Page 73 of Savage Loyalty

The sound of footsteps approached again, and I braced myself. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Memories flooded my mind, unbidden. I saw my father standing in this very house, his voice raised in anger as he argued with my mother. The same walls that had once echoed with their fights now surrounded me in my darkest moment. My father had been ruthless, unforgiving, a man who valued power above all else. And now, I wondered if I’d inherited any of his strength.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, the movement limited by the chains. “We’re going to get out of this,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I promise.”

The hours stretched on, each second an eternity. The Serpents’ voices filtered through the walls, their laughter and taunts reminding me just how precarious my situation was. I knew Ryder would come for me. Axel too. But would they be in time?

The door opened again, and this time, two men entered. One carried a tray of food, the other more chains. My pulse quickened as they approached.

“Eat up,” the first man said, dropping the tray onto the cot. “You’ll need your strength.”

“For what?” I asked, my voice defiant.

The second man grinned, his teeth yellowed and uneven. “For whatever happens next.”

They left without another word, and I stared at the tray. The food looked unappetizing, but I forced myself to eat. I couldn’t afford to be weak, not now.

As I chewed, I thought of Ryder. His voice, his touch, the way he’d always looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered. I thought of Axel, his overbearing protectiveness, and the way he’d always tried to shield me from this life. They had their flaws and their grudges, but I knew one thing for certain: they’d burn the world down to save me.

The sound of footsteps approached again, and I braced myself. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The door creaked open, and the first man returned, his hulking frame casting a long shadow over the room. He carried a coiled whip in one hand and a smirk on his face that made my stomach churn. “Miss me already?” he sneered, stepping closer.

I clenched my fists, my heart hammering in my chest as I tried to maintain a calm exterior. Inside, I was screaming. I glanced at the whip, bile rising in my throat.

“Boss says I’ve got to keep you in one piece,” he said, dragging the whip along the floor as he walked. “But he didn’t say I couldn’t have a little fun scaring you.”

“You think this makes you powerful?” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “Hurting a woman chained to a bed? That’s the mark of a weak man.”

His smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by a flash of anger. “Careful,” he growled. “You don’t know how far I’m willing to go.”

“I know exactly how far cowards like you go,” I snapped, my voice dripping with contempt.

The whip cracked against the concrete floor, the sound echoing through the room. I flinched involuntarily, and he laughed, the sound cold and devoid of humor. “That’s what I thought,” he said, leaning down until his face was inches from mine. “You’re all talk, sweetheart.”

I stared back at him, my body trembling but my gaze unwavering. “You can scare me. You can hurt me. But you’ll never break me. And when they come for me… you’ll wish you’d never laid a hand on me.”

His grin widened, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. He straightened and tossed the whip onto the floor at the foot of the bed. “We’ll see about that,” he said, backing toward the door. “You’ve got fight now, but everyone breaks eventually.”

When he finally left, the door slamming shut behind him, I exhaled shakily. Tears blurred my vision, but I blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. I had to be strong. For myself. For my baby.

The minutes dragged into hours, the darkness around me pressing in on all sides. My cheek throbbed where he’d hit me earlier, and I pressed my palm to the tender spot, the physical pain grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected. I closed my eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of my breathing.

A faint flutter against my ribs broke through the storm of my thoughts. My baby. I placed my hand on my stomach; my fingers splayed protectively. “We’re going to make it through this,” I whispered. “I promise.”

The sound of voices filtered through the walls, muffled but growing louder. One of them was angry, the words sharp and clipped. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it was clear there was disagreement. My pulse quickened. Was this a sign of weakness in their ranks? A crack I could exploit?

I strained to hear more, catching snippets of words like “deadline” and “message.” My heart sank as I pieced it together. They weren’t planning to keep me alive for long. I was a bargaining chip, nothing more. Once they got what they wanted—or didn’t—I’d be disposable.

The door opened again, this time revealing a man I hadn’t seen before. He was smaller than the others, wiry and sharp-eyed, his expression one of clinical detachment. He carried a clipboard and a flashlight, and as he approached, he clicked the light on, shining it directly into my eyes.

“Vitals check,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

He ignored me, setting the clipboard down and pulling a stethoscope from his pocket. “Hold still,” he said, pressing the cold metal to my chest. I didn’t have much of a choice, shackled as I was, but I jerked away as best I could.

“You’re not a doctor,” I said, glaring at him. “You’re a butcher.”

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