Stiletto's Savior, page 3
She’s trying to hold it together, but I can sense the storm behind her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, tightening my grip. I won’t let go. Not now. Not ever.
“How’ve you been?” she asks, pulling back slightly, searching my face. But I can see it—the worry etched into her features.
“Just... okay.” It’s a lie, but I don’t have the energy to explain.
Not when Stiletto is missing.
“How’s Deanna?” she ventures, her eyes darting away for a moment.
She’s probing, testing the waters.
“Not anymore,” I admit, the words bitter on my tongue. “She didn’t want me coming out here, so I broke things off with her. There was no way I was gonna sit back home on my ass.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Siren says, biting her lip. “You’ll find the right one eventually.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I shrug it off. Right now, there’s only one woman on my mind.
“Let’s get going,” I say, urgency lacing my tone.
“Yeah,” I say, holding her close. “Do you know where she is?”
Siren pulls back, her smile faltering. “Let’s get you in the truck first, then we can talk about this.”
Emotion swells in my chest, but I keep my expression steady.
I’ve always cared for them but with Stiletto? That’s different. Too complicated.
We push through the heavy glass doors.
The cold air hits me like a shockwave. Montana’s winter bites deep, but it’s nothing compared to the chill settling over my mind.
The two of us walk up to a massive black truck.
It’s lifted, tough, just like the guys I know. Behind the wheel sits someone I don’t know, but he’s got a cut on which means he’s part of the club.
Siren gestures, “This is Bull. He’s our club’s Enforcer.”
I nod, not sure what else to say. “Nice to meet you.”
Bull grunts, eyes scanning the lot.
Something’s off. I feel it deep in my gut.
“What’s going on with your sister?” I ask, urgency creeping into my voice.
Siren hesitates, glancing at Bull.
There’s a heaviness in her eyes, words stuck somewhere between fear and hope.
“Like I told you before, an enemy has her,” she finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. “But we think you could help.”
“Why’s that?” Bull interjects, his gaze steady on me.
“Army veteran,” I reply, keeping it simple. “MMA training. My mom was a PI.”
“Well, don’t you look like the perfect useful fucker,” Bull mutters, his tone unreadable.
“Listen, with Miles’ help, we might have a real shot at getting her back,” Siren insists, determination lighting her features.
Bull turns to look at her. “Do you really have no faith that the club can find her?”
I swallow hard, resolve hardening within me. “That’s not what she means. I’m a resource to be used is all. I can help find Song. Er, Stiletto.”
“Is that right?” Bull’s eyebrows lift slightly, but there’s no warmth in his tone.
I get that things are stressful right now, but he doesn’t need to be shitty. “Yeah, it is.”
“Hope you can handle it,” he replies, turning back to the road.
“Trust me, I’ve handled far worse.”
My heart pounds as the weight of the situation settles over me like a heavy blanket.
“Let’s go,” Siren urges, glancing between us.
Bull shifts the gear, and the truck roars to life.
We pull away from the airport, and the world blurs outside the window.
The truck bumps along the road, tires crunching gravel.
I glance at Bull. His hands grip the steering wheel like iron.
The silence stretches and it feels heavy.
“How many clubs you got up in New York?” I ask, trying to break the tension.
“We don’t. The club only has charters here in Billings, Las Vegas, and in Chihuahua, Mexico.” Bull replies, his voice low and rough.
“Yeah? Impressive your clubs are so spread out.”
“Yeah, we’ve been around for a minute,” he grunts. “You should have known that before coming here.”
Siren shifts in her seat, eyes darting to me. “Miles—”
“Is there anything else you’re not telling me about Stiletto’s disappearance?” I cut in, urgency thrumming in my veins.
She hesitates, chewing her lip.
Bull’s gaze flicks to her, a silent warning to stay quiet.
“Just... tell me. If I’m going to help, I need to know every last thing I can.” My voice is sharper than I intend.
But, this is stressful as all hell.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t hide the anxiety gnawing at me.
Siren swallows hard. “If you really think about it, she isn’t just missing. She was kidnapped by an enemy of the club.”
I can barely keep the anger at bay. “How the fuck does something like this happen? Aren’t the lot of you supposed to protect each other or something?”
Her voice trembles slightly. “We do. She…she went out for cranberry sauce for Thanksgiving dinner because we didn’t get enough. None of us thought something like this would happen.”
“I need more information.”
“We think—”
“You think what?” I press, feeling the weight of every second ticking by.
“That it’s someone connected to old business.” She shakes her head, frustration pinching her brow.
“Old business?”
“Look, Miles, I can’t say too much other than what I already have.”
“Why not?” I lean forward, my heart pounding.
“Because it’s club business, and it’s dangerous. I don’t want to put you in the middle of this.”
“Too late for that. I’m already in the middle of it.”
“Just trust me, okay? Focus on finding her.”
“Trust isn’t exactly in high supply right now.”
“Please.” Her voice softens, pleading.
