Page 33 of Desert Loyalties
Locke turns toward me slowly. The rage is gone. What’s left is something much harder to look at—ruin.
His face crumples. Tears stream down his cheeks, cutting through the dirt and sweat. His voice is barely a whisper.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I don’t know who he’s apologizing to. Me. Drake. Ranger. Josie. Maybe even himself.
He raises the gun, aims it under his chin and pulls the trigger.
BANG.
The sound splits the air like thunder. His body drops instantly, lifeless, boneless. The top of his head paints the ceiling.
No one moves. No one breathes.
We watch the blood creep across the concrete floor, slow and final.
Chapter13
MANDRAKE
Watching a club brother blow his brains out shouldn’t feel likerelief.
But it does.
Because now we won’t have to kill him for grieving.
Locke was one of us. Not a saint, not a hero, but one of ours. He rode with us, bled with us. But grief makes men weak. Makes them reckless. And if I’m being honest, really honest, I stoppedseeing him as a brother the second he put Skye in danger. I love this club. I built my life around it. But if it were Skye who’d OD’d? If someone had gottenherhooked?
I would’ve tortured every last soul in this building to find the one responsible. Slowly. Loudly.
And I sure as hell wouldn’t have cheated on her while she was spiralling.
So yeah. I don’t mourn Locke. Not the way I should.
Still. The smell of blood’s thick. Metallic. Sticking to the back of my throat. I keep staring at the mess he made. Skull fragments sprayed across the floor like confetti.
I step over the body, closer to Skye. I speak softly as if speaking to a child. “Darlin’,” I say gently, voice lower than usual.
She finally turns her head. Looks away from Locke’s body and at me.
But it doesn’t feel like she sees me. Not really.
“He… he’s dead,” she says, hollow.
“I know.”
She blinks slowly. Her skin’s pale, lips pressed into a thin line. “He just killed himself.”
“I know.”
I reach for her, just to feel her skin against mine but she slaps my hand away, suddenly and sharply. “Stop saying that.”
It hurts. Not the slap. It’s the rejection that lands deeper. I don’t flinch. Don’t retreat. She’s in shock. She needs time to process, even if time’s the one thing we’re running out of.
She stands, legs a little shaky, and walks toward the door. Steps around the blood like it’s lava. Not once does she look down. Like if she doesn’t see it, maybe it didn’t happen.
Skye stops beside Ranger. Which I don’t like. So, I move too. Plant myself at her other side. Close enough so she feels my warmth. A wall she can lean on or hide behind. I don’t know if she’s blaming me. For the plan. For Locke. For all of it. The beast inside my chest snarls at the thought, scraping claws across my ribs.
