Page 8 of Stiletto's Savior

“I have to.” My voice is steady even though my insides are churning with worry.

There’s a long pause before he nods slowly.

“You’ve got guts, man. You just gonna leave here like that?”

I shake my head, “No, you know I’m not that kinda guy. I’ll let the boss know I’ll be gone for a while, finish up a few things, you know.”

Damian claps me on the back, “Well, Lion, I didn’t take you for a hero.”

“Fuck off.” I shoot back with a smirk. It’s easier to banter when the fear is gnawing at your insides.

“You gonna go out there and save the day?” He raises an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with humor in the dim light.

I draw a deep breath, contemplating the cold reality of the situation. “I’m gonna do what I can,” I admit finally, my gaze drifting off into the distance.

There’s a moment of silence between us before Damian breaks it, his voice softer now. “You care about them, don’t you?”

I glance at him sharply. He meets my gaze straight on, his expression unreadable.

A loud group stumbles out of the club, laughter echoing down the street and I use the distraction to avoid answering his question.

“I gotta finish up here,” I mutter, my hand instinctively reaching for the thick chain that hangs around my neck.

A memento from Stiletto she’d given to me years ago.

“Of course,” Damian nods, patting my shoulder with a knowing glance before he heads back into the faded neon glow of the club.

I rake a hand over my buzz cut, the cool night air suddenly not cool enough.

I feel like I’m burning up from the inside out. Stiletto, taken. And here I am, miles and miles away, surrounded by drunks and loud music when all I want is silence to just think.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of noise and movement.

It’s always been like this—a storm of people thirsty for release, seeking refuge in their vices.

I’ve never once minded it before, but tonight it feels suffocating.

As soon as the last patron stumbles out into the breaking dawn, I know I’m in the clear to bounce for the night.

The sooner I can get home, the sooner I can get my ass to Montana and find Stiletto.

CHAPTER TWO

Stiletto

I fight against the cold, but it seeps into my bones.

My teeth chatter, a relentless rhythm that echoes in the silence of the basement.

I can’t believe this is happening.

The walls are damp, and the concrete floor bites at my skin.

I wrap my arms around my knees, trying to create some warmth, but it’s no use.

A shiver races through me, sharper than any blade.

"Get it together, Stiletto," I whisper to myself, my voice barely louder than a breath.

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