Page 49 of Savage Loyalty

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

RYDER

The clubhouse was a fortress tonight, a bastion of tension and shadows. The air inside was heavy, thick with the weight of the day’s events. The low hum of conversation was punctuated by the occasional clink of a bottle or the scrape of a chair. But none of it dulled the unease knotting in my gut.

I leaned back in my chair at the head of the table, my eyes scanning the room. My crew was restless. Torch, Chains, Smoke, and the others sat around the long, battered table, their faces marked with frustration, anger, and something darker: suspicion. The hits we’d taken weren’t random. The Vipers and the Serpents were moving against us, coordinated and precise. And there was no denying it anymore—we had a mole.

The idea burned in my chest like a shot of bad whiskey. Someone in my circle was feeding them intel. Someone I trusted had betrayed me.

Torch leaned forward, his knife spinning lazily between his fingers, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “We’ve got two separate hits, Wraith. Vipers took out our supply run last week, and now the Serpents hit the warehouse we were using as a front. That’s not a coincidence.”

“No, it’s not,” I said, my voice low and cold. “Someone’s tipping them off.”

Chains’ massive hands flexed on the table, the veins in his arms bulging. “Who? Everyone in this room bleeds Reaper. No way it’s one of us.”

“That’s the problem,” I said, my gaze sweeping the room. “It has to be someone who knows our moves before we make them. Someone with access.”

Smoke slammed his fist on the table, his eyes blazing. “Who the fuck would be stupid enough to cross us?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” I said, my tone sharp. “But first, we deal with this.” I reached into the saddlebag I’d dropped beside my chair, pulling out the envelope we’d taken from the Vipers’ warehouse. I tossed it onto the table, the contents spilling out like a snake uncoiling.

Papers. Photos. Documents stamped with the Iron Serpents’ insignia and marked with Axel Cruz’s name.

“This,” I said, my voice hard, “was sitting pretty in the middle of the Vipers’ stash house. Axel Cruz is working with the Serpents. He’s supplying them, running jobs with them, and using them to come at us.”

Torch picked up one of the papers, his eyes scanning the details. “Shipping manifests, payment schedules. These aren’t small-time deals, Wraith. This is heavy. Guns. Ammo. As we discovered, Axel’s not just working with the Serpents—he’s in deep.”

Chains let out a low growl, his anger palpable. “And now he’s got them hitting us. Three of our guys are dead because of this shit. For what? So Axel can pad his fucking wallet?”

I nodded. “Cruz isn’t just making a move for power. He’s making a statement. He’s coming for us.”

The room buzzed with murmurs, the tension crackling like a live wire. Smoke shook his head, his voice a rough edge. “We can’t let this stand. We need to hit back.”

“And we will,” I said, cutting through the noise. My eyes locked on each of them, my voice sharp and commanding. “But not blind. Axel’s smart, and he’s using the Serpents as cover. We need to be smarter.”

Torch leaned back in his chair, his knife still spinning. “So what’s the play?”

“We choke him out,” I said. “Cut his supply lines, hit his operations, and make him bleed. We use these,” I gestured to the papers, “to dismantle his network. And when he’s got nothing left, we take him out.”

The crew murmured their agreement, the anger simmering into cold resolve. But the tension lingered. The mole’s shadow loomed over us, poisoning the air.

“Wraith,” Torch said, his tone quieter now. “You sure you’re seeing this straight? Cruz is coming at us, but we’ve got problems right here.” He tapped the side of his head with his knife. “Someone’s feeding them. Someone close.”

I locked eyes with him, my chest tightening. “You think I don’t know that? I’ll deal with the mole, Torch. But right now, Cruz is the priority.”

Torch didn’t argue, but the doubt in his eyes was clear. He wasn’t questioning my loyalty—he was questioning my judgment. And I couldn’t blame him.

As the meeting wrapped, the crew filed out, their faces set in grim determination. But Gage—Grim—hung back, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he leaned against the wall.

“You want to say something, Grim?” I asked, my voice edged with irritation.

He pushed off the wall, his boots heavy against the floor as he stepped closer. “Yeah. You’re slipping, Wraith. You’re so focused on Delilah and Axel that you’re missing what’s right in front of you.”

I stood, my shoulders squared as I faced him. “Careful, Grim.”

“Careful?” he echoed, his voice low and sharp. “You’ve got two clubs hitting us, a mole feeding them intel, and you’re chasing after Cruz like it’s personal.”

“It is personal,” I growled.

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