Page 138 of Stabby Little

Jagger shakes his head. "It was easy once I gained access to Michael's security apparatus.”

“How the fuck did you do that?”

“I showed Cadbury a fake document from Anton that said he needed to seize control of Michael's estate. I memorized the passcodes to his surveillance system and sent the blueprints to my hacker contact. He coded the app for me last night."

"Cadbury could've turned you into Michael."

"Not a chance." Jagger's eyes turn to slits. "He knows Anton and Zaire are pissed at Michael for allowing Khalid into Tiffy's wedding. He's preparing to jump ship when they turn on him."

We step into Michael's office and shut the door behind us. A feeling of rage pounds me when I look at the familiar desk, windows opening to views of his back gardens, his bookshelves, and the wall he's slammed me into so many times. I stare at the Pelikan pen on his desk, the same pen he likely uses to make plans to kidnap boys, and fight a Homeric battle not to smash it under my feet. This is the same room where Michael threatened my son and cut off my pinky.

I won't give my boss another chance to make things right. He's wreaked too much havoc on myself and others, and Kobe's interrogation session was the final straw.

"You take the desk." I turn to Jagger. "I'll check the file folders."

Jagger nods. "Let's go fast. We only have nine minutes."

I walk to the metal filing cabinet to the left of Michael's desk. I've seen him stash files in here dozens of times. My fingers comb over the grainy paper, identical to the sheets he gives me before I take out his enemies.

I find tax documents, building code inspections, notes from his brothers, and receipts from recent purchases he'll send to his accountant. What's noticeably missing is evidence of the twisted crimes he's committed. Without that, this operation is a bust.

"Grant." Jagger's voice cuts through the darkness. "You need to see this."

Dropping the folder I'm holding, I rush to Jagger's side. "What?"

Jagger produces a USB drive from the top drawer of Michael's desk. "Look at this."

I accept the thumb drive and flip it over. On the back, there's an inscription that saysYonkers Data.

My blood turns to ice. "Plug it into your phone."

Jagger tugs out a USB adapter that allows him to plug the drive directly in his phone without the drive owner knowing he accessed it. He taps the folder icon, then cracks it open.

I take one look at the contents… and my heart stops beating.

Video footage from what can only be the basement of the Diavolos' Yonkers warehouse fills Jagger's screen. Anton and Zaire approach two eighteen-year-old boys in cages and force them to suck their dicks. They hold the young men by their shoulders, then forcibly penetrate them against steel bars.

Another video shows a man with a black ski mask leading a boy to a closet. This one is dated four years ago, and it shows the vile acts the man commits.

Other footage shows boys snuggling with each other in cages, holding stuffies and squeezing each other tight.

Some of the footage goes back ten years. I fight the urge to hurl my dinner into a garbage can.

"I thought Khalid said this was the black market adoption trade," I spit out.

"He was lying." Jagger doesn't mince words. "Or Michael, Anton, and Zaire lied to him."

Jagger clicks on another video. It shows a boy with someone who appears to be a guard. They're creeping out of the showers together and holding each other's hands.

I double tap the video and nearly lose my fucking shit when I realize who it is.

It's Ollie. The same perfect, precious boy who snuggled with me on my sofa. In the next frame, the guard does unthinkable things to him.

"Jagger." My throat clenches up. "This is Ollie."

Jagger stares me dead in the eyes. "You're lying."

I shake my head. "I'd recognize him anywhere."

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