Page 9 of Stabby Little

I hand him the weapon.

He raises it and puts two bullets in Bolverkr's head.

Bang.

Bang.

He slips the gun in his back pocket. “The Diavolos don't fuck with liars.”

“It had to be done.”

Jagger and I drag Bolverkr's body to a corner and douse it in gasoline.

This is the Diavolos' procedure for disposing of dead bodies.

In the past they chopped up their enemies and buried them in concrete but with the NYPD cracking down, they pivoted to burning.

After coating Bolverkr's corpse in flammable liquid, I flick my lighter on and swish it across his foot.

His body bursts into flames, burning fast and hard.

I turn to Jagger. “Let's go.”

We head to the black limousine the Diavolos use to transport us to and from jobs.

Jagger's barely stepped through the door when his phone buzzes.

His brow furrows when he reads the text. “Shit.”

“What is it?”

He shows me the picture. It's a top hitman on Michael's squad covered in blood dead on a sofa.

“Gordon.”

3

OLLIE

“Look what I got.”

I reach into my backpack and pull out Gordon's hand. After brushing a speck of lint from the thumb, I set it on the coffee table. I covered it in saran wrap the second I arrived home because shit, there's no way this won't smell.

I'm lucky as hell no cops stopped me on the way back from Gordon's house. If they'd frisked me, I would've been dead meat.

My best friends Sparrow and Finn sit in front of me. Sparrow is a twenty-year-old boy with green eyes, floppy brown hair, and a devilish smile. His real name is Nolan, but we call him Sparrow because of the sparrow stuffy he always carries around. Finn is a nineteen-year-old blond boy whose blue eyes shine like sapphires. He was a sweet boy before the Diavolos hurt him. Now, he has a lust for blood that rivals Pablo Escobar’s.

We escaped the Diavolos' sex trafficking warehouse together and we've been close ever since. At this moment, we're in our dingy, two-bedroom apartment we rented for cash from a man on Craigslist.

It's the best place to hide from the Diavolos.

Sparrow's eyes widen. “You're fucking with me.”

I pick up the hand and wave it in front of his face. “What's wrong? It's only a human limb.”

Sparrow smirks. “You're fucked in the head. I knew you were a wild one in the warehouse, but this—" he gestures to the hand in the saran wrap “—takes the cake.”

Finn kicks his feet onto the coffee table. “That's disgusting.”

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