Page 43 of Stiletto's Savior

“Bad enough,” she replies, opening a bottle of antiseptic.

The smell hits me first—a sharp, stinging scent that makes my stomach turn.

“Perfect,” I mutter, bracing myself for the pain. “Just what I wanted today.”

“Quit whining,” Alexa chimes in from her spot by the door.

She leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching with an intensity that makes me squirm.

“Easy for you to say,” I shoot back, heart pounding.

“Let’s get this over with,” Cheyenne insists, dabbing a cotton ball in the antiseptic.

“Hold tight,” Cheyenne warns, pressing the cotton to my cut.

“Ow!” I yelp, jerking my arm away instinctively.

“Stiletto, come on.” Cheyenne’s voice is firm now. “You have to let me clean these up for you.”

“Fine,” I snap, forcing my arm back toward her.

The sting burns, but I try to breathe through it.

I focus on Alexa instead.

“Why are you really here?” I ask, needing to change the subject.

“I already told you—you’re family. On top of that it’s because you’re not fine,” Alexa says, her gaze unwavering. “And we both know it.”

“Whatever,” I huff, biting my lip as Cheyenne continues her work.

It hurts, but the pain is grounding.

“Ugh,” I groan, squeezing my eyes shut as Cheyenne finishes putting ointment on me and bandaging me back up.

My heart races, not just from the physical pain but from the emotional toll of their presence.

“All done,” Cheyenne announces, pulling back.

“Finally,” I breathe, relief flooding through me. But I know it’s not over yet.

“Listen,” Alexa says, settling into the armchair—a throne of judgment, really. Her eyes are sharp, piercing through me. “Do you know my story?”

I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest. “Nope.”

“Well,” she starts, her voice lowering, as if to draw me in. "Bull and the club saved me from a similar nightmare years ago. I was… tortured for weeks. Raped. I thought I wouldn’t make it out alive.” She pauses, searching my face for something, but I don’t give her anything.

“Yeah? So?” I snap, shifting uncomfortably on the bed.

I want to hear about her past, but not like this. Not when I’m still wrestling with my own demons.

“Listen, Stiletto,” she continues, her tone earnest. “Bull pulled me out of that dark place. He?—”

“Great for you,” I cut her off, my voice rising. “But I don’t need saving. I’m fine, okay?”

“Fine?” She rolls her eyes, disbelief etched across her features. “Anyone can see you’re not fine. You won’t even look at your sister.”

“Maybe I don’t want to look at her or talk to her.” My heart races, panic bubbling beneath the surface. “What’s so hard to understand about the fact I want space?”

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