Page 68 of Savage Loyalty

Mom’s expression softened, and for a moment, I thought she might argue. But instead, she stepped into the room and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you,” she’d said quietly. “I just… I hope you know what you’re leaving behind.”

The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving me staring at the photograph in my hands. Back then, I’d thought leaving was the answer to everything. I’d wanted to escape Hollow Ridge, to escape the weight of my father’s expectations and the suffocating grip of the MC life. But now, years later, I’d found myself back in the same house, grappling with the same questions I’d run from.

I placed the photo back in the box and closed the lid, my resolve hardening. This house wasn’t just a reminder of the past; it was a chance to reclaim something for myself and my child. A sanctuary, even if it was temporary. And I was going to protect it—no matter what it took.

I sat back on my heels, the box resting at my feet as I let the silence envelop me. The echoes of my mother’s words lingered in my mind, mixing with the swirling thoughts of everything I had left behind. It struck me how life had a cruel way of forcing us to circle back to the very places we tried to escape.

The front porch creaked as the wind picked up outside, and I instinctively glanced toward the door. Axel’s words from earlier replayed in my head, their sharp edges cutting deeper with every repetition. He thought he knew what was best for me, but he had no idea what it was like to live in this space, torn between loyalty and freedom, between the past and the future.

I stood, brushing the dust off my jeans and crossing the room to the window. The yard was overgrown, the grass wild and untamed, a stark contrast to the neatly trimmed hedges I remembered from childhood. Back then, my father insisted on order and everything in its place. He’d said it was a sign of strength, of control. I wondered what he would think of this place now, abandoned and overrun, a shell of what it once was.

The baby shifted, a flutter against my ribs, and I pressed a hand to my stomach. “It’s just us now,” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the quiet room. “But we’ll make it work.”

The sound of an engine in the distance snapped me out of my thoughts. I tensed, peering out the window as a motorcycle roared past the house, its rider a blur. My heart raced for a moment before I realized it wasn’t Axel—or Ryder. Just another reminder that this town, with all its scars and secrets, was still alive in its own way.

I turned back to the box, determined to keep moving. The photographs had stirred something in me, a blend of nostalgia and pain, but I couldn’t afford to dwell on it. There were more practical matters to consider: securing the house, stocking up on supplies, and figuring out how to navigate the delicate balance between the Crimson Reapers and the Black Vipers without getting myself—or my child—caught in the crossfire.

As I sorted through the contents of the box, I came across a worn leather-bound journal tucked beneath a stack of old envelopes. I hesitated before picking it up, the familiar feel of the cover stirring another wave of memories. It was my mother’s journal, the one she kept tucked away in her nightstand. I’d stumbled across it once as a child and had been scolded for prying. Now, years later, it felt like a bridge to the woman I’d barely had time to know.

I opened it carefully; the pages yellowed with age. Her handwriting was neat and deliberate, the words flowing across the paper like she’d poured her soul into them. Flipping through the entries, I caught glimpses of her hopes and fears, her struggles with the life she’d been thrust into. One entry, in particular, caught my attention:

“I see so much of myself in Delilah. She’s strong and determined, but I worry that strength will be tested in ways she’s not prepared for. This life, this world—it’s not what I wanted for her. I hope she finds her way out, even if it means leaving us behind.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I had to sit down, the journal clutched tightly in my hands. My mother had seen it all, the cycles of violence and loyalty that kept us tethered to this life. And yet, she’d believed in me. She’d believed I could break free.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them away, unwilling to let them fall. “I’m trying, Mom,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I’m really trying.”

The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze as I continued unpacking, the journal’s presence a quiet comfort amid the chaos. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the house in soft, golden light, I felt a small sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

I stepped onto the porch, the cool evening air wrapping around me as I stared out at the darkening sky. The world felt quiet, but I knew better. Beneath the surface, the tensions between the clubs simmered, waiting for the next spark to ignite them. Axel’s visit had been a warning, and I didn’t doubt there would be more to come.

But standing there, with the journal tucked under my arm and the weight of the day pressing down on me, I made a silent vow. No matter what came next, I would protect this house, this baby, this fragile sense of hope I’d found. I would fight for it with everything I had. If there was one thing my mother had taught me, it was that strength wasn’t just about surviving—it was about refusing to give up.

This wasn’t going to be easy. Coming back to Hollow Ridge had already stirred up more trouble than I anticipated. But as I sat there, cradling the life growing inside me, I knew one thing for certain: I wasn’t going to let anyone—Axel, Ryder, or the ghosts of my past—dictate my future. This was my fight now, and I was ready for it.

* * *

A sudden knock at the door shattered the stillness of the evening. My heart jumped into my throat, and I froze, staring toward the door. Who could it be now? Axel again? Ryder? Someone else from the past I thought I’d left behind?

The knock came again, sharper this time, and I pushed myself off the couch, nerves coiling tight in my stomach. I hesitated at the door, my hand hovering over the handle. "Who is it?" I called out, my voice steady despite the fear creeping in.

No answer.

Another knock, insistent.

I steeled myself and opened the door, expecting to see Axel’s scowl or Ryder’s piercing gaze. Instead, it was neither. A man I didn’t recognize stood there, his face shadowed by the dim porch light. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that seemed to bore straight into me.

"Can I help you?" I asked warily, my hand tightening on the edge of the door.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved fast—too fast. Before I could react, his hand shot out, grabbing my arm in a vice-like grip. Panic surged through me, but my first instinct wasn’t to fight—it was to protect the baby. I twisted slightly, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightened.

“Let me go!” I shouted, planting my feet to resist, but his strength far outweighed mine. His dark eyes flickered with annoyance as he began dragging me toward a dark van parked at the edge of the driveway.

“Don’t make this harder,” he hissed, his tone cold and commanding. “You’re coming with us.”

The realization that this was a planned abduction sent a fresh wave of terror through me. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t acting alone. He’d come for me specifically, and there was no doubt in my mind it was tied to the MC war I’d tried so hard to avoid. The thought of being dragged into their chaos, of putting my unborn child in danger, made my stomach churn.

"Shut up!" he hissed, his grip tightening. "You don’t want to make this worse."

---