Page 31 of Desert Loyalties
I don’t know what to say. Anything would sound fake. Thin. Useless.
I shift on the cot. My ass is sore from sitting too long. My mouth is dry. The sandwich and water sit untouched.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
Locke looks up. His eyes are steel now. The softness? Gone. Like it was never there to begin with.
“Because I know you didn’t cause the raid,” he says.
I blink. That’s not what I expected.
“I called the DEA,” he adds, voice low. “Not to rat on the club, we’re legit. I did it to draw out whoever’s still dirty. The one who got my Josie hooked.”
There’s a beat of silence, just long enough for my heart to kick up.
“How do you know it was someone in the club?” I ask carefully.
“I finally went through her stuff last month,” he says. “I couldn’t bring myself to touch it before. Her purse, the boxes, the drawer under the bathroom sink. Imagine my surprise when I found empty baggies… withthis club’slogo on them.”
My mouth goes dry.
“It wasthis clubthat had her hooked. And considering I was the one running that shit before we cleaned up, Iknowit had to have happened after.” His jaw tightens. “After we went legit.”
That word tastes bitter now, legit. An excuse to wash away the sins from before.
“So, if youareinforming,” he says, levelling his gaze at me, “it’s not about drugs. It’s bigger. You’re betraying the club. And Mandrake…” He leans forward. “Mandrake’s too deep in your pussy to do anything about it.”
I flinch, but not for the reason he thinks. Not shame. It’s the way he says it, like I’m distraction, a liability.
I need to stall. To get ahead of this. So, I keep asking the questions, get as much information as possible.
“Is that why? Why you didn’t go to Ranger or Drake when you found the baggies?”
He hesitates.
“Drake…” he repeats, like the name tastes wrong in his mouth.
His silence says more than anything.
“You don’t trust them,” I say.
He doesn’t confirm it. Doesn’t have to.
“Ranger's been distant,” he mutters. “And Drake’s… slippery. When I told him Josie was using, he said maybe she got it somewhere else. Wouldn’t even look at me. And now he's climbing fast; buying new properties, a house up in the hills. Onwhatmoney?”
He’s unravelling a bit now, the careful calm slipping at the edges.
“So, you called the DEA hoping they’d sniff out the rot for you?” I ask.
He nods once. “They don't give a damn about us anymore, we’re clean. But if there’s still someone using our name to move product, they’ll find it. And if they do…” He exhales through his nose. “Then I’ll know who killed my wife.”
There’s a silence between us. Heavy and final.
I ask one final question.
“Are you going to kill me?”
He takes a step closer. Calm. Measured.
