Page 28 of Desert Loyalties
“You wanna loose a 200 grand deposit,” Ranger says, his tone just sharp enough to shut it down. “And before anyone gets smart, basement’s off-limits.”
I look around the table, locking eyes with each of them. “Seriously. Don’t go near it. That door stays closed.”
Stitch shifts in his seat. “What about food and shit?”
“Let her starve,” Ranger snaps. “You wanna keep your patch, respect the order.”
Silence. Good.
The basement isn’t hidden. Just another door at the end of the hallway, tucked beneath the main stairwell. Easy to forget. Easy to slip through if no one’s watching close enough. Which is exactly what we’re counting on.
We leave through the front. Letting the door slam behind us.
Ranger and I mount up, engines growling beneath us. I rev mine a little harder than necessary, the vibrations grounding me for half a second. We peel out, tires spitting gravel, just long enough to make ‘em believe we’re gone.
We don’t go far.
Just a few miles up the road, we pull into a diner that looks like it hasn’t changed since 1982. It’s so close to the clubhouse that I’ve never been here before, it’s perfect to lay low in. No one asks questions in places like this.
The sun’s beating down on us, so we head inside, taking a booth by the window. I sit with my back to the door. Ranger across from me.
He signals the waitress with a nod. “Full breakfast. Eggs, sausage, extra toast. And black coffee.”
I barely glance at her. “Just coffee.”
She gives me a tight smile and leaves.
I pull my phone out, lay it on the table, and open the hidden feed. Grainy footage flickers to life, black and white, timestamped. The basement door is still closed. In the room, Skye is doing… push ups? I chuckle, this woman.
I made sure she ate before we rolled into the clubhouse. Made her drink a gallon of water too. She fought me on it, of course she did, but I didn’t bend. Couldn’t. If she’s gonna be locked in a furnace while we wait for a traitor to strike, she’s going in prepared. If the traitor doesn’t strike soon, I’m sneaking down there with snacks.
Ranger watches me for a minute, then leans back with that unreadable expression of his.
“You really love her, huh?”
I don’t look at him. Just say, low and even, “She’s mine.”
He hums. Doesn’t push. Just sips his coffee when it comes, then says, “She know about your past?”
I take a beat. Then another. Still watching the screen.
“She knows enough.”
Ranger nods slow, lets the silence stretch before he speaks again.
“You know what needs to happen for her patch-in, right?”
That gets my attention.
I look at him now. He’s not smiling. Not grinning. Just serious.
“In the Horsemen, our old ladies aren’t just window dressing,” he says. “We don’t slap a patch on any chick who can hang onto a seat and drink with the boys. They’rehonorary members. Which means they go through a version of what we do. More than that, they have to have skin in the game.’”
I nod. I know about the Ceremony, vaguely. Only the Prez and the brother bringing in an old lady know the full details.
“To get in, they have to either,” he holds up one finger, “commit a crime in front of the brothers, like we did for our patch.”
Another finger. “Or confess to a crime they already committed. On tape.”
