Page 93 of Desert Loyalties
Wilkins opens his mouth, Christina’s voice slices through. “And I’d advise against further contact without counsel present. Harassment, abuse of process, pick your poison.”
Wilkins stiffens. Grant stands quietly beside him.
No one says anything as they turn and head for the door.
Christina exhales as the door shuts behind the agents. “They’re chasing their own tails,” she mutters, checking her watch. “I’m guessing the GPS data alone isn’t enough to get them a warrant for the Vikings’ compound. They were hoping you’d hand them something.”
She heads to the door. “Listen, I have court. Don’t talk to them again without me, and definitely don’t contact the Vikings. Not even a text.” She pauses; eyes sharp. “Got it?”
We nod.
She’s already halfway out the door, heels clicking, when she calls back, “Stay out of trouble,” and then she’s gone.
The room settles into quiet. Just me, Drake, and Ranger now.
I glance between them. “This is good, right? They think Locke’s alive and the Vikings are the ones behind Cheng. We’re safe.” I throw my hands up with a little whoop. “Victory.”
They both just stare at me, deadpan.
“Oh,” I say, straightening up with a too-late frown. “Very sad about the prosecutor. Tragic, really.” I lower myself back onto the couch with exaggerated sombreness.
Ranger snorts. Drake cracks a grin.
Ranger leans against the sofa. “While you were out, there were a few hits on club-owned businesses. Nothing major. The brothers handled it.”
Drake scoffs. “Yeah. Guess those assholes didn’t count on the club still having unity. Thought taking me out would shake the whole tree.”
Ranger nods. “They didn’t get it. When we went legit, all the sketchy bastards jumped ship for the Vikings. What we kept, what we built, it’s stronger more loyal.”
Drake’s smile darkens. “Soon as the feds get that warrant, the Vikings are gonna start flipping on each other like rats in a burning boat.”
Ranger smiles. “You’re back. They’re under the heat. This is a good fucking day.”
Chapter 39
SKYE
Drake and Ranger were still drinking whisky when I left. I had somewhere else to be, an appointment I’d been putting off. I was going to go yesterday, but, well… tequila and victory got in the way.
Still, I made a promise to myself. The second Drake walked free; I'd do this.
I can’t count how many times I almost made this appointment before the trial. Almost. But I didn’t want to jinx it. Couldn’t.
It’s funny, months of anxiety, of waiting and strategizing and forming an escape plan and the trial lasted two fucking days. Two. What a joke.
I park and head in.
"Hi, I have an appointment. Skye Lloyd." Yes. I took Drake’s name.
When I changed my name back then, I didn’t pick a last name. Just Skye. Flipping through a magazine in the waiting room, I’m not really reading anything until one headline catches my eye. Apparently orgasms help with period cramps. Great. How come no one told me that when I was a teenager sobbing in pain?
Eventually, the receptionist calls me. “You can head to exam room four. Dr. Meena will be with you shortly.”
Inside, it’s routine: nurse takes my vitals, weight, asks all the standard questions. I’m in a paper gown now, bare under it, no bra either, since I’m scheduled for a mammogram too. A girl can never be too careful.
Dr. Meena walks in, smiling. “Well, Mrs. Lloyd, congratulations by the way. You’re here for your annual check-up and to remove your IUD, yes?”
I nod. “I know it’s not technically due for another month, but I figured, one stone, two birds.”
