Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RYDER
T he morning sun hadn’t even cleared the horizon when I pulled up outside Delilah’s house. The tension in my chest had grown unbearable overnight, twisting tighter with every passing hour. I’d waited long enough. She’d made her decision, sure, but I needed to hear her say it again—face to face this time, not through the fog of whiskey and regret.
The engine of my bike rumbled low as I cut it off and swung my leg over. Her little house stood there like it always did, shutters slightly askew, the porch steps in need of fixing. It was quiet, too quiet. I’d seen her car in the driveway plenty of times before, but now? Nothing. The emptiness of the space hit me like a bad omen.
I climbed the steps two at a time and knocked hard enough to make the door rattle in its frame. No answer. My jaw tightened as I tried again, my knuckles pounding a little harder this time. Still nothing.
“Delilah!” I called out, my voice cutting through the morning stillness. I knew she was stubborn, but she wouldn’t ignore me like this. Not unless…
I stepped back and glanced through the front window. The curtains were drawn, but I could see enough to know something was off. The living room was empty. No furniture, no scattered books or mugs. Nothing that screamed Delilah.
My stomach dropped.
“No,” I muttered under my breath, shoving my way off the porch and circling to the side of the house. The back window gave me the same story—emptiness as if she’d never been there to begin with.
Anger flared in my chest, hot and sharp. She’d left. Packed up and walked out without a damn word. My hands curled into fists as I stalked back to the front yard, the weight of realization hitting me harder than I expected.
“Goddamn it, Delilah,” I growled. “You couldn’t even…”
The words died on my tongue. She’d done this to me. She’d slipped through my fingers. And now I was standing here, like an idiot, trying to make sense of the fact that she was gone.
I pulled out my phone and dialed her number, pacing the length of the yard while it rang. And rang. And rang. No answer. The voicemail clicked on, and I ended the call before it could connect. I wasn’t about to leave a message. Not when I needed to see her face and hear her voice.
My bike was waiting for me, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave just yet. Instead, I stood there, staring at the house, hoping—maybe stupidly—that she’d pull up any second, that this was all some misunderstanding.
But deep down, I knew better. Delilah wasn’t coming back. Not today. Maybe not ever.
The thought made my chest tighten, the anger bubbling over into something sharper, more dangerous. She thought she could just disappear, leave me in the dust like I didn’t matter? Like we didn’t matter?
My fists clenched again, nails biting into my palms as I turned back to my bike. Fine. If she didn’t want to talk, I’d find her. Delilah might be good at running, but I’ve spent my life chasing—and catching. This time wouldn’t be any different.
She couldn’t outrun me. Not when I was the one thing she’d never stop thinking about, no matter how far she tried to go.
The call came in just as I swung my leg over my bike. Grim’s voice was clipped, urgent. “We’ve got a problem. One of the Serpents. He’s alive, but not for long.”
I didn’t need to ask for details. The tone in his voice told me enough: this wasn’t a delay we could afford. I gunned the engine, the roar of it drowning out everything else as I sped toward the warehouse.
The dimly lit warehouse reeked of oil, blood, and sweat—a trifecta of desperation and inevitability. The Serpent, bound to the chair in the middle of the room, glared up at me with defiance. His face was swollen, a fresh cut above his eyebrow dripping crimson onto his leather vest. The Reapers stood in a semicircle around him, their presence heavy and menacing.
“You’re wasting your time,” the Serpent spat, his voice hoarse but filled with venom. “I’ll never talk.”
I crouched in front of him, meeting his gaze head-on. “See, that’s the thing. I don’t need you to talk. You will. They always do.”
The man’s jaw clenched, his bravado wavering for just a second. Behind me, Axel cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing in the silent room like a promise.
“We know about the attack,” I said, my voice calm but laced with steel. “We just need the when and the how. Make it easy on yourself.”
The Serpent laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "Go to hell."
