Page 13 of Savage Loyalty

I didn’t want to think about why.

The street around me was empty, the dim glow of the streetlights casting long, distorted shadows across the wet pavement. The rain had picked up again, each drop sharp and cold as it hit my skin, but I barely noticed. My mind was too busy replaying every word, every look, every second of that encounter.

The tall one’s mocking voice still rang in my ears; his smug smirk burned into my memory. But it was Ryder’s presence that lingered, his quiet authority overshadowing everything else. He’d ended the confrontation with a single word, his tone calm and unyielding, and the others had listened without question.

The way they fell silent, the way they moved aside for him—it wasn’t just respect. It was fear.

What kind of man commands that kind of loyalty?

My fingers curled into fists inside my jacket pockets, the tension in my shoulders refusing to ease. My breathing was still uneven, shallow, and ragged, as if I’d just run a mile instead of walking a few blocks. The memory of Ryder’s gaze sent a fresh wave of unease crawling up my spine.

It wasn’t just his authority or his presence that unsettled me. It was the way he looked at me—sharp and assessing like he was trying to figure out exactly where I fit into his world. Like I wasn’t just some random girl walking through his territory but something more.

I hated the way that thought made my stomach twist.

This was why I’d left.

This was why I’d worked so hard to build a life outside of the Vipers’ world. Because no matter how far I ran, no matter how much distance I tried to put between myself and my father’s name, it was never enough. The Black Vipers were a part of me, whether I wanted them to be or not.

But this was different. This wasn’t just about the Vipers or my father’s legacy. The Reapers were their own force, their own kind of chaos, and they weren’t just a threat to the club—they were a threat to me.

Ryder hadn’t said it outright, but the warning was there in every word, every look. I didn’t belong on their turf. And if I stayed in Ridgewood too long, I’d find out just how dangerous the Reapers could be.

The rain began to soak through my jacket, the cold seeping into my skin, but I didn’t speed up. The weight in my chest was too heavy, the memory of Ryder’s voice and my father’s warnings blending into a twisted echo in my mind.

You think you can walk away?

This world is unforgiving.

You don’t belong here.

It wasn’t just the Reapers that were dangerous. It was this whole world—the rules, the power struggles, the constant fight for dominance. Dad had tried to shield me from it, but he’d done it in the only way he knew how: by keeping me so close that I couldn’t breathe.

And now he was gone, and the cracks in the Vipers were already starting to show.

Maybe Ryder wasn’t wrong. Maybe I didn’t belong here.

But where else could I go?

CHAPTER FIVE

RYDER

The roar of the phone vibrating on the table cut through the quiet of the clubhouse, snapping me out of my thoughts. The sound felt sharper in the stillness, a jarring intrusion that pulled me from the fog of a late-night buzz. I leaned back in the chair, the old wood creaking under my weight, and tossed the half-empty beer bottle onto the table with a dull clink. The phone rattled again, insistent. I snatched it up without checking the caller ID. It was always bad news at this hour.

“What?” I barked, my voice rougher than I intended.

“Vipers hit the depot.” Torch’s voice came through sharp, urgent, cutting straight to the point. “It’s bad, Wraith. One of ours is down–a chest shot. Chains is handling what’s left.”

His words sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through me, and my grip on the phone tightened. My mind raced, already running through the worst-case scenarios, the possible fallout. “Who?” I demanded, shoving back the chair and rising to my feet. My cut hung on the back of the chair, and I grabbed it instinctively, the familiar leather grounding me even as my blood started to boil.

“Tobias,” Torch said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something I didn’t hear from him often—grief. “He’s gone.”

The words hit like a hammer to the chest, heavy and final. I froze for a moment, the weight of them settling deep in my gut. Knox was young—barely into his twenties. He’d been patched in last year, eager and full of fire, the kind of kid who thought wearing the cut made him invincible.

And now he was gone.

I didn’t let myself linger on it. There’d be time for mourning later—if we survived this. “Where’s Chains?” I asked, my voice low and steady, though the fury simmering beneath the surface was enough to make my hands shake.

---