Page 50 of Savage Loyalty

“And that’s the problem,” Grim shot back. “You’re so wrapped up in Delilah and her brother that you’re not thinking straight. This club needs you focused.”

“I’m focused,” I said, my voice a warning. “Don’t question that again.”

Grim stared at me for a long moment, his jaw tight. Then he nodded once, sharp and final. “Fine. But if this goes sideways, it’s on you.”

I didn’t respond as he walked out, the weight of his words settling over me like a storm cloud. He wasn’t wrong. Axel Cruz and Delilah were a distraction—one I couldn’t afford. But every time I tried to push them out of my mind, they came roaring back, dragging me deeper into the chaos.

I sat back down, my hands braced on the table as I stared at the envelope. Axel Cruz was a problem. The mole was a problem. And Delilah? She was a problem all her own.

I was going to solve them all, one way or another, even if it killed me.

I stayed behind; my hands braced on the scarred table as I stared at the spread of documents in front of me. Axel Cruz’s name was written all over the mess we were in, but it was the unknowns—the missing pieces—that gnawed at me. The mole in our ranks. The next move the Serpents or the Vipers might make. The weight of it all sat heavily on my shoulders.

The door creaked behind me, and I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Torch. His boots tapped against the floor as he walked back into the room, the sound deliberate and purposeful.

“You don’t know how to quit, do you?” I said, my voice low as I straightened, still not turning to face him.

Torch leaned against the wall, flipping his knife lazily in his hand. “Figured you’d still be brooding in here,” he said, his tone casual, but his eyes were sharp. “You’ve been running at full throttle for weeks, Wraith. Doesn’t take a genius to see you’re burning yourself out.”

I turned to face him, my glare sharp enough to cut. “I don’t have time for this, Torch.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” he replied, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “You’re so wound up you’re gonna snap. And when you do, it’s not gonna be pretty—for you or the rest of us.”

“I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth, my patience wearing thin.

Torch smirked, but there was no humor in it. “Sure you are. That’s why you’re sitting here after church, staring at the same papers we’ve all already seen, like they’re gonna tell you something new.”

I clenched my jaw, my fists tightening at my sides. “What do you want, Torch?”

“To tell you what you don’t wanna hear,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re carrying this shit like it’s all on you, but it’s not. We’ve got your back, Wraith. But you keep this up, and you’re gonna tear yourself apart before we even get a shot at Cruz.”

“I don’t have the luxury of relaxing,” I shot back, my voice rising slightly. “Not when we’ve got a mole feeding intel, and Cruz is working with the Serpents to bury us.”

Torch’s smirk faded, his expression hardening. “Yeah, I get it. I do. But you’re no good to us if you’re so strung out you can’t see straight.”

I ran a hand over my face, the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Torch was right, but admitting that wasn’t in my nature.

“And while we’re at it,” Torch continued, his tone sharpening, “maybe you should take a minute to figure out what the hell’s going on with you and Delilah.”

My head snapped up, my glare locking onto him. “What about Delilah?”

“Oh, come on, Wraith,” Torch said, throwing his hands up. “You’re all over the place where she’s concerned. Half the time, you’re treating her like she’s yours; the other half, you’re questioning her like she’s the goddamn mole. Make up your mind.”

“She’s not the mole,” I said firmly, though the words felt like a double-edged sword. “And this has nothing to do with her.”

Torch let out a dry laugh. “Bullshit. This has everything to do with her. You think we don’t see the way she’s under your skin? Hell, Wraith, she’s practically branded there.”

I didn’t respond, my jaw tightening as I stared him down. Torch sighed, shaking his head as he stepped back toward the door.

“Look,” he said, pausing in the doorway. “All I’m saying is, if you keep letting this shit eat at you, you’re gonna make mistakes. Big ones. Go let one of the girls blow off some steam for you. God knows you need it.”

“Get out, Torch,” I growled, my voice low and sharp.

He smirked again, but there was no malice in it. “You’re welcome,” he said, walking out and leaving the door swinging slightly behind him.

I stood there for a moment, the room suddenly feeling too empty. Torch’s words lingered in the air, settling heavily in my chest. He wasn’t wrong—I was wound tighter than a tripwire. But the idea of taking his advice, of letting someone else ease the tension, didn’t sit right with me.

Because the only person who could get under my skin enough to matter was Delilah.

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