“Because this is my life now.” My voice is sharper than I intended.

  “Right.” He smirks. “Because dodging fists at a club is way better than fighting for a title.”

  “Dude, you have no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” I shoot him a glare. “You think just because he was champ, I want to follow in those footsteps? Nah.”

  “Can’t deny you’ve got skills.” His tone shifts, more serious now. “You could go far.”

  “Maybe.” I flex my fingers, feeling the burn. “But I don’t wanna be Chip Lion’s kid forever. I want to be out from under my father’s shadow.”

  “Is that why you won’t call him back?” Damian presses.

  “Not this again.” I shake my head. “I can handle my own shit.”

  “Sure, but he’s just trying to help. You know how he is.”

  “Help or pressure me into something I don’t really want?” I retort, clenching my jaw.

  “Same thing, right?”

  “Not even close.” I glance at the street, watching a couple stumble by. “I’m not fighting for anyone but myself.”

  “Then do it.” His voice softens. “Prove to him that you can do it on your own, without his help.”

  “Yeah, maybe one day.” I shrug, but the thought sits heavy.

  “Someone’s gotta step up.”

  “Not tonight.” I shake off the weight, forcing a grin. “Tonight, I’m just a bouncer. That’s all I need.”

  “Right. Just a bouncer.” Damian laughs, but there’s truth in his words.

  “Let’s see if we can keep it that way.” I lean back against the wall, heart still racing, ready for whatever comes next.

  “Everything okay? You seem a little off, and I think it has to do with something other than your father,” he asks, voice low.

  “Not sure,” I reply, heart pounding.

  I run a hand over my face, the world spinning around me. Stiletto—kidnapped. It feels unreal.

  “I need to leave tomorrow,” The words tumble out, heavy with fear and fury. “To Montana.”

  “Montana?” Damian raises an eyebrow. “What the hell is in bumblefuck Montana?”

  “The twins,” I say, barely a whisper.

  He stiffens, eyes widening. “You mean Suyin and Song?”

  Damian has known me for years and he too grew up in the Bronx. Almost everyone knew the twins, or their mother, Susu.

  “Yeah.” My fists clench at my sides.

  The news hit like a gut punch—unexpected and brutal.

  “They need help,” I add, feeling a surge of protectiveness for them.

  “You going out that way to help?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

  “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.

  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.

  “Fun for you, maybe,” I scoff, trying to mask the tremor in my voice.

  “You’re a piece of work. You know why you’re here, right?”

  “To be your punching bag? Please, I’ve had worse dates.”

  “Smart mouth,” he says, taking a step closer. The smell of sweat and something foul clings to him. “But you don’t get it. You’re going to be my leverage against your precious Reapers Rejects. A little torture here, a little pain there, and they’ll come running to save you like heroes who never caused torment.”

  “Good luck with that,” I reply, though my insides twist at the thought. “You think they care about me? I’m a prospect, and I’m not worth their time. Taking an officer or an ol’ lady would’ve been a better choice.”

  “Are you sure about that? The Reapers Rejects protect their own, regardless of status. I heard so many stories about how they tried to save Saffron when the old clubhouse was burning. She was nothin’ but a piece of ass to get their dicks wet. They’ll be here, Stiletto. Eventually. But until then...” He leans in, eyes glinting with malice. “We have all the time in the world.”

  I swallow hard, locking my gaze onto his.

  No way am I letting him see how much his words affect me. Not now. Not ever.

  “Do your worst,” I challenge, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.

  “Trust me, sweetheart,” he replies, leaning back with a sinister grin. “I will.”

  A shiver runs down my spine, but I won’t back down.

  I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  “Bring it on, old man.”

  “Stiletto,” his voice calls, rough and tainted with amusement.

  “Did you think we’d take a break from the war with your club because of a holiday?” He steps into the light, a silhouette of menace. “What a shame. A mistake that will no doubt cost you dearly.”

  “Fuck you,” I snap back, my voice stronger than I feel.

  He grins, revealing crooked teeth. “You know, for knowing your club is at war, you acted pretty foolishly. Your precious club? They’ve got no clue where you are. How does it feel to be so... helpless? To feel at my mercy?”

  “Helpless?” I huff, defiance igniting something inside me. “You think this is over?”

  “Not even close.” He steps closer, his gaze roving over me like I’m a prize on display. “I’ll keep you here, day after day. You’ll wish for death before I’m done with you.”

  A shiver runs through me—not from the cold.

  The water drips down, pooling beneath me, glistening like ice.

  “Why do you think I’m afraid of you?” I challenge. “You’re just a pathetic coward hiding behind your men.”

  His laughter echoes, sharp and cruel. “Brave words, Stiletto. But bravery won’t save you from this basement.”

  “Basement,” I scoff. “What, did you run out of real estate? Is that why you’re keeping me holed up here like a rat?”

  “Keep talking,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Every word just makes this more enjoyable for me. You’ll regret it soon enough.”

  “Yeah? And what’s actually your plan? Spray me down like a dirty car? Real original.”

  “Believe me, girl,” he sneers, stepping even closer. “This is just the beginning. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  “Well, if you’re right and my club does come, you’re going to regret this,” I say, the bravado slipping through my fingers like sand.

  “Regret?” He laughs, cruel and sharp. “Oh, sweet girl, this is just the beginning. Your suffering will be exquisite.”

  I swallow hard, fighting the urge to scream.

  Instead, I glare at him, refusing to show weakness.

  The lights flicker on, blinding me. I squint against the harsh glow.

  “Ah, much better,” he sneers, stepping closer.

  The air thickens with his presence.

  I can smell the stale cigarettes and cheap cologne.

