Page 8 of Savage Loyalty

In the weeks that followed, I told myself I didn’t care. That Dad’s approval didn’t matter, that I didn’t need his love or his pride. But it was a lie, one I told myself over and over again, hoping that if I said it enough, I’d start to believe it.

I threw myself into everything—cleaning bikes, running errands, listening to every story Dad told even though I knew he wasn’t really talking to me. I memorized the names of every club member, every rival, every ally. I wanted to prove that I could be part of his world, that I could carry the weight just as well as Axel.

But no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. The harder I pushed, the farther away Dad seemed. And eventually, I stopped trying. Not because I didn’t care anymore, but because I couldn’t take the rejection. The constant reminders that no matter what I did, I would always be on the outside looking in.

I started spending more time away from the clubhouse, finding excuses to leave and stay gone longer than I needed to. I told myself I was just giving Dad space, that maybe if I stepped back, he’d finally see me. But he never did. The distance only made it easier for him to forget I was there at all.

Even now, years later, the memory of Dad’s voice still haunts me. “You’re going to make me proud, Axel.” He’d never said those words to me. He probably never thought them. And as much as I hated him for it, part of me hated myself more—for wanting his approval so badly, for craving the warmth of a love he never gave me.

Sitting here in my apartment, holding a photo of us that felt like it belonged to someone else’s life, the ache in my chest was almost unbearable. I hated him for how small he made me feel, but I hated him even more for leaving me with this emptiness, this hollow space where his love should’ve been.

And now he was gone, and I’d never have the chance to hear those words. To prove to him that I was enough. That I was worth something. The tears came before I could stop them, hot and relentless, spilling down my cheeks as I clutched the photo tighter.

“I was enough,” I whispered to the empty room, the words trembling and uncertain. “I should’ve been enough.”

But the silence didn’t answer, and the ache in my chest only grew.

CHAPTER THREE

DELILAH

The sky was heavy with clouds, the kind that pressed down on you, suffocating and cold. It hadn’t rained yet, but the air felt damp, and I could taste the storm waiting to break. It was fitting, really. Nothing about today was going to be easy.

I stood on the edge of the cemetery, the black dress I’d thrown on clinging to me like a second skin. My leather jacket did little to block out the chill, but I hadn’t brought anything else. This wasn’t a day for comfort. It was a day for remembering—or pretending to.

The Vipers were everywhere. They clustered in small groups near the grave their leather cuts a stark contrast to the bleak gray of the day. Javier Cruz, their king, was gone, and his kingdom felt like it was falling apart. They were talking in hushed tones, their faces grim, but their eyes burned with something raw—grief, anger, fear—maybe all three.

I should’ve stayed away. I didn’t belong here, not anymore. But when Axel called, something inside me couldn’t say no. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was duty. Or maybe it was just that tiny part of me that still wanted to believe in family, even after everything.

Axel stood at the head of the grave, his back straight and his jaw clenched. He looked every bit the president now, his cut polished, his hair slicked back. But there was a tightness to him, a tension that betrayed the weight pressing down on his shoulders.

When his eyes met mine, they were cold. No nod of acknowledgment, no sign that he was glad I was here. Just that same icy indifference he’d perfected over the years. I almost turned around and walked away, but then I saw her.

Luciana “Luce” Vega, my oldest friend and one of the few reasons I hadn’t completely lost my mind growing up in this world, stood off to the side like a shadow, her presence understated but impossible to miss if you knew her. Her arms were crossed over her chest, the leather of her jacket creaking slightly with the movement. She was tall and lean, her sharp features framed by jet-black hair that fell just past her shoulders. A few streaks of deep red dyed into the ends caught the dull light filtering through the clouds. There was a fierceness to her that was impossible to ignore—like a wolf waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Her dark eyes scanned the crowd, always watchful, always assessing. Luce wasn’t the loudest in the room, but she didn’t need to be. Her quiet confidence had a way of commanding attention without a single word. She carried herself with a kind of controlled intensity like she could explode into action at any moment, but only if she decided it was worth her time.

We’d grown up together in this chaos—her as the daughter of a loyal Black Viper soldier, me as the princess of the empire. Even back then, Luce had been my shield in a world full of knives, standing beside me when everyone else only saw me as Javier Cruz’s daughter. We were polar opposites in a lot of ways—she was tough, unyielding, and unapologetically herself while I’d spent years trying to shrink into the background. But somehow, we balanced each other out.

When her father died on a job gone wrong, the club had rallied around her, but it was clear she’d been left to fend for herself in ways that no one wanted to admit. Luce didn’t complain, though. She never asked for help and never showed weakness. Instead, she poured herself into the club, becoming one of the most trusted bartenders and, quietly, a confidante to half the men in leather cuts. But I’d always known the truth: she stayed because this world was all she had left. It wasn’t loyalty—it was survival.

Her full lips curled into the hint of a smile when she saw me, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes but was still genuine enough to make my chest tighten. Luce had always been the person I could count on, even when I didn’t want to count on anyone. She’d been there the night I left, standing in the shadows, her arms crossed over her chest just like they were now.

“You sure about this?” she’d asked me back then, her voice low, cautious.

“No,” I’d admitted. “But I can’t stay here.”

She hadn’t argued, hadn’t tried to stop me. She’d just nodded and stepped back, giving me the space I needed to walk away. It was the last time I’d seen her, until now.

She moved toward me with the same purposeful stride I remembered, the heavy boots she wore clicking against the wet ground. A silver pendant hung around her neck, catching the faint light filtering through the clouds—a keepsake from her mother, one of the few pieces of sentimentality she allowed herself to show. Even now, her presence felt like a lifeline, something solid in a world that felt like it was spinning out of control.

“Delilah,” she said when she reached me, her voice low but steady, as if we’d just seen each other yesterday instead of years ago. “You came.”

“Barely,” I said, forcing a weak smile. “Axel didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

She arched a brow, her expression shifting to something dry and slightly amused. “Yeah, that sounds like Axel. He’s good at barking orders.”

“Some things never change,” I muttered, glancing toward the grave where my brother stood, the weight of his new role written all over his face. “You think he can handle this?”

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