Page 24 of Desert Loyalties
She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream.
But fuck, I almost did.
She shakes her head, eyes full of betrayal, lips trembling with a truth I won’t let her speak. And then, with more strength than anyone ever gives her credit for, she turns on her heel and walks right out of the room, flanked by two men twice her size, head held high like a queen being led to the gallows.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t scream.
But fuck, I almost did.
The second the door slams shut behind her, the room shifts. The silence she leaves behind feels heavier than any raid, any bullet I’ve ever taken.
“Brothers,” Ranger says, arms crossed and eyes hard, “go through anything illegal you’ve got stashed. Burn it, bury it, make it disappear. The DEA might come back with individual warrants now. Stay clean. Don’t give them a reason.”
Lehi leans against the wall, arms crossed, voice too damn casual. “They won’t be able to if their informant disappears.”
I take a step before I even register it with my fist clenched, pulse thundering in my ears. I want to put his head through the drywall. Maybe I will.
Ranger’s voice slices through the tension. “No one is touching her.”
“She might be innocent,” I snap, jaw tight.
“She’s your woman,” Mickey says, tapping his tablet, “I get it. But if anything happens to her now, anything, the DEA gets a blood-slick invitation to tear this place down, patch by patch. If she disappears? We’ll be the most obvious suspects.”
Every part of me wants to storm that basement, break the locks, throw her on the back of my bike and ride until the road runs out.
But I don’t move.
Because I’m not just her man.
I’m the VP.
And this is my fuckin’ job.
Joker and Tank come stomping back in, the air around them charged. "She’s in the east room," Joker grunts, tossing a small bundle onto the table. Her phone, keys, a few personal things. It’s clear he’s not happy with this.
Mickey picks it up, already tapping into his rhythm. “I’ll check it. Make sure whatever messages got traced came from her line.” He disappears down the hall, without another word.
I don’t say anything. Just follow Ranger and the others to the basement. The basement's a relic, its cold, brutal, full of ghosts. Back in the day, Viking, the old prez, had a thing for vengeance. Found every man his wife ever touched, chained them down here, and made her watch him break them. Piece by piece. Sick bastard.
Now one of those rooms holds my woman.
We step into the control room, it has concrete walls, metal chairs, a long-ass table scarred with cigarette burns and bloodstains. Monitors line the far wall, each supposed to show the rooms. Locke hits the switch. Static. Every screen’s just white noise and snow.
“The fuck?” he mutters.
Ranger’s jaw clenches. “Those DEA pricks must’ve cut the lines.”
No visuals. No sound. And no eyes on Skye.
I feel something boil low in my gut.
They’ve taken my woman’s name, her peace, now her fuckin’ face from me. I need to see her.
This club? It’s built on rules, order, blood ties deeper than DNA. But right now, all I want to do is break the door down and hold her. Even if she hates me for it.
Ranger doesn’t look at me when he says, “We have to trust you, brother. You’re on your own.”