  “Look at you, all tied up. Just begging for attention,” He snickers, eyes gleaming with malice.

  “Why don’t you take a picture?” I shoot back, my voice hoarse but laced with defiance.

  “Has anyone ever told you how cute it is when you try to act like a little hardass?” He takes another step, tilting his head as if sizing me up like a piece of meat.

  “If the club finds you, they’ll kill you." I say, forcing the words out through clenched jaws.

  His expression darkens, flickering for just a moment. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

  “Because they don’t lose.” My gaze locks onto his, steady and fierce. “I’m not sure they’ll end up coming for me, but if they do, you won’t even see it coming.”

  “How sweet,” he mocks, but there’s an edge to his tone now. “Keep dreaming, little girl. You’re just a toy in this game. A pawn that gets me what I truly desire.”

  “Maybe,” I reply, my voice steady despite the tremor inside. “But they’ll come. And you’ll wish you were dead before Zane is finished with you.”

  “Oh, look at you, trying to scare me. I’ve chewed up and spit people out just like your precious President,” he says, straightening up, a twisted smile curling on his lips. “Now, let’s see how tough you really are.”

  My skin prickles as the cold air bites into my exposed body.

  The shrill buzz cuts through the silence, a grim promise of what’s to come.

  “Nice toy,” I mutter, the pain already vivid in my imagination—the searing jolt of electricity, the nerve-shattering agony.

  “It’s functional,” he returns, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. A smile curls up his lips—sharp and hungry as a shark’s.

  He steps closer, the prod buzzing like a deadly insect.

  The smell of burnt ozone fills the room—a stark reminder of the beast in his hands.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I say, my voice steady despite the wild pounding of my heart.

  “But where’s the fun in that?” His grin widens, revealing yellowed teeth, stained by years of neglect.

  My gaze narrows as I search for some sign of sanity in his eyes, but all I find is gleeful anticipation.

  “Let’s see how you handle a little shock treatment.” He lunges forward, thrusting the prod, meeting my bare skin.

  The pain jolts through me, teeth gritting to hold back the scream.

  “Oh, that does look painful,” His mocking tone only fuels my anger, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response.

  “I for one hope your club takes their sweet ol’ time.” He chuckles, stepping back to admire his work.

  “I can’t fucking stand you,” I spit out, gritting my teeth against the pain humming in my veins. “The second I get a chance to, I’m⁠—”

  “Blah blah blah,” he interrupts, grinning broadly. “I’ll tell you what, sweetheart. If your club comes for you, I’ll personally hand you over.”

  I clench my jaw, enduring the sting radiating from where his toy had touched me. "Don’t call me sweetheart."

  “Ooo, I’ve rattled you up.” he teases with a chuckle before turning away from me.

  His footsteps echo in the dank room as he moves towards a rickety table near the back.

  The rusty chain around my wrist rattles as I pull against it, the sound harsh and grating in the quiet room.

  “I was wondering when you would try that,” he says, the cruel amusement back in his voice. “Go ahead, wear yourself out.”

  “Asshole,” I spit out, pulling again on the chains.

  The metal bites into my skin, leaving angry red marks, but I don’t relent. I can’t.

  “Quite feisty,” he muses, turning back towards me with something gleaming in his hand.

  My heart clenches as my eyes focus on the object—a wickedly sharp knife.

  I suppress a shudder, forcing a smirk onto my face.

  “Oh, a knife? Now we’re really getting cliché.”

  He chuckles lowly before stepping closer, the blade glinting in the dim light.

  “Feisty and funny,” he drawls, tracing the blade along my bare arm. The cold

  steel sends a shock of fear through me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

  “Your mouth will be the death of you, Stiletto,” he whispers in my ear, his breath hot and rancid.

  “Big talk for a man who couldn’t catch me without a trap.” My words are bite back, icier than the blade against my skin.

  “I caught you though, didn’t I?” His laughter is like nails on a chalkboard.

  I clench my jaw, refusing to respond.

  He might have tricked me into this situation, but I won’t let him see the fear coursing through my veins.

  “You know, you’re pretty when you’re angry,” he drawls out lazily.

  “Oh? Are you hitting on the chained up girl now? That’s a new low, even for someone like you,” I spit, but before I can say anything else, his closed fist collides with my face and darkness consumes me.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Miles

  The plane touches down, a jolt that bounces me in my seat.

  I grip the armrests, knuckles white.

  Billings, Montana—a world away from the Bronx.

  As we taxi to the gate, I glance around.

  The cabin hums with chatter, holiday cheer spilling over like a cheap bottle of wine.

  People smile, laugh, and I can’t help but feel out of place.

  My mind’s elsewhere.

  I unbuckle and stand, pushing through the narrow aisle.

  My heart pounds, anticipation clawing at my chest. I want to see her—Stiletto.

  I need her to be safe, but she isn’t right now. She’s still missing.

  Stepping off the plane, the cold air hits me like a slap.

  I pull my jacket closer, scanning the terminal for the baggage claim.

  The buzz of voices swirls around me.

  I make my way to baggage claim and get my bags, watching as families reunite, laughter ringing out and it’s incredibly irritating.

  I grab my duffel and head toward the exit.

  Outside, I search for Suyin, otherwise known as Siren.

  She promised she’d be here to pick me up.

  I lean against the wall, watching, waiting for a vehicle to pull up.

  Then I see her. Dark hair flowing, eyes bright, and I swear she looks relieved when she spots me.

  I push off the wall, moving toward her.

  “Miles!” She launches into my arms, wrapping me tight. Her warmth seeps into me, a brief comfort amid the storm brewing inside. “You made it. Thank God you’re here,” Siren whispers into my chest. I feel the tremor in her voice.

 

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