Page 19 of Savage Loyalty

My hands stilled as I caught sight of a photo tucked behind the clutter on the mantel. I set down the trash bag and picked it up, brushing off the dust.

It was an old picture, the edges worn and yellowed with age. My father stood in the center, his arm slung around a much younger Axel, their grins wide and carefree. I was there too, a little girl with pigtails and a gap-toothed smile, clutching a stuffed bear like it was the most important thing in the world.

A lump rose in my throat as I stared at it. That version of my father felt like a stranger now. The man in the photo wasn’t the same man who’d loomed over me in the clubhouse, barking orders and delivering ultimatums.

He’d been different once. We all had.

I set the photo back on the mantel and wiped at my eyes, angry at the tears threatening to fall.

The house was too quiet. It amplified every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the trash bag, every unspoken thought that pressed against the edges of my mind.

I thought about leaving. About packing a bag and disappearing again.

But where would I go?

The Vipers were my family, whether I wanted them to be or not. And as much as I wanted to hate Axel for the way he’d handled things, for the coldness in his voice and the tension he seemed to radiate, I couldn’t just abandon him. Not now. Not after everything.

Then I heard it.

It started as a low rumble, distant and almost imperceptible. I froze, the rag slipping from my hands as I turned toward the window.

The sound grew louder, closer until it was unmistakable: motorcycles.

My stomach twisted as I moved to the window, peeking through the curtains.

They weren’t Vipers.

A line of bikes rolled up the driveway, their riders dressed in leather cuts adorned with the grinning skull framed by crimson flames.

Crimson Reapers.

“What the hell,” I muttered, my heart pounding.

I backed away from the window, my mind racing. The Reapers had made their message clear last night—stay out of their way. What could they possibly want now?

The roar of the engines cut off as the bikes came to a stop, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Then came the knock.

It was sharp, loud, and insistent, echoing through the house like a gunshot.

I froze; my breath caught in my throat.

Another knock, harder this time, followed by a voice that sent a chill down my spine.

“Open up, Cruz. We know you’re in there.”

I stepped toward the door, my legs shaky and unsteady. My hand hovered over the lock for a moment, every nerve in my body screaming at me not to do this.

But I didn’t have a choice.

With trembling fingers, I turned the lock and cracked the door open just enough to see who was on the other side.

The man standing there was massive, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. His scarred face was hard, his jaw set like stone, and his cold eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. Behind him, two more Reapers stood with their arms crossed, their faces unreadable but no less menacing.

“Morning, sweetheart,” the man at the door drawled, leaning casually against the frame. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“What do you want?” I snapped, trying to sound braver than I felt.

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