s office. Turns out Judge Keller wasn’t kidding; she filed a complaint.”

She pauses, letting it sink in.

“When Henry didn’t show up, they tracked the GPS on his government-issued car. The signal led deep into the desert. Henry wasn’t there, but there was a lot of blood in the truck. Preliminary DNA tests confirmed it was his.”

I ask, “How do you know he’s dead? Maybe he survived.”

Christina’s eyes don’t waver.

“No one could have survived the amount of blood found. The cops already ruled it a homicide.”

She leans forward; voice low.

“The reason I’m here is because FBI agents are on their way to speak to you.”

Drake’s voice cracks the silence. “What the fuck? I didn’t do this.”

Ranger cuts in, steady. “It’s true. He was here the whole night.”

I add, “With all of us.”

Christina shakes her head slowly. “I don’t think they believe you did it. Listen, my friends in DC told me that Henry told the U.S. Attorney’s office he had a better case than he actually did. They were so swamped no one would have questioned it, if Judge Keller hadn’t complained.”

She lets out a breath.

“The thing is, they think someone was either paying or threatening him to bring this case. And they killed him because he failed to convict you.”

Christina looks at him, her gaze sharp and steady. “So, I’m going to ask you what they probably will, Is there anyone in your life who hates you enough to do this?”

Drake scoffs. “Of course there is, but no one with the pull to do this.”

Ranger’s phone dings. He glances at the screen, then says, “They’re here.”

Christina frowns. “We can’t bring them in here. There are still naked, drunk people out there.”

I nod. “We can take them to my guesthouse.”

Ranger types something into his phone, hits send, then looks up. “Let’s go.”

We all rise, moving toward the door, the weight of what’s coming settling over us like a storm about to break.

The walk to the guesthouse is quiet. No one says a word. The sound of the gravel crunching under our feet the only noise around us.

We pile into the guesthouse. The air inside is stale, thick with dust. Instead of turning on the AC, I throw open every window. Let the afternoon air pour in and sweep out the stillness.

Any second now, the FBI’s going to walk through that door. And when they do, it’s completely new faces. Two men in suits. One older, one sharp-eyed and younger, step inside, badges out.

“I’m Agent Wilkins. This is Agent Grant,” Wilkins says, scanning the room with practiced calm.

Before they can continue, Christina steps forward, her expression unreadable. “I’m Mr. Lloyd’s attorney, and I’ll be overseeing this interview. Why don’t we all take a seat?”

We settle onto the sofa. The agents take the chairs opposite us. Ranger and Christina remain standing behind, a wall at our backs.

Grant opens a small notepad, pen already poised. “Mr. Lloyd, when was the last time you saw Prosecutor Cheng?”

Drake shrugs, tension tucked behind a tight voice. “When I was found not guilty.”

Wilkins follows up, steady. “And after that?”

Drake shakes his head. “I didn’t see or hear from him after the trial.”

Wilkins leans forward; tone neutral but probing. “Are you in any way affiliated with the motorcycle group known as the Vikings?”

Drake’s reply is dry. “We used to be partners. That ended when we took different paths, years ago.”

Grant flips to a new page in his notebook. “Do you know of any connection between Henry Cheng and the Vikings?”

Drake doesn’t flinch. “No.”

Wilkins presses, voice dipping lower. “Are you certain?”

Before Drake can answer, Christina cuts in, sharp but professional. “He already said no.”

Wilkins doesn’t look away. “Yesterday, we tracked Mr. Cheng’s vehicle, a government-issued one.

It visited the Vikings’ compound late last night.

Early this morning, it was driven out into the desert.

When local authorities arrived, the car was empty…

but a substantial amount of blood was found in the vehicle. ”

A beat.

Grant adds, “The volume suggests Mr. Cheng couldn’t have survived the injury. Preliminary tests match his DNA.”

Drake exhales sharply. “What’s that got to do with me?”

Wilkins studies him. “Do the Vikings have any reason to hold a grudge against you? Or want you removed from the picture?”

Drake nods once. “We’re business rivals. And I manage our side’s operations now. I wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted me out of the way.”

Grant glances at his notes again. “Is it possible a Kyle Donahue, also known as Locke, has been seen with the Vikings recently?”

Drake frowns. “Maybe. I have no idea.”

Grant looks up, voice low and deliberate. “We believe Mr. Donahue may have conspired with members of the Vikings to orchestrate your prosecution. Whether Cheng was willing or not, he became involved. And when he failed to convict you, they retaliated.”

Christina speaks, calm but razor-edged. “And again, I’ll ask what my client already did: what does any of this have to do with Mr Lloyd?”

Wilkins doesn’t back down. “Three key pieces of this case, Cheng’s disappearance, the Vikings’ involvement, and the questionable prosecution, all orbit the same point.”

He gestures toward Drake, not quite pointing. “Your client.”

The silence after that lands heavy.

“So,” Wilkins continues, “we need to know what your client knows, and where Henry Cheng’s body might be.”

Drake leans back, arms loose on the back of the sofa. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I spent last night celebrating, with about a hundred people who’ll say the same. Two of them are in this room.”

Before Wilkins can speak again, Christina steps forward, smooth and cutting. “Unless you have a warrant or formal charges, this interview is over.”

Wilkins opens his mouth, Christina’s voice slices through. “And I’d advise against further contact without counsel present. Harassment, abuse of process, pick your poison.”

Wilkins stiffens. Grant stands quietly beside him.

No one says anything as they turn and head for the door.

Christina exhales as the door shuts behind the agents. “They’re chasing their own tails,” she mutters, checking her watch. “I’m guessing the GPS data alone isn’t enough to get them a warrant for the Vikings’ compound. They were hoping you’d hand them something.”

She heads to the door. “Listen, I have court. Don’t talk to them again without me, and definitely don’t contact the Vikings. Not even a text.” She pauses; eyes sharp. “Got it?”

We nod.

She’s already halfway out the door, heels clicking, when she calls back, “Stay out of trouble,” and then she’s gone.

The room settles into quiet. Just me, Drake, and Ranger now.

I glance between them. “This is good, right? They think Locke’s alive and the Vikings are the ones behind Cheng. We’re safe.” I throw my hands up with a little whoop. “Victory.”

They both just stare at me, deadpan.

“Oh,” I say, straightening up with a too-late frown. “Very sad about the prosecutor. Tragic, really.” I lower myself back onto the couch with exaggerated sombreness.

Ranger snorts. Drake cracks a grin.

Ranger leans against the sofa. “While you were out, there were a few hits on club-owned businesses. Nothing major. The brothers handled it.”

Drake scoffs. “Yeah. Guess those assholes didn’t count on the club still having unity. Thought taking me out would shake the whole tree.”

Ranger nods. “They didn’t get it. When we went legit, all the sketchy bastards jumped ship for the Vikings. What we kept, what we built, it’s stronger more loyal.”

Drake’s smile darkens. “Soon as the feds get that warrant, the Vikings are gonna start flipping on each other like rats in a burning boat.”

Ranger smiles. “You’re back. They’re under the heat. This is a good fucking day.”