Page 94 of Stiletto's Savior

“Sometimes ignorance is bliss,” Blackjack adds, looking at me briefly before returning his gaze to Dex.

Dex mutters under his breath, staring into his drink. “Yeah, well, bliss doesn’t keep you alive.”

I glance at Blackjack, searching for a hint of reassurance.

His brow furrows, and I know he’s grappling with how much to reveal.

I lean over the bar, my red hair spilling like flames across the polished surface. “Another round?”

I pour whiskey into three shot glasses.

Blackjack grunts, his gaze serious as he runs a hand through his dark hair. “Yeah, thank you, Stiletto.” Blackjack looks back at Dex and at me, now including me in the conversation. “Now that things are calm here, shit is starting up down at another charter.”

“Great,” Dex replies, his voice tight. He shifts in his seat, drumming his fingers against the bar. “What kind of shit?”

Blackjack takes a shot, slamming it down hard, eyes narrowing as if recalling some distant threat.

Dex’s question comes out clipped, urgency lacing his words. “Who?”

I can feel my heart pounding in rhythm with the tension between them.

The clubhouse hums around us—voices rising and falling, the clinking of bottles, laughter mingling with the low growl of motorcycles revving outside.

It’s been surprisingly warm the past couple of days, so we’ve taken advantage of the unusual weather.

“Rage’s family is back in play,” Blackjack finally says, his voice low and steady, like the rumble of thunder before a storm.

Dex starts but stops short, realization dawning in his eyes. “Rage? The bastard who?—”

“Yeah,” Blackjack interrupts, his jaw tightening. “That Rage. And we’re not the only ones who remember what he did.”

“Many years ago,” he continues, “there was an MC Prez named Rage.” He pauses, letting the name hang like smoke between us.

I can see Dex’s brows knit together, curiosity simmering.

“Rage?” Dex repeats, tilting his head. “What about him?”

“The fucker kidnapped Kat. Thought she was his daughter.” Blackjack's gaze flickers to me, a flash of something unspoken.

I swallow hard, wondering what the fuck happened. I’ve never heard this story before.

“Wasn't he also Roxy’s ex-husband?” Dex asks, piecing it together.

His voice is steady, but I feel the tension in his muscles.

Blackjack nods. “Yeah. That’s right.”

His fingers tap a rhythm on the bar, betraying his calm demeanor. “He was trouble. A real monster.”

“Monster?” Dex’s voice rises a notch, disbelief etched across his face. “He abused people, right? Killed people… raped women, too?”

Blackjack’s jaw tightens. “Exactly.”

The room feels colder, shadows creeping closer. “He left scars, man. Scars a lot of his victims still carry.”

Dex presses, eyes wide. “How did he even get away with all that?”

The innocence of youth clashes with the brutality of our world.

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