Page 14 of Stiletto's Savior

The two of us walk up to a massive black truck.

It’s lifted, tough, just like the guys I know. Behind the wheel sits someone I don’t know, but he’s got a cut on which means he’s part of the club.

Siren gestures, “This is Bull. He’s our club’s Enforcer.”

I nod, not sure what else to say. “Nice to meet you.”

Bull grunts, eyes scanning the lot.

Something’s off. I feel it deep in my gut.

“What’s going on with your sister?” I ask, urgency creeping into my voice.

Siren hesitates, glancing at Bull.

There’s a heaviness in her eyes, words stuck somewhere between fear and hope.

“Like I told you before, an enemy has her,” she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. “But we think you could help.”

“Why’s that?” Bull interjects, his gaze steady on me.

“Army veteran,” I reply, keeping it simple. “MMA training. My mom was a PI.”

“Well, don’t you look like the perfect useful fucker,” Bull mutters, his tone unreadable.

“Listen, with Miles’ help, we might have a real shot at getting her back,” Siren insists, determination lighting her features.

Bull turns to look at her. “Do you really have no faith that the club can find her?”

I swallow hard, resolve hardening within me. “That’s not what she means. I’m a resource to be used is all. I can help find Song. Er, Stiletto.”

“Is that right?” Bull’s eyebrows lift slightly, but there’s no warmth in his tone.

I get that things are stressful right now, but he doesn’t need to be shitty. “Yeah, it is.”

“Hope you can handle it,” he replies, turning back to the road.

“Trust me, I’ve handled far worse.”

My heart pounds as the weight of the situation settles over me like a heavy blanket.

“Let’s go,” Siren urges, glancing between us.

Bull shifts the gear, and the truck roars to life.

We pull away from the airport, and the world blurs outside the window.

The truck bumps along the road, tires crunching gravel.

I glance at Bull. His hands grip the steering wheel like iron.

The silence stretches and it feels heavy.

“How many clubs you got up in New York?” I ask, trying to break the tension.

“We don’t. The club only has charters here in Billings, Las Vegas, and in Chihuahua, Mexico.” Bull replies, his voice low and rough.

“Yeah? Impressive your clubs are so spread out.”

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