Page 54 of Savage Loyalty

The words hang in the air between us, sharp and heavy. I can see the shock on his face, quickly replaced by a deeper fury. But I'm not done. The floodgates have opened, and years of pent-up resentment come pouring out.

"I'm done," I continue, my voice growing stronger with each word. "I'm done. I’m done with being your plaything. I’m with you. I’m done with Axel. I’m done being stuck inside an MC war I didn’t ask to be a part of. I’m done being embarrassed. You let that girl suck your dick last night and walked me in the doors tonight. You’re just like my father and every other MC member I know.”

Ryder's eyes widen, and his grip on my wrist tightens slightly. For a moment, he looks stunned, as if he can't believe what he's hearing. Then his face hardens, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he snarls, his voice low and menacing.

But I'm beyond caring. The dam has broken, and years of pent-up rage and resentment come pouring out. "I know exactly what I'm talking about," I shoot back, my voice trembling with emotion. "I've lived with lies, secrets, and cheating my whole life. I won't live that way again. I was stupid; I know that. This fucked up thing between us it was stupid. I own that. But I'm done."

Ryder's grip on my wrist loosens slightly, but his body remains pressed against mine, pinning me to the rough brick wall. The alley around us is silent save for the distant rumble of motorcycles and the muffled bass from inside the clubhouse. A cool breeze rustles through, carrying with it the scent of exhaust and stale beer.

His eyes, usually so dark and unreadable, now burn with anger.

"You think you know everything, don't you?" he says, his voice low and gravelly. "You think you can just waltz in here and unravel everything I've worked so hard to build."

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with unspoken truths. The dim light of the abandoned warehouse casts long shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jawline and the furrow of his brow. Dust motes dance in the slivers of moonlight that slip through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, giving the scene an otherworldly quality.

Ryder starts to speak, but I cut him off. “It doesn’t fucking matter what you say, Wraith. I’m over it all.”

With those words out there, I turned and walked away. But instead of going through the clubhouse, I take the long way, around the outside of the clubhouse.

I swipe angrily at the tear rolling down my cheek. Why the fuck am I crying?

Ryder Kane isn’t worth my tears.

Once inside my car, I look at the Crimson Reapers’ clubhouse one more time before I pull out.

I know what I have to do.

Leave.

And never look back.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

RYDER

The morning sun hadn’t even cleared the horizon when I pulled up outside Delilah’s house. The tension in my chest had grown unbearable overnight, twisting tighter with every passing hour. I’d waited long enough. She’d made her decision, sure, but I needed to hear her say it again—face to face this time, not through the fog of whiskey and regret.

The engine of my bike rumbled low as I cut it off and swung my leg over. Her little house stood there like it always did, shutters slightly askew, the porch steps in need of fixing. It was quiet, too quiet. I’d seen her car in the driveway plenty of times before, but now? Nothing. The emptiness of the space hit me like a bad omen.

I climbed the steps two at a time and knocked hard enough to make the door rattle in its frame. No answer. My jaw tightened as I tried again, my knuckles pounding a little harder this time. Still nothing.

“Delilah!” I called out, my voice cutting through the morning stillness. I knew she was stubborn, but she wouldn’t ignore me like this. Not unless…

I stepped back and glanced through the front window. The curtains were drawn, but I could see enough to know something was off. The living room was empty. No furniture, no scattered books or mugs. Nothing that screamed Delilah.

My stomach dropped.

“No,” I muttered under my breath, shoving my way off the porch and circling to the side of the house. The back window gave me the same story—emptiness as if she’d never been there to begin with.

Anger flared in my chest, hot and sharp. She’d left. Packed up and walked out without a damn word. My hands curled into fists as I stalked back to the front yard, the weight of realization hitting me harder than I expected.

“Goddamn it, Delilah,” I growled. “You couldn’t even…”

The words died on my tongue. She’d done this to me. She’d slipped through my fingers. And now I was standing here, like an idiot, trying to make sense of the fact that she was gone.

I pulled out my phone and dialed her number, pacing the length of the yard while it rang. And rang. And rang. No answer. The voicemail clicked on, and I ended the call before it could connect. I wasn’t about to leave a message. Not when I needed to see her face and hear her voice.

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