Blade moved in for another strike, but the Serpent jerked his chair back just enough to dodge the blow. "You think you can break me?" he snarled, blood and spit flying as he strained against the ropes. "You don't know who you're messing with."
I leaned in closer, my voice low and deadly. "Oh, I know exactly who I'm messing with. And I also know you won't leave this room alive unless you give me what I need."
The Serpent sneered, a flicker of fear finally breaking through his tough facade. He yanked against his bonds, the chair creaking under his weight. "Do your worst," he spat.
Blade didn't need a second invitation. This time, the crowbar slammed against the Serpent's kneecap with a sickening crunch. His scream echoed through the warehouse, raw and guttural. Still, he didn’t give in.
"Tell me!" I barked, grabbing his bloodied face and forcing him to look at me. "When and how?"
His breathing was ragged, his resolve cracking. "You'll regret this," he hissed through clenched teeth, but his eyes darted around the room, seeking an escape that didn’t exist.
"You don’t have time to waste," I warned, my grip tightening. "Neither do I. Talk. Now."
The Serpent held firm and said nothing.
“Wrong answer.”
I stood and nodded to Blade, who stepped forward with the crowbar in hand. The Serpent’s defiance faltered as Blade swung, the metal connecting with his ribs in a sickening thud. The man gasped, his head lolling forward as he struggled to catch his breath.
The crowbar connected with a sickening crunch, and I felt a twisted satisfaction as the Serpent crumpled to the side. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving unnaturally where Blade's blow had shattered bone. His eyes once filled with malice, now darted frantically around the room, looking for an escape that didn't exist. I could see the realization dawning in those slit pupils - he was trapped, broken, at our mercy.
He gritted his teeth, a guttural growl escaping as he struggled against the ropes. "You think I’m scared of you? You think pain is gonna make me talk?"
I crouched down, my eyes locking on his. "I don’t care if you’re scared. I care if you break."
He spat blood at my boots, defiance still burning in his eyes. "You’re wasting your time."
"We’ll see about that,” my voice was low and dangerous as Blade stepped forward.
Blade swung the crowbar again, this time aiming for his shoulder. The crack of bone was sharp, his scream piercing through the tense silence. Sweat dripped from his brow as he panted, the pain finally overtaking bravado as he finally spilled their plans.
Grim lingered as the others dispersed. He pulled out a cigar, the faint spark of a match flickering against the dark warehouse walls. He leaned against a nearby crate, exhaling a thick plume of smoke before speaking. "You think this will be enough to slow them down? Or are we just playing for time?"
"It'll rattle them," I said, stepping up beside him. "But I don't think it'll stop them. Serpents don’t scare easily. They’ll come harder next time."
"You hope," he muttered, his tone skeptical. He paused, taking another drag from the cigar. "Double the patrols around the garage and the perimeter. I want anyone with explosives taken out before they get within a mile of us."
He turned his sharp gaze on me, smoke curling between his words. "And tell Blade to set up decoys. Make it look like we’re more vulnerable than we are. If they think they have the advantage, we can draw them into a trap."
I nodded, taking mental notes. "You thinking counterattack?"
Grim’s mouth curved into a grim smile. "I’m thinking we end this war before it really starts."
"They’ve been pushing too hard for too long," I added, meeting his gaze. "A message isn’t going to cut it this time."
Grim nodded slowly. "Exactly. They think we’re playing defense. It’s time to remind them why no one messes with the Reapers."
The weight of his words settled heavily between us, the air thick with tension. "What about the rest of the club?" I asked. "Do they know the full plan yet?"
Grim exhaled, the smoke curling lazily above his head. "Not yet. I’ll brief them tomorrow morning. I need everyone sharp. No one goes into this half-assed, Ryder. If someone screws up, we lose more than turf. We lose brothers."
I clenched my fists at his words. "No one’s screwing up. Not on my watch."
