Page 11 of Stiletto's Savior

Instead, I glare at him, refusing to show weakness.

The lights flicker on, blinding me. I squint against the harsh glow.

“Ah, much better,” he sneers, stepping closer.

The air thickens with his presence.

I can smell the stale cigarettes and cheap cologne.

“Look at you, all tied up. Just begging for attention,” He snickers, eyes gleaming with malice.

“Why don’t you take a picture?” I shoot back, my voice hoarse but laced with defiance.

“Has anyone ever told you how cute it is when you try to act like a little hardass?” He takes another step, tilting his head as if sizing me up like a piece of meat.

“If the club finds you, they’ll kill you." I say, forcing the words out through clenched jaws.

His expression darkens, flickering for just a moment. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Because they don’t lose.” My gaze locks onto his, steady and fierce. “I’m not sure they’ll end up coming for me, but if they do, you won’t even see it coming.”

“How sweet,” he mocks, but there’s an edge to his tone now. “Keep dreaming, little girl. You’re just a toy in this game. A pawn that gets me what I truly desire.”

“Maybe,” I reply, my voice steady despite the tremor inside. “But they’ll come. And you’ll wish you were dead before Zane is finished with you.”

“Oh, look at you, trying to scare me. I’ve chewed up and spit people out just like your precious President,” he says, straightening up, a twisted smile curling on his lips. “Now, let’s see how tough you really are.”

My skin prickles as the cold air bites into my exposed body.

The shrill buzz cuts through the silence, a grim promise of what’s to come.

“Nice toy,” I mutter, the pain already vivid in my imagination—the searing jolt of electricity, the nerve-shattering agony.

“It’s functional,” he returns, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. A smile curls up his lips—sharp and hungry as a shark’s.

He steps closer, the prod buzzing like a deadly insect.

The smell of burnt ozone fills the room—a stark reminder of the beast in his hands.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say, my voice steady despite the wild pounding of my heart.

“But where’s the fun in that?” His grin widens, revealing yellowed teeth, stained by years of neglect.

My gaze narrows as I search for some sign of sanity in his eyes, but all I find is gleeful anticipation.

“Let’s see how you handle a little shock treatment.” He lunges forward, thrusting the prod, meeting my bare skin.

The pain jolts through me, teeth gritting to hold back the scream.

“Oh, that does look painful,” His mocking tone only fuels my anger, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“I for one hope your club takes their sweet ol’ time.” He chuckles, stepping back to admire his work.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” I spit out, gritting my teeth against the pain humming in my veins. “The second I get a chance to, I’m?—”

“Blah blah blah,” he interrupts, grinning broadly. “I’ll tell you what, sweetheart. If your club comes for you, I’ll personally hand you over.”

I clench my jaw, enduring the sting radiating from where his toy had touched me. "Don’t call me sweetheart."

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