“You don’t have to say, please,” I take a breath, trying to reel in my racing thoughts. “You know I’ll help however I can.”
The truck rattles over the uneven road, tires kicking up gravel.
My pulse races, matching the rhythm of the engine.
“This shit is fuckin’ insane,” I mutter, gripping the seat tighter. “I need you to give me the details.”
Siren’s jaw clenches.
She glances at Bull before looking back at me.
Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears.
“I’ve already told you she was taken by an enemy of the club,” she says slowly, carefully. “They took Stiletto. We think they’re using her for leverage.”
“Leverage?” My voice drops to a growl. “Against who?”
“Against us,” she replies, her breath shaky. “I need you to understand, Miles. You could help us find her. You’re... you’d be an ally, and the club would owe you.”
“Ally?” My brow furrows. “If Bull’s welcoming nature is anything like the rest of your club, it doesn’t seem like I’m wanted here.”
Bull’s booming voice cuts in. “Yeah. You’re just some guy from the Bronx, and she didn’t tell anyone she was doin’ this shit either. You shoulda talked to the Prez about this, Siren.”
“Easy, Bull,” Siren snaps, but there’s an edge of uncertainty in her tone. “This is my sister and I’ll do whatever I damn well can to get her back, even if it means pulling in old friends.”
“Just sayin’,” he grumbles, eyes still on the road.
“Look,” I say, my heart hammering. “I’m not just some guy. I care about her. I’ve known her and Siren since we were kids, and I’m resourceful. My father taught me how to fight. My mother taught me how to find things.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re an outsider,” Bull retorts, turning his head slightly. His gaze is piercing.
“I am and I won’t deny that. Just because I’m an outsider, it doesn’t mean that I won’t be of any assistance.” I meet Bull’s stare, refusing to back down.
“That’s all well and good,” Bull replies, “but we need more than promises. You need to follow up with actions.”
“I won’t stop until I find her.” I cross my arms.
“Then let’s hope that’s enough,” Bull says, his voice low, almost resigned.
“Trust me,” I add, fire igniting in my chest. “Stiletto means everything to me.”
The truck roars forward, and I feel the weight of the mission settle on my shoulders. We’re running out of time and I need to find her, fast.
“I still don’t think Zane is gonna be keen on some outsider helpin’ us out,” Bull grumbles.
I’m about to speak up when Siren shoots me a glare, almost forcing me to be silent.
“Listen,” Siren starts, her voice steady but tight. “I understand your reservations, but give him a chance here. He has experience, Bull.”
“Yeah? So?” Bull shoots back, one eyebrow raised.
“He’s got lifetime MMA training, as I’ve said,” she continues, glancing at me. “He knows what he’s doing. I swear. I wouldn’t bring someone here to help if I didn’t trust him with my life.”
“You said his mother was a private investigator?” Bull mutters, almost to himself. “What’s that gonna do for us, huh?”
“Are you deaf or just stupid?” I snap, irritation bubbling up inside me. “I know how to track people, how to fight, and I’ve seen some shit. All of that helps.”
“Sure, kid. But, we’re in a different league here. You don’t understand the shit that comes with the club.” Bull replies, dismissive.
“Enough!” Siren interrupts, her voice slicing through the tension. “I don’t know how many times I have to fucking say it! He’s a valuable asset. He wants to help, and we need every hand on deck to get my sister back. I’ll be damned if you or anyone tries to hinder that.”
Everyone falls silent for a moment after her outburst.
The sound of Bull’s heavy breathing fills the truck cab, his anger palpable.
“You really think I would let anyone stand in our way?” he finally asks, glancing at Siren. “I’m just not one who trusts others very easily.”
”I understand,” she replies, softer. “Let’s just give it a try.”
Bull lets out a sigh and turns his eyes back to the road.
“I need the name of whoever you think is responsible for Stiletto’s disappearance,” I interrupt the silence, determined.
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with, boy.” Bull grunts, shifting in his seat.
“Enlighten me.” I retort, unfazed by his response.
Bull glances at Siren, who nods slightly. He sighs, “The Commander. Big time drug supplier up here who’s been coming in on our turf. We’ve had an issue with him the last few years.”
My heart skips a beat when I hear that name.
I don’t know why, but the name is familiar to me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Stiletto
I wake up to the bite of cold concrete digging into my cheek.
My head pounds like a jackhammer, blurring the edges of reality.
I blink, trying to focus.
Why am I still alive? I thought they would have killed me by now.
“Get the fuck up!” A voice rings in my ears, harsh and demanding.
But it’s not just the voice—it’s the memory of a blow that knocked me out.
The sharp sting pulses through my skull.
I push myself up on shaky arms, scanning my eyes around the dark room.
Shadows loom around me and I’m left to wonder if anyone is actually down here with me.
The air smells stale, laced with something metallic.
Panic flares in my chest.
“Hello?” My voice is hoarse, cracked like the dry earth underfoot. No answer.
Just silence, thick and suffocating.
I squint into the dimness.
