Page 50 of Desert Loyalties
I tuck myself away, pulling her panties back up gently, give her ass a soft slap. “You’re moving in today.”
She laughs, breathless. “Was that a command?”
I smirk. “No, sweetheart. That was a promise.”
Chapter 20
SKYE
The next month flies by in a blur of packing, sorting, and low-key stress. I manage to get all my stuff together, though not as fast as Drake would’ve liked. He didn’t say anything directly, but I caught the subtle glances at the ever-growing pile of boxes still waiting to be moved. His closet at the clubhouse was never going to cut it for my wardrobe. Not even close. So, I’ve decided to start moving the non-essentials to the house.
Still, I’ve been dragging my feet. Not because I’m second-guessing the decision, I'm not. I know this next step makes sense. Drake and I are building something, and the house represents that future. But this guesthouse… it was the first place that ever really felt likemine. No roommates, no drunken family members breathing down my neck, no past chasing me. Just me. My space. My rules. Letting go of that isn’t easy, even for something better.
Drake hasn’t pushed. He hasn’t even mentioned the guest house, and I appreciate that more than he knows. I think he understands maybe more than he lets on. Or maybe he just values the privacy it gives us when we’re on the compound. Either way, I’m grateful.
We still use the house, mostly for swimming. Drake’s been teaching me, and I’m actually getting the hang of it. He says I’m a fast learner, though I think he might just like watching me float around in his pool. There’s something peaceful about being surrounded by water, quiet, weightless. It’s like all the noise in my head just fades out.
The MC’s been shifting too. Lately, we’ve had an influx of old ladies; wives, girlfriends, long time partners. Turns out guys like Knuckles, Pick, and Lehi (still an asshole, by the way) weren’t just particular about fuckin’ clubwhores, they were already taken. Some of them have been married for years, but kept that side of their life separate from the club. At first, I thought it was strange, but I get it. It was a big risk, the ceremony. Especially with kids, if something happened to the club, they’d loose both parents. This world can be brutal, and keeping your family out of it is one way to protect them. Still, it’s wild seeing all these hardened bikers suddenly showing up with diaper bags and juice boxes.
What I find the sweetest is the fact that these brothers, the loyal married one, have their own little club. They would show up to parties, make an appearance, then slip off to be with their families, their own get-togethers.
Caine definitely is not a part of that club. The man screwed up bad. Like, scorched-earth bad. And now he’s trying to climb his way out of the hole he dug with the kind of grovelling thatmakesmecringe, and I’m not even the one he hurt. Doesn’t look like it’s working, either. Good for Alecia. She deserves better. Alecia is an amazing mother and an even better friend. We’ve gotten to know her lately, especially since family days started up again. Drake wasn’t the only one getting burnt out. The grind, the chaos, the pressure, the nonstop tension it wears on you. So now, Sundays are for family. It’s not exactly cozy picnics and board games, but it’s something. A step in a different direction. The rest of the week? Business as usual. Which, unfortunately, still includes orgies, booze, and a whole lot of secrets.
I was present for the initiation of every one of these women into old ladies. And yes, I scrapped the old ceremony. It sounded way too much like a damn sacrifice.
The initiation now is simpler. Cleaner. More honest. It's basically a vote. No confessions, no staged drama, no digging through someone’s past like we’re the FBI. Just the women, those who’ve already earned the patch by standing by their men and surviving this world, getting together and deciding whether the new one belongs.
It has to be unanimous. One ‘no’ and it doesn’t go through. And yeah, that makes it harder. But I’d rather it be real than performative. This life isn’t easy, and it’s not for everyone. We have to trust each other. Fully. If even one old lady has doubts, we listen to that. Because when things get ugly and theywillwe have to know the woman beside us isn’t going to run, or fold, or sell us out.
So far, no one’s been rejected. That’s not because we’re easy to please, it’s because the women coming through now? They’re solid. Grounded. They’ve already lived through some version of hell and come out swinging. Some have kids, some don’t. Somewear their scars out in the open. Others hide them like jewellery. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that they get it. This life. The risk. The loyalty it demands. The price it sometimes costs.
I didn’t think I’d care about this kind of stuff, the community, sisterhood, whatever you want to call it, but here I am, helping build it. Watching these women step into something fierce. And feeling proud to stand with them.
I finally managed to catch up with Ben. She’s somewhere in Malaysia, trekking through God knows what. We tried video chatting, but halfway through the call, the feed froze. Then I heard her cussing like a sailor before the whole thing dropped. Typical.
Things haven’t been smooth here, either. The DEA officially dropped the case against the Horsemen, since their only lead disappeared but now the FBI’s poking around. Locke’s disappearance is suddenly back on their radar. New evidence came up. Don’t ask me what it is, they’re not sharing that much. But apparently it was enough to open a full-blown missing persons investigation.
Because Locke wasn’t just some nobody. He was a confidential informant for the DEA. And that changes everything.
They’ve already questioned Ranger and Drake twice. They even pulled in people from our claiming party, including me. The questions were sharp, repetitive. Where was Drake that night? Did I ever leave his side? Did I notice anything strange? Did I see Locke? I held my own, I think. I kept it simple. Stuck to what I knew for sure, didn’t guess. It’s been a week since we’ve heard anything, so maybe that’s a good sign. Maybe they’re moving on. Or maybe they’re just watching, waiting for someone to slip.
Either way, things are shifting. At home. At the clubhouse. In the club itself. And I can’t shake the feeling that something big is coming.
Jenna bursts into my guesthouse, practically singing my name: “Skyyeeee!”
I glance up from the floor where I’m crouched over an open box, carefully packing away my precious books.
“Why areyouso chipper?”
She flops onto the sofa with dramatic flair, grinning like a maniac. “Because I’m happy, sister. Life is good, the weather is finally turningand—” she pauses for effect, “Igotthe job!”
I shoot to my feet. “You got the job?!”
She jumps up too, yelling now. “I got the fuckin’job!’”
And just like that, we’re bouncing up and down like schoolgirls whose crush just asked them to prom, squealing and laughing with zero shame.
Then Rani, Lehi’s old lady walks in holding a bottle of wine and immediately jumps into our little chaos circle.
