Page 25 of Stiletto's Savior

Stiletto

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the chilling reality around me.

But memories claw their way back, vivid and relentless.

“Stupid girl,” I can almost hear my mother’s voice.

The echo of betrayal rings like a bell in my head.

I see it—the house.

Old, with peeling paint, the kind that looms over you like a predator.

My heart races as I remember walking up those creaky steps, dread pooling in my stomach.

I was naïve then, desperate, yearning to find her.

“Have you seen my mom?” I’d asked, my voice trembling.

The men turned. Their eyes glinted with something dark.

Malicious. Like sharks spotting blood in the water.

“Who’s your mother, sweetheart?” one sneered, leaning closer.

Their laughter echoed off the walls, cold and sharp.

“Nothing good ever came from asking questions.” I shudder at the thought.

The cold bites into my skin yet again, and I’m starting to think I’ve never had the luxury of being warm.

I shiver, every cut on my body screaming in protest as I shift against the rough concrete.

Dried blood crusts my lip, a metallic taste that lingers like a bitter afterthought.

“Get up, my good girl,” A voice booms from above. The Commander.

I flinch, heart racing at his malicious voice.

My body does not want to move.

It aches in ways I can’t even process.

Each shallow breath feels like a reminder of my vulnerability.

“Get up!” he yells again, and his boots thud heavily down the stairs.

I force myself to sit up, wincing at the sharp jolt of pain that shoots through my ribs.

The darkness in the basement envelops me, thick and suffocating.

I squint, searching for any sign of hope—something, anything that could lead to freedom.

“Stop dawdling,” he snaps, flicking on the flashlight. I shield my eyes.

“How about you take a break from being a monster?” I spit back, my voice hoarse but defiant.

I won’t let him break my spirit.

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