Page 43 of Desert Loyalties
“Because halfway through round three, in walksthe wife.”
I nearly choke on air. “You’re shitting me.”
“Oh, we wish,” says Vulture, grinning like a hyena. “She walked in wearing hot as fuck mom jeans. Said she came to check on him since he missed their son’s game and hadn’t answered a single call.”
Caine groans like the shame is physically painful. “She wasn’t supposed to come to the clubhouse,” he mutters.
“She wasn’t supposed to find you with your face full of someone else’s pussy either, but here we are,” Joker fires back.
“What’d she say?” I ask, trying not to laugh, but I’m already losing the battle.
“Dead calm,” says Knuckles, mimicking her voice. “‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were busy.’ Then she turned around and walked right out like she hadn’t just witnessed softcore porn starring her husband.”
“And then?” I press.
Caine rubs his face. “And then I died.”
“No,” Vulture says, barely keeping it together. “Thenshe texted him a picture of a butcher knife and said: ‘See you at home.’”
The whole table loses it.
Caine tries to hide his face behind his coffee cup, but it doesn’t help. His ears are red, and he looks like a man who just realized he might not survive the week.
“Think she’ll really kill him?” I ask, smirking.
Joker shrugs. “She won’t kill him. Probably just take a finger. Or a nut.”
Ranger and Micky choose that moment to walk in, both stone-faced as usual, but Micky’s lips twitch like he heard half of it.
“Alright, shut it down,” Ranger says. “Church starts now.”
The room quiets instantly. Whatever jokes, whatever shit-talking stops once Church begins, it’s all business now. But right before we go silent, Joker leans over and whispers, “If you want us to scatter your ashes after she guts you, let us know where you wanna be buried.”
Caine flips him off under the table.
Ranger speaks, ignoring the mess of laughter still dying out from Caine’s trainwreck of a night. His voice is low, tired, too damn tired. The man’s exhausted, and honestly, I can’t blame him. He just found out one of his own, a patched brother, turned traitor.
And I dropped the fuckin’ ball. I was too busy living it up last night, wrapped up in Skye and the moment, letting Ranger carry it all on his back. That shit doesn’t sit right with me.
He clears his throat and keeps going. “Thanks to Joker,” he nods toward the idiot, who for once doesn’t look smug, “and the lovely little surprise text he sent, the DEA is officially off our backs.”
That gets everyone's attention.
“I had Micky tap into the lead agent’s calls. This morning, he phoned someone, a supervisor, maybe and said they don’t have shit without Locke. Said they barely had anythingwithhim. Considering the raid came up empty, it’s done. Case is cold.”
For a second, no one says anything. Just silence, tight, waiting. And then we fuckin’explode. Cheers echo through the room, fists pounding on the table in celebration. It's not often we get a clear win, but this? This is a damn victory.
We're still clapping each other on the back when Ranger raises his hand again, and the room settles quick. His gaze scans over each of us before he speaks.
“One more order of business.”
I sit up straighter. The tone’s shifted, I have no idea what he’s gonna say.
Ranger looks straight at me as he says, “I move to change the stipulation of the Old Lady Ceremony.”
My chest tightens.
He holds up a hand before anyone can jump in. “This rule was written long ago. After a betrayal none of us can fully understand unless we live it. Back when this club was still finding its roots. A brother shared too much with his old lady. She shared it with the wrong people. One thing led to another, and the brother had to removed.”
