Page 66 of Stabby Little

Michael.Anton. Zaire.

I sit at the table under the tent and survey my abusers. Rage bubbles up within me, but I take a sip of sparkling lemon water to push it down. I try not to think of the shit these three bastards made me do in the warehouse. But it's hard as fuck.

These are the men who controlled the sex trafficking operation.

They came in every so often and had their fill of the boys.

Some boys were underage and they were supposed to go to Room C for the black market adoption trade.

That didn't always happen.

Many of the guards moved those boys to Room A and had their way with them.

If the boys were legal, it was only barely.

When the boys grew too old, they put bullets in their skulls because the Diavolos' clients only wanted young ones.

They didn't even fucking allow us to own pets. How twisted is that? It wasn't enough they ripped us away from our families, whether they were loving or not, and forced us to service men day in and day out. We couldn't care for a puppy or kitten because we'd grow too attached.

One client gifted my friend Wesley a turtle. It was for a disgusting reason—his son owned a turtle and he wanted to role play he was fucking his son. The Diavolo brothers made Wesley stomp on the turtle and flush it down the toilet when they discovered he had it. Then they killed him for sneaking contraband into the warehouse, even though a client gave it to him.

There was no compassion. No justice. The Diavolo brothers controlled their human trafficking operation with an iron fist.

Lifting my hand, I adjust my wire-rimmed glasses and touch my prosthetic nose. I ensure that the glue holding it in place doesn't slip down and give way to my real facial features. This disguise is uncomfortable as hell. I can barely see through my green contacts: everything is blurry. If I keep them in too long, I fear I'll go blind.

I thank the gods that the Diavolos didn't recognize me. They know me as Trevor—if they suspected I was Ollie, they wouldn't let me enter.

Crystal nudges my ribs. "Sorry for the long ceremony. It'll be over soon."

I focus on Zaire Diavolo. He's sitting three tables down from me. He was by far the most ruthless of the brothers, the one with zero conscience. At least Michael knew when to stop, and he gave us a safe word—even if he didn't enforce it.

Zaire and Anton blew past our limits every time. Zaire raped the Room A boys, not giving a shit they weren't legal. I heard horror stories about him, the role play scenarios he engaged in, the shit he did. In his fitted suit and tie, he looks like a traditional mobster, but he's so much worse.

He's a monster. A man with no morals. A depraved lunatic who does what he wants.

I fantasized about capturing the Diavolo brothers and torturing them in the warehouse. Stringing them by their necks in the cramped showers and gutting them like pigs would've been an easy out. No, I wanted to hang them from the rafters of Room A, that place where they caused so much harm. I wanted to skin them alive, make them scream as their victims watched, then cover them in salt and douse their bodies in gasoline.

I saw that once inSaw—a horror movie the Diavolos made us watch. That was another thing about the Diavolos. They never let us choose the movies we wanted. Callum, Sparrow, and Finn wanted sweet, animated movies, but the Diavolos chose films laden with darkness. It traumatized us even further.

I fake a smile. "It's okay."

My eyes don't waver from the Diavolo brothers. I can't kill them now. I'd blow my cover. Besides, I wouldn't get within three steps of them before a guard stops me.

No doubt the Diavolos' bodyguards line this tent. I can't recognize them because of my contact lenses, but I bet I would if I could see clearly. They definitely have weapons.

Crystal places her hand on my thigh. "We can sneak away in an hour."

I turn to her. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm enjoying the ceremony."

Crystal cocks an eyebrow at me. "That's a surprise." She pulls a compact mirror out of her bag and applies a fresh coat of lipstick. "You don't look like you're having a good time."

"I wasn't." I gesture to my plate. "That was before we got our food. I've never had authentic Italian. This chicken Alfredo is to die for."

Crystal's eyebrows migrate to her forehead. "Itisgood, isn't it?" She digs her fork into her salad. "This is my uncle's secret recipe."

"Which uncle?"

"Michael." She gestures to the table where I'm already looking. "He's over there. The one wearing an Apple watch instead of a Rolex because he knows I like it."

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