Page 85 of Stiletto's Savior

The Commander’s body lies crumpled, a grotesque heap.

Blood pools beneath him, a dark stain spreading over the floor.

His breaths come in ragged gasps, and finally they go silent.

I turn away, scanning the room.

Dust motes dance in the filtered light from a grimy window.

The air is thick with the stench of sweat and blood.

I need a box—something to contain this trophy.

Zane stands nearby, fists clenched, still riding the high of adrenaline.

He watches me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. “What’re you looking for?”

“A box,” I say, urgency creeping into my tone. “Something to put… him in.”

“Check the kitchen.” Zane gestures toward a doorway. “Might be something there.”

I nod and move swiftly, dodging debris on the floor.

My heart pounds, each step echoing in my ears.

I push through the door, stepping into a dimly lit kitchen.

The counters are cluttered, old dishes stacked haphazardly.

I search frantically, opening cabinets.

Nothing but dust and forgotten utensils.

And then—there it is. A small cardboard box, torn at one corner.

I yank it out, feeling the rough texture against my palms.

It’s not pretty, but it’ll do.

“Got it!” I call back to Zane as I head toward the living room again.

He glances over, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “You really are a sick fuck.”

“Never said I wasn’t,” I retort, barely containing a grin myself.

Kneeling beside The Commander’s lifeless form, I feel a rush of power surge through me.

The box sits open, waiting.

I take a deep breath, steadiness returning.

I reach down, wrapping my fingers around his severed dick.

Warmth still lingers—sickeningly alive, yet dead.

It lands with a soft thud, a final statement.

I shut the flaps, sealing it like a gift wrapped tight.

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