Page 57 of Savage Loyalty

I headed straight for the table at the center of the room—the war table. Doc and Dex were already there, maps and notes spread out like pieces of a puzzle we had to solve before the clock ran out.

"What’ve we got?" I asked, dropping into a chair.

Dex shook his head. "Not much. But if what that Serpent said is true, we’ve got less than 24 hours to lock this place down."

"We’ll need more than locks," Doc added, his voice steady but grim. "If they’re bringing explosives, they’re not planning to knock on the front door."

I nodded, the plan already forming in my mind. “Grim wants decoys set up. Blade, get some scrap bikes, and stage them near the perimeter. Make it look like we’re exposed."

Blade grinned, his knife pausing mid-stroke. "On it. I’ll make it look like a damn junkyard."

"Dex," I continued, "double the patrols. I want eyes on every blind spot. If anyone so much as breathes near this place, we need to know."

"Done," Dex replied, scribbling notes as he spoke.

Doc leaned back, crossing his arms. "And what if they breach? What’s the fallback?"

"We hold," I said firmly. "This is our home. We don’t give an inch."

Doc studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Understood."

The room fell into a heavy silence as the weight of what was coming settled over us. I looked around the table at the faces of the men who’d fight beside me. Brothers. Family. We’d bled together, laughed together, buried too many together. Tomorrow, we’d fight together. And we’d either walk away from it or go down swinging.

"Alright," I said, standing and grabbing my helmet. "Let’s get to work. Tomorrow’s going to be hell, but we’re walking out of it. All of us."

As the others dispersed, I lingered for a moment, staring down at the maps and notes. My thoughts drifted again to Delilah, to the way she looked at me before she disappeared. She should’ve been here. But she wasn’t. And that thought burned hotter than I wanted to admit.

I pushed the anger down, forcing myself to focus. There’d be time to deal with Delilah later. First, we had a war to win.

The engine growled to life under me, a familiar rhythm that usually settled my thoughts. Tonight, it couldn’t cut through the storm in my head. As I tore down the darkened streets, the cold air biting at my face, my mind drifted back to Delilah. Her laugh, her stubbornness, the way she’d looked at me like I wasn’t just another outlaw with blood on his hands. I gripped the handlebars tighter, the memory twisting like a knife in my chest.

She was out there somewhere, running again. It was her way, always bolting when things got too real. But this time felt different. She wasn’t just running from me; she was running from everything. And I didn’t know if I could catch her.

The city blurred around me, streetlights casting fleeting shadows across the asphalt. My thoughts shifted, unbidden, to the Black Vipers and Iron Serpents. Two clubs with blood in their teeth and nothing to lose. They’d been circling us for months, picking fights, testing our defenses. And now they were ready to strike.

The Vipers were chaos incarnate—unpredictable, wild. They thrived on fear, on making their enemies second-guess every move. But the Serpents? They were calculated and deliberate. Every action, every attack, was part of a bigger plan. It was like fighting a storm while another brewed just beyond the horizon.

I couldn’t let my guard down, not even for a second. Delilah, the Serpents, the Vipers—it was all connected, all tangled up in a web of violence and betrayal. And I was in the center of it, trying to hold everything together.

The clubhouse loomed ahead, its silhouette stark against the night sky. I eased off the throttle, the growl of the engine settling into a low rumble as I pulled into the lot. Bikes were lined up in neat rows, their chrome gleaming under the dim security lights. The hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter carried from inside, but the tension was palpable. Everyone knew what was coming.

I killed the engine and swung off the bike, my boots crunching against the gravel. The weight of Reaper’s orders was still heavy on my shoulders as I pushed open the clubhouse door. The familiar smell of leather, beer, and motor oil greeted me, but it did little to ease the knot in my gut.

Inside, the guys were scattered around—some playing pool, others huddled in quiet conversation. Blade was at the bar, nursing a beer and sharpening a blade that looked sharp enough to split hairs. Shadow leaned against the far wall, his gaze distant, his fingers tapping out a rhythm only he could hear. They all looked up as I entered, the room falling silent for a beat before the low hum of activity resumed.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

RYDER

The night was alive with tension as the Reapers prepared for the attack. My mind was a maelstrom of plans, contingencies, and the gnawing sense that tonight would change everything. The Reapers weren’t the only ones tired of the Iron Serpents. Their stranglehold on the city was tightening, and if we didn’t act, they’d choke out the rest of us.

"Move out!" Grim’s voice cut through the night air like a whip. I swung onto my bike, the engine roaring to life under me. The others followed, our headlights cutting through the darkness as we made our way toward the Serpent’s warehouse—their supposed stronghold. My heart pounded with anticipation, each beat a reminder of what was at stake.

As we neared the site, I caught sight of Shadow signaling from his position ahead. We killed our engines and moved in silence, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath our boots. My pulse quickened as I scanned the area. Something felt off.

"Kane!" a familiar voice hissed from the shadows. I froze, my blood running cold. Axel Cruz. Or, as I’d always called him, Cruz. He stepped out, flanked by several of his Black Vipers. The tension between us was immediate, crackling like static electricity.

"Cruz," I growled, my hand instinctively going to my weapon. "What the hell are you doing here?"

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