Page 136 of Stabby Little

No.

This can't be happening.

I pray to fucking God I misunderstood Grant.

I pray he's talking about a different warehouse that burned down that's completely unrelated to the Diavolos' hellhole.

Because if it's the same warehouse, that means Grant…works for my abusers.

"I have to go." Standing up, I tear myself away from Grant.

"Wait." Grant stops me dead in my tracks. He rushes toward me and grabs my hand. "I know who you are, Ollie. I'm not trying to hurt you."

I slip out of his grip and rush out the door.

41

GRANT

Thursday, June 25th

I clutchmy Glock as I exit my BMW. Jagger swings out of the passenger door and joins me on the street. We stand side-by-side as we stare at Michael's house rising before us like a beacon.

Darkness surrounds us. Wispy storm clouds cover the moon and paint the neighborhood in dark black. The breeze that swirled through Manhattan earlier tonight is gone: silence has replaced it. Thick, impenetrable silence. As thick as Boston smog.

"Let's do it." Jagger's voice cuts through the night.

I slide fresh bullets into my gun. "Are you sure?" I grit my teeth. "This is risky as fuck."

Jagger and I plan to break into Michael's office. We received notice that he was in South Florida with his brothers addressing secret business. After the shit that went down with Kobe Bailey, I knew we didn't have much time to act.

We have exactly one night to pull off our operation. We'll break into Michael's office, find documents that expose his criminal activities, and leave. We don't know what we'll do with the fucking documents. Taking them to the FBI is an option, but my gut tells me that's the wrong thing to do. The important thing is that we verify Michael's crimes ourselves.

Jagger slides a ski mask over his face. "I'll never forgive him for what he made me do to Kobe. That shit was disgusting."

My jaw flexes. "He knew Kobe didn't play any role in Gordon or Xavier's death. I think he wanted to whip a college kid."

Jagger spits on the ground. "He's a piece of shit we should've taken care of years ago."

"We didn't know." I place my hand on Jagger's shoulder. "We thought he was only involved in drug trafficking. Not sex slavery."

"We'll know for certain after we penetrate his office tonight." Jagger stares dead into my eyes. "When we find evidence of his crimes, we won't let him get away with it."

I pull my knife out of my sock and slide it in my waistband. "I want to see if he has any documents on Ollie. He could have something on Nolan, too."

Jagger and I walk towards Michael's house. Because he's in Florida, he initiated his automated security systems. If we trip the wires, he'll send his men ASAP.

Jagger and I approach the front door. It looms before us, rising up like a silo. From my back packet, I tug out the master key I had made from a print the last time I was here. Michael was taking a phone call and he didn't realize I captured images of both sides of his key, then stored them in an encrypted folder on my phone. I took the photos to an underground locksmith who specializes in breaking and entering who made me a second set of keys for Michael's home that wouldn't trip the alarm.

"Disable the Ring system," I order.

Jagger pulls out his phone and takes a picture of Michael's Ring doorbell. He scans the device with a special app an underground hacker made for us.

The phone dings a moment later.

“The system is disabled. You have ten minutes before it reactivates.”

I place my palm on Jagger's shoulder. “Let's go."

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