Page 46 of Stiletto's Savior

“Just give her time,” Cheyenne adds, but her eyes betray her worry.

I exhale sharply, rubbing my hand down my buzz cut.

This isn’t like Song.

Not at all.

I glance at Siren, who’s polishing glasses behind the bar, her brow furrowed.

She looks worried too, but of course she is. Song is her sister.

“She’s pushing us away, Suyin,” I say. “This isn’t like her in the least bit.”

“Yeah, I know.” Siren sighs, setting a glass down with a thud. “But she’s been through hell, Miles.”

“That doesn’t mean she gets to shut out the people who actually give a damn about her.” My voice is harsher than I intended.

“Maybe she just needs?—”

“Support,” I finish for her. “Not isolation.”

“Exactly.” Siren brushes a stray hair behind her ear, her concern evident. “But it takes time. She’ll have to warm up to the idea of us helping her.”

“Time?” I shake my head, frustration bubbling inside. “Time ain’t gonna help her if she keeps this up.”

“Let’s just give her a moment,” Siren says softly, but I can see the doubt in her eyes.

“Moments run out, you know? You think she’ll be okay?” I ask, searching her face for any sign of hope.

“She will. I know she will.” Siren replies, though I can hear the uncertainty.

“Yeah? I don’t think she will, Suyin. Not if we sit back and do nothing.” I take a breath, feeling the weight settle on my chest.

Cheyenne and Alexa make their way over to us. I ask the million dollar question. “Well, what happened when you were up there?”

“She screamed at us,” Alexa says, her voice trembling. “Told us to get out. Told me she didn’t wanna hear about my story.”

Bull comes up behind Alexa and squeezes her shoulders, peeps his head around to where her good eye is and kisses her forehead. “You tried, babe. That’s what matters.”

She frowns slightly, “I only want to help her get through this, knowing all too well what it can do to you.”

I down the last of my whiskey, the burn settling deep in my gut.

I slam the glass onto the bar, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Damn it.”

“Miles, are you okay?” Cheyenne asks, worry etched across her brow.

“Fuck no. I’m going upstairs. I’m gonna talk some damn sense into this woman.” I push past them, determination hardening my chest as I stride toward the staircase.

“Good luck,” Siren calls after me, but I don’t look back.

Each step feels like a weight on my shoulders, dread pooling in my stomach.

I reach her door and knock. Silence answers, thick and suffocating.

“Song?” I call out, my voice rough.

There’s no response.

---