Page 52 of Savage Loyalty

The weight of my words hung in the air, the cemetery swallowing them whole. For a moment, I let the silence sit between us as if he could hear me as if he could respond. But, of course, there was nothing. Just the cold wind and the faint rustle of leaves.

“I hate you for this,” I said finally, my voice softer but no less raw. “I hate that you made me come back, that you left me to deal with Axel and this mess. I hate that I can’t walk away, even when I want to.”

I turned to leave, my hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets as I walked back toward my car. The gravel crunched beneath my feet, each step heavier than the last.

But as I reached the car and opened the door, I paused, glancing back at the grave.

The sound of engines in the distance pulled me from my thoughts. It was faint at first, but it grew louder and unmistakable. My heart sank as I turned toward the source.

Crimson Reapers.

The bikes rolled into the cemetery with deliberate, menacing precision, their rumbling engines breaking the stillness. Ryder was at the front, his dark eyes locked on me as he dismounted his bike. The others followed suit, their presence heavy and commanding, the air around them practically crackling with tension.

“What are you doing here, Wraith?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

Ryder didn’t answer immediately. He strode toward me, his boots crunching against the gravel, his expression unreadable but intense. When he reached me, he didn’t stop, his presence overwhelming as he invaded my space.

“You’re coming with me,” he said, his voice low and firm, leaving no room for argument.

I bristled, taking a step back. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Ryder growled, his tone darkening. “Things are getting bad, Delilah. Thanks to your brother, this whole town’s about to blow, and you’re sitting here like nothing’s happening.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do,” I snapped, anger flaring. “I’m not your responsibility.”

Ryder’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “You’re wrong, kitten. You’re in this whether you like it or not. And if Axel thinks for a second he can use you as leverage, you’re going to need someone to keep you alive.”

I shook my head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I don’t need your help, Ryder.”

“Like hell you don’t.” Ryder took another step forward, his hand gripping my arm—not harshly, but firmly enough to make his point. “You’re coming to the clubhouse, and that’s final. It’s not safe for you out here.”

I hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. As much as I hated to admit it, he was probably right. The tension between the Vipers, the Serpents, and the Reapers had been escalating, and Axel’s choices had only made things worse.

“Fine,” I said finally, pulling my arm free. “But don’t think for a second that I trust you.”

Ryder smirked, a dark and knowing expression that sent a shiver down my spine. “You don’t have to trust me, kitten. You just have to listen.”

The ride to the Crimson Reapers’ clubhouse was tense, the hum of their bikes filling the silence as we tore through the streets. When we pulled into the lot, the floodlights cast harsh shadows across the row of parked bikes, and the building loomed ahead like a fortress.

As soon as I stepped inside, the noise hit me—a mix of loud music, laughter, and the clinking of bottles. The room was packed, the air thick with cigarette smoke, leather, and tension. My eyes darted around, taking in the scene.

The moment Ryder walked in with me at his side, the atmosphere shifted. Heads turned, whispers spreading like wildfire. The club girls, cast me venomous looks, their eyes narrowing with barely concealed jealousy. Half-naked club girls drifted through the room, their barely-there outfits clinging to their curves like second skins. Tiny skirts, plunging necklines, and high heels clicked against the floor as they swayed past. They moved with calculated ease, their gazes sharp and predatory as they scanned the crowd.

But it wasn’t the men they were looking at. Not tonight.

It was me.

One brunette in a barely-there halter top froze mid-step, her glossy lips parting as her eyes flicked to Ryder’s hand on my back. Another girl with wild blonde curls and a glittering crop top openly glared at me, crossing her arms as if she were daring me to step out of line.

The whispers started immediately, spreading like wildfire through the room. Words I couldn’t make out but could feel—sharp-edged and cutting. Every venomous glance, every hushed murmur, chipped away at my composure. I was an outsider here, and they wanted me to know it.

Ryder didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t care. His hand remained firmly on the small of my back, guiding me forward with the same steady, unyielding energy he always carried. His presence burned through the noise, a live wire in the chaos. The heat of his touch seeped through my jacket, grounding me even as my nerves tightened.

I swallowed hard, keeping my chin up and my steps steady, even as the tension pressed down on me like a physical weight. I could almost hear their unspoken thoughts:Who does she think she is? Why is he with her?

As we moved further into the room, the looks didn’t stop. If anything, they grew sharper, more pointed. I caught snippets of conversation—a low laugh here, a hissed comment there. My chest tightened, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me falter.

Still, a nagging thought clawed at the edges of my mind: how many of them thought they had a claim on him? Judging by the way they looked at me, too many.

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