Grim studied me for a long moment, his gaze piercing. "I know you won’t. That’s why I’m trusting you with this. You and Blade will handle the decoys. Shadow and Dex will secure the perimeter. Everyone else will be on standby."
I nodded, already forming the plan in my mind. "We’ll need more firepower if they’re coming in with explosives. I’ll talk to Doc and make sure we’ve got what we need."
Grim smirked, his usual grim demeanor lightening for a second. "Always two steps ahead, huh? That’s why you’re here. But don’t forget, this isn’t just about brute force. We outsmart them, Ryder. That’s how we win."
"Understood," I replied. "What’s the fallback plan if things go south?"
Grim’s expression darkened. "There isn’t one. We hold the line, no matter what. This is our home. Our family. If we lose this fight, we lose everything."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I nodded. "Then we don’t lose."
He clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. "Damn right, we don’t. Now, get moving. We’ve got work to do."
I turned to leave, the weight of responsibility heavy on my shoulders. But as I reached the warehouse door, Grim’s voice stopped me.
"Ryder," he called, his tone softer. "You’ve got a good head for this. Don’t let your anger cloud it."
I glanced back at him, nodding once before stepping into the cool night air. Grim’s words stayed with me, echoing in my mind as I headed to my bike. This wasn’t just another fight. This was the fight. And we were going to win it—or die trying.
I nodded, the weight of his order settling in my gut. Grim might've been calm, but his mind was already spinning with countermeasures. That was his way. Always three steps ahead, always preparing for the worst.
I headed to my bike. This wasn’t just another fight. This was the fight. And we were going to win it—or die trying.
The night air hit my face like a slap as I walked out of the warehouse, the metallic tang of blood still thick in the back of my throat. The roar of my bike started low, rumbling under me like a beast waiting to be unleashed. I let it idle for a moment, staring out into the darkened streets. Everything felt sharper, more alive like the edge of a blade pressed too close to the skin.
As I throttled out of the lot, the weight of the night pressed against my chest. Delilah’s face crept into my mind, uninvited but relentless. Her laugh. Her fire. The way she looked at me like I was more than a man who lived by violence. I gripped the handlebars tighter, the memory twisting something deep inside me. She always ran when things got hard. It was her way. But this time, it wasn’t just about her leaving me. It felt bigger than that, like she was running from something she didn’t think I could fix.
The cold wind bit at my face as I picked up speed, the city blurring past in streaks of shadow and light. My thoughts shifted, unbidden, to the Black Vipers and the Iron Serpents. Two clubs that had been circling us for months, waiting for a weakness. The Vipers were chaos unleashed—wild, reckless, a storm with no center. They thrived on fear and uncertainty, making their enemies second-guess every move. But the Serpents? They were cold and calculated, every move deliberate and deadly. Fighting them wasn’t like facing chaos; it was like going to war with precision.
We were the only thing standing between them and absolute control of the city. And they knew it. That’s why they were coming for us, guns blazing, with bombs to finish the job. They wanted us to fall, to shatter under the weight of their assault. But they didn’t understand the Reapers. They didn’t understand what it meant to fight for something more than territory—for family.
The clubhouse loomed ahead, its silhouette stark against the night sky. The low hum of voices and occasional bursts of laughter carried from inside, but the tension was palpable even out here. Everyone knew what was coming.
I eased off the throttle, letting the bike settle into a low growl as I pulled into the lot. The familiar line of bikes gleamed under the security lights, but tonight, they felt more like warhorses than machines. I killed the engine and swung off, my boots crunching against the gravel as I made my way inside.
The warm glow of the clubhouse greeted me, but the usual comfort wasn’t there. The air inside was thick with unspoken fears and barely contained aggression. Blade was at the bar, sharpening a knife with methodical precision. Shadow leaned against the far wall, his fingers tapping a silent rhythm. The rest of the guys were scattered, some playing pool, others lost in quiet conversation. As I stepped in, the room fell silent for a beat before the hum of activity resumed.
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.