Page 9 of Stiletto's Savior

I remember running out of the store, the crisp November air biting my cheeks as I clutched those stupid cans of cranberry sauce.

It was supposed to just be a quick trip.

I was heading home from the store for Thanksgiving.

But then—darkness.

“How did I end up here?” I mutter, eyes darting to the door above me.

Each creak of the floorboards sends a jolt through my heart.

Ice forms on my skin. I glance down.

My body glistens with droplets.

The water they sprayed on me is starting to freeze.

It stings, a reminder of my vulnerability.

I wish I could disappear, vanish into thin air, but I’m stuck here.

“Come on,” I breathe, “you’ve survived worse.”

But the truth gnaws at me.

They found me so easily—The Commander’s men.

Their laughter still rings in my ears like cruel music.

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms.

I refuse to let fear take over.

“Not today,” I murmur defiantly.

The door creaks open, and my heart leaps into my throat.

Heavy footsteps thud down the stairs, each step echoing in the cold basement like a death knell.

I press myself against the damp wall, trying to make myself small.

I can’t show fear. Not now. Not ever. My breath quickens, and I bite my lip to stifle a whimper.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

His voice drips with mockery. The Commander steps into the light, his face half-shadowed, a cruel smirk curling his lips.

The cut on his cheek gleams under the bare bulb overhead—an ugly reminder of the violence he thrives on.

“Surprised to see me, hmm?” He chuckles, the sound grating on my nerves.

“Not really,” I shoot back, forcing sarcasm through my chattering teeth. “I was hoping for someone less... grotesque.”

He narrows his eyes, and that smile falters for a split second.

Good. I have to keep him off balance.

“Feisty, are we? That’ll make this more fun,” His tone shifts, low and dangerous.