Page 3 of Savage Loyalty

The room erupted into chaos. Voices overlapped, accusations flew, and tempers flared. Grim let it go for about thirty seconds before slamming his fist on the table. The sound cut through the noise like a gunshot, and the room fell silent.

“Enough!” Grim barked, his voice like a growl. “We’re not tearing ourselves apart over this.”

“This isn’t just about one attack,” I said, meeting each of their gazes. “This is war. And if we don’t play it smart, we’re going to lose.”

CHAPTER ONE

RYDER

The Crimson Reapers’ clubhouse sat at the edge of town, tucked behind a crumbling gas station and a line of skeletal trees. The building wasn’t much to look at—brick walls streaked with grime, windows tinted so dark you couldn’t see the chaos inside—but to us, it was home. The kind of home built on blood, sweat, and a thousand bad decisions.

I pushed through the heavy double doors, the noise inside hitting me like a wall. Laughter, shouting, the clink of pool balls—all of it undercut by the low hum of classic rock playing over the old speakers mounted on the walls. The smell of whiskey and smoke hung in the air, so thick it felt like it had soaked into the walls.

At the center of it all was Gage “Grim” Hunter, the President of the Crimson Reapers. He was leaning against the bar, a whiskey glass in one hand, his gray eyes scanning the room like a hawk sizing up its prey. Grim didn’t have to say much to command respect. His presence alone was enough to keep everyone in line—most of the time.

I made my way over, the other guys stepping aside without a word. Grim’s gaze locked onto mine as I approached, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Wraith,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “We need to talk.”

Grim led me into the back office, a small, cluttered room that smelled like leather and stale beer. He shut the door behind us, motioning for me to sit, but I stayed on my feet. Grim didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He got straight to the point.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said, tossing a map onto the desk. “Vipers are moving product through our territory again.”

I leaned over the map, my eyes narrowing as I traced the route he’d marked. It ran straight through our southern border, right through Reaper turf. “You sure about this?”

Grim nodded. “Got the intel from one of our guys down south. They’re running a shipment tomorrow night. A big one.”

I clenched my jaw, the familiar anger bubbling up in my chest. The Black Vipers had been poking at our borders for months now, testing how far they could push before we pushed back. This wasn’t just business—it was a challenge. And they knew it.

“You want me to intercept it?” I asked.

“Exactly,” Grim said. “Take a crew, hit them hard, and send a message. Make sure they understand this is our turf, not theirs.”

I nodded, already running through the logistics in my head. This wasn’t my first ambush, and it wouldn’t be my last. But something about this one felt different. Bigger. Riskier.

Grim must have sensed my hesitation because he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve got this, Wraith. I wouldn’t be sending you if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

“I know,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll take care of it.”

Back in the main room, I gathered my crew: Chains, Smoke, and Torch. They were my go-to guys for jobs like this—loyal, ruthless, and dependable—but tonight, the tension between us felt like a live wire. The room buzzed with low conversations and laughter from the other Reapers, but our corner was all business.

Chains, as usual, was the first to speak, his deep voice cutting through the noise. “We should’ve hit them weeks ago,” he said, his tone edged with frustration. His massive arms were crossed over his chest, his expression hard enough to crack concrete. “They’ve been stepping on our toes for months now, and we’ve just been sitting here, waiting.”

I shot him a look, my jaw tightening. “You think I don’t know that?”

Chains didn’t back down, his eyes locking onto mine. “I’m just saying, Wraith. Every day we wait, they get bolder. Maybe it’s time we stopped playing defense and started hitting them where it hurts.”

Smoke leaned back in his chair, exhaling a lazy stream of cigarette smoke. “Chains has a point,” he said, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Waiting around hasn’t done us any favors. Feels like we’ve been letting them walk all over us.”

“You got a better plan?” I shot back, my tone sharper than I intended.

Smoke grinned, the kind of grin that made you want to punch it off his face. “I’m just here for the ride, boss. But if it were me, I’d already be burning down their warehouse.”

“Yeah,” Chains muttered, his voice low and bitter. “At least someone gets it.”

I glanced at Torch, the youngest of the group, who was sitting on the edge of his chair, fidgeting nervously with the zipper on his jacket. He hadn’t said a word, but the tension in his shoulders told me he was feeling the pressure as much as the rest of us.

“What about you, Torch?” I asked, my voice cutting through the growing hostility. “You got something to say?”

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