Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RYDER
T he 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.
“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.
And that was a whole other problem I didn’t have time to deal with.
I stepped out of church into the main hall, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. Music thumped through the floorboards as I scanned the room. She caught my eye - a petite brunette with olive skin, her lithe body moving sensuously. I beckoned her over with a crook of my finger.
As she approached, I drank in the sight of her–pert breasts, toned stomach, long legs. Not a stitch of clothing on her. Perfect.
"On your knees," I growled. She obeyed instantly, sinking to the floor. I unfastened my belt, the clink of metal loud in my ears. My zipper rasped as I pulled it down, freeing myself.
"Open," I commanded. Her lips parted obediently. I grasped a fistful of her hair, guiding her mouth to my dick. I thrust my dick into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat.
She gagged slightly but took me deeper, her throat relaxing to accommodate my length. I felt the wet heat of her mouth envelop me as she began to bob her head, her tongue swirling around my shaft. Waves of pleasure coursed through me, and I tightened my grip on her hair, setting a steady rhythm.
Her eyes watered as she looked up at me, filled with a mix of desire and submission. I cupped her cheek with my free hand, my thumb caressing her stretched lips. She hummed in response, the vibrations intensifying the sensations.
As I thrust into her eager mouth, my thoughts drifted to Delilah. I imagined it was her lips wrapped around me, her eyes gazing up with adoration.
Consumed by the fantasy, I grabbed the brunette's head with both hands, fingers tangling in her silky hair. I began to pump my hips faster, fucking her mouth with abandon. She took it all, relaxing her throat to accommodate my frenzied pace.
I moaned softly, lost in the imagined scenario. The brunette's tongue swirled expertly, but in my mind, it was Delilah's inexperienced yet eager mouth pleasuring me.
Candace’s skilled mouth worked magic, her tongue tracing delicate patterns along my shaft. But in my mind, it was Delilah’s tentative licks and gentle suction bringing me closer to the edge. I imagined coaching her, teaching her exactly how to pleasure me.
"That's it, just like that," I breathed, lost in the vivid fantasy.
Candace took me deeper, her nose brushing against my pelvis. In my mind's eye, I saw Candace struggling to take my full-length, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she fought her gag reflex.
After a few more brutal thrusts I pulled out of Candace and came all over her face.
I stumbled back, tucking myself away and zipping up my jeans with trembling fingers. My breath came in ragged pants as I fastened my belt, the metal clinking softly. I blinked, the fantasy fading as reality reasserted itself.
Candace remained on her knees, my release dripping down her flushed face. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath, her lips swollen, and her eyes glazed.
"Get the fuck up," I growled, my voice hoarse.
She scrambled to her feet, wiping her face with the back of her hand. I turned away, unable to look at her. Shame and disgust coiled in my gut, threatening to overwhelm me.
Without another word, I strode towards the stairs that led to my room.