Page 71 of Desert Loyalties
“Who do you belong to?” he pants, voice rough with need.
“Drake.” I gasp around each thrust. “Drake.”
At every whisper of his name, he hammers into that sweet spot until my muscles flutter around him, and I scream. He doesn’tfalter, each stroke gets harder, deeper, as he nears his edge. Then his hand finds my clit, strokes in perfect sync with his pounding, and I shatter around him.
Our cries mix in the dim room, my high, his raw grunts, while he fights to hold back, neck muscles taut with restraint. I clench him tight, refusing to let go. He buries his face in my neck and spills into me with a guttural growl. We cling together in the aftermath of our release.
Later, wrapped in the sheets and the warmth of his chest, I can’t shut my mind off. “Do you think the body is Locke’s?” I murmur into the darkness.
Drake exhales, the sound deep and thoughtful. His hand rubs slow circles on my back, grounding me, even as the answer hangs in the air.
“Do you know why I trust Grim so much?” he says finally.
I shift just enough to see his face, but he’s staring at the ceiling, his jaw tight.
“When he first came to the club years ago, we didn’t know what to make of him. Big, quiet guy. Accent thick as hell. Didn’t talk much, just did the work. Kept his nose clean. One night, after an encounter with the Viking MC, it was just me and Grim, trying to get that busted truck back on the road. Middle of nowhere, no cell signal, desert all around us. Took hours just to get the engine unseized. By the end of it, we were beat, dirty, and just waiting for the sun to rise.”
He pauses, and I can tell we’re getting to the part he never tells anyone.
“I stepped off the road to take a leak, maybe twenty yards out. That’s when I heard bikes rolling in. Figured it was our guys coming back to help.” A grim chuckle leaves him. “But no. Two Viking motherfuckers. Not ours. Just backtracking, maybe scouting for a hit.”
My stomach twists, but I stay silent.
“I saw them before they saw me. They had a gun on Grim before he could even move. And he was just... calm. Didn’t flinch. One of ’em asked if there were more with him, and Grim just smirked and answered something in Russian. I don’t even know what he said, but whatever it was, it pissed the guy off. Gave me just enough time.”
I pull back slightly, watching his face. He’s somewhere else now. Back on that dusty road. That night.
“I came up from behind. Took them both out before they could blink. Thing is…” He looks down at me, eyes dark. “Grim didn’t know I was still there. He thought I’d bailed. Thought I ran when I saw them.”
“What did he say?” I ask.
Drake’s lips tilt, not quite a smile. “Afterward, he looked at me, all bloody, and said, ‘You didn’t run.’ I told him I never would. He promised then that he’d show me the same loyalty I’d shown him.”
He brushes a hand through my hair.
“We chained the truck to the bikes and dragged it back with their own machines. Grim rode off with the bodies. Said he’d take care of it.”
I can feel the chill in his voice, the kind that comes from knowing what "taking care of it" really means.
“They haven’t been found since. Hell, no one even knows they’re dead. Just two ghosts that vanished into the desert.”
He exhales and looks at me. “That’s why I trust Grim. He doesn’t forget a debt. Doesn’t miss a step. If he said he handled Locke, then it’s handled. That body they found? No way, it’s Locke’s.”
I nod, but there’s a cold little knot sitting in my gut now. This life, it doesn’t leave clean edges. Loyalty runs deep, but so does blood.
Chapter 30
MANDRAKE
The sun hangs low we pull into the parking lot of the Lloyd Courthouse, named for some long-forgotten judge whose portrait hangs in the entryway, scowling down at everyone like he’s still on the bench.
Skye walks silently beside me. She doesn’t have to say anything. Her presence calms the noise in my head better than any words ever could.
Inside, we hit security; keys, wallet, belt, same old drill. I don’t flinch anymore when the Marshals stare me down. I’m not afraid of them. I’m not afraid of prison either. Not for me. I’m afraid of not getting the chance to walk out of this thing the right way. I’vegot Skye now. She’s not a dream anymore. She’s real. My wife. My old lady. And I’ll burn the whole damn courthouse down before I let them take her from me.
“Courtroom 3A,” Christina says, already ahead of us, heels clicking, briefcase in her hand.
Third floor. Outside the door, we wait. Same clerk checks us in, glancing at me like I’m just another docket number. Maybe to her I am.
