Page 41 of Desert Loyalties
Ranger holds up a leather cut. “That’s why,” he says, “I’d like to officially offer the property patch to her.”
“Mandrake,” he adds.
Drake steps forward, pulls Ranger into one of those rough bro-hugs men do when they don’t know how to express real emotion without hitting something. He holds the jacket up so everyone sees it, Property of Mandrake in bold letters. But what makes the roomreallyshut up are the words stitched below the club’s name: Queen.
I step forward, and Drake slides the cut onto my shoulders. The cheers are deafening.
Ranger raises a hand, quieting the chaos. “As you can see… she’s the queen.”
Then, glancing at me with a half-apologetic smile, he adds, “I’ve got no intention of getting the ball and chain, but if Iwere, I’d want someone half as sharp as her.”
If anyone else said that, I’d have kicked them in the nuts. But it’s Ranger, so I just smirk.
He goes on. “Skye is now officially in charge of the women, a title for the woman who’s already earned it, and then some.”
A tray of shots gets passed around. Ranger picks his up. We all follow suit.
“To the Queen,” he says.
“Here, here,” we echo and shoot it back.
Since the real reason for the party’s out of the way, we actually let loose. I party like I haven’t since college, shooting back shots, dancing, and laughing so hard my stomach hurts. Even Drake relaxes. Not his usual brooding-watching-everyone self, but laughing, teasing, drinking. The clubhouse turns into a mess of music, sex, smoke, and spilled liquor. We go until the sun comes up.
When we finally stumble back to our room, we’re still half-drunk, clothes half-off, hands all over each other. I think most of the others just pass out wherever they were standing.
Sometime early that morning, I hear Drake’s phone ring. I feel him slip out of bed, pressing a kiss to my head before I fade back into sleep.
I wake up alone. The bed’s empty, cold on his side. I fumble for my phone because my old man didn’t bother putting a damn clock in here.
My old man.
That makes me smile. I check the time. Almost noon.
Shit. Not exactly the best look for my first day as Queen Bitch, waking up alone, hair a mess, mascara smudged halfway down my cheek, and half the damn clubhouse probably still passed out in puddles of beer.
But still… I smile.
BecauseQueen? I fuckin’ love that title.
I know how it sounds weird, usually the prez’s old lady is top-dog among women but as Ranger said, he has no intention of taking awomanany time soon. Like I said, people tell me shit when they’re drunk enough.
It started as a joke, really. I’d just laid Serena out flat for mouthing off and trying to act like she ran things. She thought blowing a couple brothers gave her authority. It didn’t. What it got her was a busted nose and a lesson in manners.
The other women? They were quiet for a second, then one of them, can’t even remember who, threw her arms out like we were on stage and shouted, “Hail Queen!”
I had grinned and gladly accepted it. What I didn’t expect was to turn around and see Drake standing there.
Back then, he couldn’t stand me. Not that I blamed him. I was chaos in eyeliner, fresh off a one-night mistake with Joker andstill in the middle of a downward spiral I wasn’t ready to admit I was even in.
But instead of scowling or calling me a slut or dragging me off to chew me out, which, honestly, I kind of expected, he just… smiled. A slow, real smile. One of those rare ones he doesn’t give to just anyone. And in that moment, it was like the whole damn room fell away.
No judgment. No lecture. Just that damn smile.
Then he turned and walked off like it was nothing.
But it wasn’t nothing.
That smile? That was the thread. The first one that snared me. That tugged at the mess I’d become and said,Hey, maybe you’re not as broken as you think.
