Page 65 of Savage Loyalty

He looked up at me, his eyes hollow. "I’m sorry," he said, but the words felt empty, meaningless.

"Sorry doesn’t cut it," I said, pulling my gun from its holster. The room went silent, the air thick with the finality of what was about to happen.

“Wraith," Blade started, but I held up a hand, cutting him off.

"He made his choice," I said, my voice steady. "And now I’m making mine."

Dagger’s eyes widened, the fear finally breaking through his facade. "Wait, please?—"

The gunshot echoed through the room, silencing his plea. Dagger slumped forward, the chair creaking under his weight as blood pooled on the floor. I holstered my weapon, turning to face the rest of the club.

"Let this be a reminder," I said, my voice cold and unwavering. "We don’t tolerate betrayal. Not here. Not ever."

The brothers nodded, their expressions grim but resolute. Steel stepped forward, already moving to clean up the mess, while the others began to disperse. But I stayed where I was, the weight of what I’d just done settling over me like a lead blanket.

Dagger had been one of us. And now, he was a reminder of what happened when loyalty faltered.

I turned and walked out of the meeting room, the tension still thick in the air. The club had been warned. The message was clear. But the war was far from over.

As I walked back toward my office, the adrenaline began to wear off, leaving an ache in my chest that had nothing to do with Dagger and everything to do with the state of the club. This wasn’t the first time I’d dealt with betrayal, but it didn’t make it any easier. Every loss chipped away at the foundation of what we’d built, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were teetering on the edge of something much worse.

Blade caught up with me in the hallway, his expression unreadable. "You did what you had to do," he said, falling into step beside me.

"Doesn’t mean I have to like it," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "We shouldn’t have to clean house like this."

"We wouldn’t if everyone remembered what this club stands for," Blade said, his voice sharp. "But we’re fighting a war on too many fronts, Ryder. The Vipers, the Serpents, even some of our own. It’s only a matter of time before someone else cracks."

I stopped walking, turning to face him. "Then we make damn sure no one else does. We tighten security; we vet everyone—even the ones we think we can trust. This club doesn’t survive without loyalty, Blade. And if someone can’t give us that, they don’t belong here."

He nodded, his jaw set. "I’ll get on it."

As he walked away, I continued to my office, the weight of the day pressing down on me. I sank into my chair, the silence of the room both a relief and a curse. My mind raced with everything that had happened, everything that was still to come.

A knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts. Torch stepped inside, his expression grim. "The cleanup’s done. But there’s something else you need to see."

I frowned, pushing myself to my feet. "What is it?"

He handed me a piece of paper, the edges stained with blood. It was a note, hastily scrawled, but the words made my blood run cold:They’re coming. Tonight.

"Where did you find this?" I demanded, my voice sharp.

"In Dagger’s pocket," Torch said. "Looks like he was planning to warn us. Or maybe use it as leverage. Either way, we need to move."

I clenched my fists, my mind racing. If the Vipers were planning an attack, we couldn’t afford to be caught off guard. "Get everyone ready," I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "We’re not waiting for them to make the first move."

Torch nodded and left, leaving me alone with the note. I stared at it, the words blurring as anger and determination coursed through me. The Vipers thought they could take us down, thought they could exploit our weaknesses. But they had no idea who they were dealing with.

I crumpled the note in my fist, the weight of what was coming settling over me. The Reapers had been pushed to the brink, but we weren’t broken. And I’d make damn sure we stayed that way.

The hours that followed were a blur of preparation and tension, each moment stretched thin by the weight of what was coming. The brothers moved with purpose, their faces grim as they loaded weapons, reinforced barricades, and triple-checked their positions around the clubhouse. The scrape of metal against wood, the clink of ammunition being loaded, and the low murmur of voices filled the air—a chorus of resolve and readiness.

I walked through the chaos, my eyes scanning every corner, every movement. Each of the men wore the same determined expression, but I could see the unease lingering in the background. It wasn’t fear—not outright—but the kind of tension that came from knowing tonight could be the night everything changed. The thought echoed in my mind as I passed Torch, who was meticulously arranging Molotov cocktails by the window.

“We’re stocked and ready,” he said without looking up, his voice steady. “They’ll regret showing up here.”

I gave him a sharp nod, my focus shifting to the barricades at the front entrance. Steel was there, hammering wooden planks into place over the windows. The wood creaked under his strength, but it held firm. He caught my eye and gave me a quick thumbs-up before getting back to work.

“They’ll hit hard,” Blade said as he fell into step beside me, his shotgun slung over his shoulder. His face was set in a grim scowl, his eyes scanning the perimeter. “If they’re desperate enough to come after us here, they won’t hold back.”

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