Page 41 of Savage Loyalty

The crew moved with purpose, the tension between us palpable as we filed inside. Chains was the last to enter, his massive frame lingering in the doorway for a moment as he scanned the lot, ensuring no eyes were watching before closing the door with a heavy thud.

Inside, the room carried its own weight. The long table stretched before us, its surface marred with scars and stains—each mark a story of battles fought, decisions made, lives lost. I took my seat at the head next to Grim, the position both a burden and a weapon. Torch and Chains flanked me, their presence grounding, their loyalty unwavering.

The rest of the crew settled in, their postures rigid, their gazes sharp. Smoke’s fingers tapped an erratic rhythm against the table, his frustration barely contained. Razor sat with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might crack.

I didn’t waste time. Reaching into the saddlebag, I yanked out the documents and tossed them onto the table. The papers spilled out in a chaotic heap, the Iron Serpents’ insignia glaring up at us like a slap in the face. I grabbed the top ledger and slammed it onto the table, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot.

“This,” I said, my voice low but carrying enough weight to demand attention, “is what we pulled from the warehouse. Axel Cruz’s name is all over it.”

Torch reached for one of the papers, his sharp eyes scanning the text as his jaw tightened. “Shipping schedules. Payment logs. Deals. He’s working with the Serpents to move weapons and run joint operations. He’s not just dipping a toe in—he’s neck-deep.”

“Deep enough to set us up,” Chains growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the room. His hands flexed on the table, his knuckles white. “Two of ours, gone. For what? So Cruz and the Serpents can build their empire on our backs?”

The room erupted. Voices clashed, anger spilling out in a wave of frustration and grief. Smoke slammed his fist against the table, the sharp crack silencing the chaos for a moment. “We can’t let this slide, Wraith. Two of our men are dead because of that bastard. We have to hit back. Hard.”

I raised a hand, the room falling silent again. My gaze swept over my crew, hard and unyielding. “We will,” I said, my tone cold, calculated. “But we’re not rushing in blind. Cruz thinks he’s got the upper hand, but these” I tapped the documents “say otherwise. We’ve got his schedules, his suppliers, his goddamn blueprint. And we’re going to use it.”

Torch leaned back in his chair, his knife spinning between his fingers like an extension of himself. “What’s the play, Wraith? Cruz has the Vipers and the Serpents at his back. That’s a lot of firepower.”

“Good,” I said, a smirk tugging at my lips. “I don’t want easy. I want him to feel every second of this. We’re going to bleed him dry, starting with his supply lines. We cut off his weapons and his cash flow. Make him scramble. And when he’s down to nothing, we take him out.”

Chains nodded, his expression grim. “And the Serpents? They’re in this just as deep as Cruz.”

“We’ll deal with them,” I said, my voice a promise, hard and final. “One way or another.”

Torch’s smirk matched my own, the blade in his hand still spinning. “This is going to get messy.”

“I like messy,” I replied, the room erupting into grim laughter. The sound was sharp, edged with the kind of resolve that only came from men ready for war.

As the laughter faded, the room settled into a cold, focused silence. Plans were made, assignments given, and the gears of vengeance grinding into motion. But even as I leaned back in my chair, my mind drifted to Delilah. Axel Cruz wasn’t just a name on a ledger to her—he was blood.

And blood always complicated things.

* * *

The ride to Delilah’s place wasn’t long, but it gave me enough time to stew. The streets were quiet, the cold night air biting at my face as I rolled through the neighborhood. Her house came into view, the familiar silhouette against the dim glow of the streetlamp. My chest tightened as I pulled into the driveway, the roar of my bike cutting through the stillness before I killed the engine.

The house was dark except for the faint glow of a light in the living room. I climbed off my bike, my boots crunching against the gravel as I made my way to the door. I didn’t bother knocking.

The door wasn’t locked, so I pushed it open, stepping inside with deliberate purpose. The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of something sweet—maybe candles or whatever Delilah used to make this place hers.

She was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked under her, a blanket draped across her lap. She had a book in her hand, but the way her shoulders tensed when I entered told me she wasn’t as lost in the story as she wanted to be.

“Ryder,” she said, her voice low and wary. She set the book down, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me. “What are you doing here?”

“Got a few questions for you, kitten,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended as I stepped closer. “Figured I’d get them answered while you’re not busy entertaining anyone else.”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “What the hell do you want?”

I stopped just short of the coffee table, my eyes locked on hers. “I need to know what Axel’s doing with the Iron Serpents. You’ve got to know something.”

She blinked, genuine surprise flashing across her face before it hardened into something more defiant. “I don’t know anything about that,” she said, her voice steady but edged with frustration. “Axel doesn’t exactly share his plans with me.”

“You’re his sister,” I said, my voice low, menacing. “You grew up in this life. You’re telling me you don’t have the slightest clue what your brother’s up to?”

She stood then, the blanket falling away as she crossed the small space between us, her eyes blazing with anger. “I’m telling you, I don’t know!” she snapped. “The Iron Serpents and the Black Vipers aren’t friends. They’ve got history—bad history. Axel hates them as much as you do.”

“That didn’t stop him from working with them,” I shot back, my chest tightening as I thought about the documents we’d found. “We’ve got proof, Delilah. He’s dealing weapons with them, running joint ops. That’s not just ‘bad history.’ That’s betrayal.”

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