Page 31 of Savage Loyalty

That seemed to amuse him more than anything. Ryder’s smirk deepened, his sharp eyes gleaming as he took a single step closer, the shift in distance palpable. “Funny thing, kitten,” he murmured, his voice dropping just enough to make my pulse quicken. “You keep saying what you’re not going to do, but here we are. Me, standing on your porch. You, standing right there, just letting it happen.”

I didn’t move. My heart hammered against my ribs, a mix of anger and something I didn’t want to name clawing at my chest. “You think this is a game?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly, betraying the frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Ryder’s smirk faded, his expression hardening into something colder. “No,” he said, his tone flat now, deadly serious. “I think this is survival. And whether you like it or not, kitten, you’re in the middle of it.”

The words hit like a slap, sharp and unyielding, but I refused to flinch. I stood my ground, my chin lifting as I stared him down. “I didn’t ask for this,” I said, my voice quieter now but no less firm. “I didn’t ask to be dragged into your mess.”

Ryder's eyes blazed with a dangerous intensity as he stalked towards me, his muscular frame filling my vision. Each deliberate step echoed on the wooden porch, the sound mingling with my rapidly beating heart. I instinctively backed up, my spine pressing against the cool metal of my front door.

"You think this is my mess?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. The scent of leather and whiskey enveloped me as he closed the distance between us. "Take a look around, Delilah. You're standing in the ruins your father built, with your brother fighting over what's left of them."

His calloused hand slammed against the door beside my head, making me flinch. Ryder leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. "You didn't ask for any of this, did you? But here you are, caught in the middle.”

I opened my mouth to fire back, to tell him he didn’t know anything about me or what I wanted, but the words caught in my throat. Because deep down, as much as I hated it, I knew he was right.

Ryder watched me for another long moment, his gaze heavy and unreadable. Then he stepped back, the tension in the air shifting but not breaking.

“Think about that,” he said, his voice softer now but no less cutting. He turned to his crew, barking an order for them to mount up. The Reapers’ engines roared to life, the sound a final warning as they pulled out of the driveway one by one.

I stayed frozen on the porch, my hands clenched into fists at my sides, my chest tight with a mix of frustration, anger, and something else I couldn’t name. Ryder hadn’t just walked away with the last word—he’d left behind a weight I wasn’t sure how to carry.

As the roar of their bikes faded into the distance, I knew deep down that this was just the beginning.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

RYDER

The bar was buzzing, alive with energy that thrummed through the walls and pulsed in time with the low beat of the music. It was the kind of night when the liquor flowed too easily and the laughter too loud, masking tensions ready to bubble over at any moment.

I leaned back in the corner booth, my arm draped lazily over the backrest, a half-empty glass of whiskey balanced on my knee. Chains and Torch sat across from me, deep in a conversation about next week’s run, while Smoke was busy charming a leggy brunette at the next table. Two club girls clung to me, their laughter high-pitched and grating, their hands roaming in practiced familiarity.

But I wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

My focus was elsewhere—on her.

It started as a shift in the crowd, a ripple of motion near the entrance. I didn’t need to look directly to know something had changed; the atmosphere seemed to tilt. And then, like a fucking magnet, my eyes found her.

Delilah Cruz walked in, and the whole damn room might as well have stopped.

She was in a short black dress that hugged every curve, the hem brushing mid-thigh, showing off legs that made it impossible to look away. Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she walked, her confidence a sharp contrast to the chaos around her. A thin silver necklace glinted under the bar lights, drawing my gaze to the delicate line of her collarbone. Her hair framed her face perfectly, and her lips curved in a smile that was both effortless and dangerous.

She was with a group, laughing at something one of the guys said. Tall, clean-cut, polished. The kind of guy who thought he could handle her. The sight of her with him, leaning in close, made something dark and primal twist in my chest.

“Yo, Ryder,” Chains muttered, nudging my shoulder. “You good?”

I didn’t answer. My grip tightened around the glass in my hand, the faint creak of the leather booth grounding me enough to keep from snapping it in two. The blonde next to me shifted closer, pressing her body against mine, but I barely noticed.

“Do you see her?” Torch asked, his tone edged with amusement.

“I see her,” I said through gritted teeth.

Torch let out a low whistle, leaning back in his seat. “She’s trouble.”

“She’s mine,” I muttered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. The truth of it hung in the air, undeniable and unspoken.

Chains chuckled, but it was laced with caution. “You gonna do something about it?”

The blonde on my right tried to pull my attention back to her, trailing her nails down my arm. “Ryder,” she purred her voice a poor imitation of seductive. “What’s got you so distracted?”

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