Page 20 of Savage Loyalty

The man’s smirk widened. “Wraith wants a word.”

“Well, he can schedule an appointment,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest in a futile attempt to hide the way my hands were shaking.

The Reaper let out a low chuckle, stepping closer so that the door pressed against my shoulder. “Not how this works, sweetheart.”

Before I could react, his hand shot out, shoving the door open and forcing me to stumble back.

The other two followed him inside, their heavy boots thudding against the hardwood floor as they swept their gazes over the room like they were assessing a battlefield.

“What do you want?” I demanded again, my voice sharper now.

The man who’d spoken first ignored the question, taking a slow, deliberate look around the room. His smirk didn’t falter as his eyes landed on the half-filled trash bag by the couch. “Cleaning up, huh? Thought the Vipers would’ve done that for you.”

I clenched my fists, biting back the angry retort that burned on the tip of my tongue.

He turned back to me, his expression darkening. “Here’s the deal, Cruz. You’re coming with us. Now.”

My chest tightened, a mix of fear and fury churning in my gut. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound firm.

The man stepped closer, his towering frame making me feel impossibly small. “That’s cute,” he said, his smirk turning into something more sinister. “But this isn’t a request.”

One of the others grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. I twisted, trying to pull away, but it was no use.

“You can come easy, or you can come hard,” the first man said, his tone almost bored. “Your choice.”

I glared at him, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Go to hell.”

He chuckled, low and cold. “Sweetheart, we’re already there.”

The roar of the engine beneath me rattled through my body, the vibrations a harsh reminder of how little control I had over the situation. The Reaper’s grip on my arm was ironclad, his gloved hand anchoring me to the back of the bike as if he expected me to try something stupid.

Not that I hadn’t considered it.

Torch. That was the name sewn into the patch on the back of his leather cut, just below the ominous grinning skull that marked him as one of Ryder Kane’s men. He was younger than the others, his buzzed hair barely long enough to catch the wind, but his build was solid, his frame brimming with an arrogance that only came with blind loyalty.

His hand tightened on my wrist every time I shifted like he was daring me to try something.

“Relax,” he barked over the roar of the wind, his tone sharp and impatient. “You’re not going anywhere.”

I glared at the back of his head, biting back a retort. What was the point? He wasn’t wrong. There was no getting out of this, no escaping the cage of bikes that surrounded me on all sides.

The wind whipped against my face, cold and unforgiving, carrying the metallic scent of rain that threatened to fall at any moment. My hair lashed against my cheeks, the stinging bite a small but relentless reminder of how far from safety I was.

My stomach twisted with every mile that passed, the distance from my father’s house stretching out like a yawning chasm. I gritted my teeth, the anger simmering just beneath the surface warring with the gnawing fear that, this time, I might be in over my head.

The Reapers didn’t say a word as they rode, their bikes forming a tight, impenetrable formation around me. It was a deliberate move, a show of force meant to remind me how little power I had in this situation. They were the hunters, and I was the prey they’d already caught.

Torch’s bike jerked slightly as we hit a rough patch of road, the sudden movement jolting me forward. I clenched my hands tighter against his sides, hating the vulnerability of being forced to cling to the very person dragging me into hell.

“Keep your grip,” he called over his shoulder, his tone almost mocking. “Wouldn’t want you falling off.”

“I’d rather take my chances,” I shot back, my voice muffled by the wind.

He chuckled, the sound low and humorless. “You’ve got spirit. I’ll give you that. But spirit won’t save you when we get there.”

I didn’t respond. What was there to say? Every mile brought us closer to the Crimson Reapers’ clubhouse, and the knot in my stomach tightened with each passing second.

I tried to focus on the road, on the blur of trees and asphalt, anything to keep my mind from spiraling. But Ryder Kane’s name loomed in my thoughts, sharp and deliberate, like the man himself.

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