The walls are rough, painted in a sickly gray.
My heart races.
“Shit,” I whisper, trying to swallow but my throat feels like sandpaper.
I rub my eyes, willing the fog to lift.
I truly don’t understand why they haven’t killed me. Sure, I’m leverage, but I’m a nobody—just a prospect.
Then I feel it, the weight of chains biting into my skin.
I shift, wincing at the pain.
My wrists throb, raw and burning.
I grit my teeth. No time for weakness.
Footsteps echo above me—heavy, menacing.
My breath quickens.
I press my back against the wall, heart hammering like a freight train.
“Please, someone help me,” I murmur, though I know no one can hear. Not down here.
A door creaks open, then slams shut.
My pulse races faster as I prepare for whatever’s coming next.
I brace myself, fighting the urge to curl up and disappear.
I try to move my wrists, and pain shoots up my arms like fire. “Goddamn it,” I hiss, biting my lip to stifle a whimper. The rawness—the burn—it’s excruciating.
“Focus, Stiletto,” I say, forcing myself to breathe.
Each inhale feels like a victory.
But the chains dig deeper with every small movement, reminding me I’m trapped—bound.
I lean against the wall, breathing through the pain.
The chains are cold, unyielding.
All I know is that I have to find a way to get out of here.
Just as I’m mulling over ideas of escape, my stomach growls—an ugly reminder of my situation.
Three days, maybe more, with nothing but stale air and darkness.
“Get it together, Stiletto,” I whisper, my voice raspy, like gravel scraping against glass.
Each word feels like a fight.
I can’t let panic claw its way up my throat.
I’ve survived being without food so many times throughout my life, especially back home in the Bronx.
I can get through this. I know I can.
The chains rattle as I shift once more.
God, they hurt.
I flex my fingers, trying to find some sensation in them.
The rawness stings, blurring the edges of my mind.
Focus. Just breathe. It’s taking everything in me to remain calm, to not let my current predicament break me down.
Time stretches here, each moment feeling like an eternity.
Is it day? Night? I can’t tell anymore.
“Keep moving,” I tell myself, even though every flicker of movement sends jolts of pain through my wrists.
They’re on fire.
I grit my teeth, fighting back the tears prickling my eyes.
If I can just stay calm... but the hunger gnaws at me, relentless.
Whatever they’ve done to me, they want me to break.
“Just a prospect,” I remind myself, but that doesn’t make it easier.
It’s like a bitter pill lodged in my throat—useless.
I’m nothing but a pawn in their game.
“Please,” I say, desperation creeping into my tone. “Someone. Anyone.” But the silence answers back, mocking.
“I need to find a way out,” I murmur, clenching my jaw against the pain.
I twist my wrists, searching for any hope of freedom, but the chains hold tight—their grip suffocating.
My thoughts drift to my sister, Suyin, or as the club knows her, Siren.
Her face flashes behind my eyelids, and it almost feels like I’m home.
My lips crack as I try to wet my dry mouth. It feels like sandpaper scraping against bone.
Each breath is a struggle, the air thick with dust and despair.
I can’t remember the last time I drank water.
My throat burns, begging for relief.
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” I whisper to myself, though the words taste bitter now.
A noise above interrupts my thoughts—the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.
My heart races.
Heavy footsteps reverberate through the floor, each thud echoing my rising panic.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I can’t let them see me weak.
I force myself to sit up, wincing as the chains bite into my wrists even more.
The cold concrete presses into my back like a relentless reminder of where I am.
The door creaks open, shadows spilling into the dim space.
My breath catches. Adrenaline surges through me.
I scramble to brace myself against the wall, trying to appear defiant, even as dread coils in my stomach.
“Are you ready to talk yet?” A voice booms, gravelly and commanding.
“Please,” I rasp, desperation clawing at my insides. “I don’t know anything.”
Footsteps descend faster, and I feel the air shift.
A figure looms, blocking the light.
My pulse quickens, a frantic drumbeat against my chest.
“Look at me!” he barks, his presence suffocating.
I force my gaze upward, meeting dark eyes that burn with intensity.
“Why are you asking me things I don’t know?” I manage, my voice trembling.
“Where’s my fucking grandson,” His question strikes like a slap.
“God, I don’t know,” I plead, but my words seem to vanish into the air.
The heaviness presses down, dragging me further into despair.
“I don’t believe you. You’re nothing better than a no good, rotten biker whore.” He takes a step closer, and I shrink back, the wall digging into my spine.
“Please,” I whisper again, my cracked lips barely forming the word.
“You’re going to regret not speaking up. I’ll make sure of it.” His tone drips with malice, a promise of pain yet to come.
In that moment, I realize—I might not survive whatever comes next.
Before I can blink, he lunges at me.
A hand grips my throat, nails digging into soft skin, lifts me up and slams me against the cold concrete wall.
Pain radiates through my back and my wrists.
“Tell me the fucking truth!” His breath smells of smoke and something rancid.
