Page 39 of Savage Loyalty

“It’s fine,” I said quickly, my voice firmer than I felt. “Go inside. I’ll handle this.”

Caleb nodded, but not before shooting Ryder a warning glance that was as futile as it was brave. He disappeared inside, the door shutting softly behind him.

“You’ve got your little friends worried,” Ryder said, turning back to me. “Cute.”

I glared at him, my chest tight with frustration. “You need to leave.”

“Not until you understand something,” Ryder said, his tone hardening. “What happened between us? That wasn’t a one-time thing. You don’t get to pretend it didn’t happen, and you sure as hell don’t get to walk out with another man and act like it didn’t mean anything.”

“It didn’t,” I lied, the words sharper than I intended.

Ryder’s jaw ticked, and for a moment, I thought he might snap. But instead, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Say that again, kitten. Say it didn’t mean anything, and I’ll show you just how wrong you are.”

The heat between us was suffocating, the tension so thick it felt like the air itself was about to snap. My heart hammered in my chest, a mix of anger, fear, and something I didn’t want to name.

“You’re out of your mind,” I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts.

“Maybe,” Ryder said, his smirk returning. “But I’ll make this simple. You’re mine, Delilah until I say otherwise. And anyone who wants to test that?” He shrugged, his smirk turning deadly. “They’ll find out exactly what that means.”

Without another word, Ryder turned on his heel, heading back toward the porch where Torch and the other Reapers waited. The roar of their bikes filled the night as they pulled out of the driveway, leaving me standing in the gravel, my fists clenched and my chest heaving.

I watched until the taillights disappeared, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a lead blanket.

And deep down, no matter how much I hated him in that moment I still wanted him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

RYDER

The night was sharp, the cold biting through the leather of my jacket as we approached the warehouse. Our bikes rolled in low and menacing, their growls a warning to anyone dumb enough to be listening. Gravel crunched under our tires as we pulled to a stop just outside the building’s shadowy silhouette.

I killed the engine, swinging my leg over the bike in one fluid motion. The others followed suit, moving with the kind of practiced ease that only came from years of this life. Torch was at my side instantly, his knife already in hand.

“This better be worth it,” Torch muttered, his voice low and tense. His eyes scanned the perimeter, sharp and unyielding.

“It is,” I replied, my tone clipped. “It has to be.”

Torch shot me a look, his expression dark. “You sure about this, Wraith? Place looks dead.”

I didn’t respond immediately, my eyes narrowing on the faint glow of light filtering through the warehouse’s cracks. My instincts screamed at me to pull back, but we were too far in to turn around now. “It’s not dead,” I said finally, my voice quiet but firm. “Stay sharp.”

Chains took the lead, his massive frame moving toward the door like a battering ram. The rest of us fanned out, our boots crunching softly against the gravel as we approached.

Torch glanced at me again, his knife glinting faintly in the moonlight. “This intel came too easy. Feels like a setup.”

“It might be,” I said, my hand drifting to my gun. “But we’re here now.”

Chains reached the door first, his hand hovering over the handle as he glanced back at me. “Call it, Wraith.”

I gave him a curt nod.

With a single, powerful kick, Chains sent the door flying open, the rusty hinges shrieking like a wounded animal. The sound echoed into the still night, and we all tensed, waiting for the inevitable.

The warehouse’s interior was dimly lit, the flickering fluorescent bulbs casting jagged shadows across the concrete floor. The air was thick, stale, and laced with the acrid stench of oil and mildew. Crates were stacked haphazardly against the walls, and an old forklift sat abandoned in the corner like a relic.

“Clear,” Chains called, his deep voice reverberating off the walls.

Torch moved in beside me, his steps quiet but deliberate. He crouched near a stack of crates, prying one open with his knife. “Bike parts,” he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. “Nothing useful.”

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