Page 140 of Stabby Little

Sex trafficking is the Diavolos' core business. If Grant didn't know about it, he's clueless as fuck.

A better explanation is that he's lying.

Tears well in my eyes as I press my dragon stuffy to my chest. I sink my face into my pillow, fighting back the anxiety that swirls through me like a Category Five tornado.

Maybe Grant works for someone else. Maybe there's another crime family based out of Yonkers. Maybe a different warehouse burned down that's completely unrelated to mine.

But why would Grant accept the job with the Diavolos in the first place? Even if he wasn't aware of their core business, he knew they were evil men. They're not noble mobsters like the Ferraris, who saved Callum, Arlo, and Rusty while searching for me. No, the Diavolos are cruel bastards with black hearts who use their power for destruction instead of good. Arlo told me they spiked his generic acid reflux medication with sugar and stimulants. Surely, Grant is a better judge of character than to trust men like that.

My mind drifts to Grant's investigation room. Did he truly create that room to search me for me? Or was it a ploy to win my trust? It's possible Grant created the investigation room after I escaped the warehouse. Maybe the Diavolos told him to search for me so he organized the leads on his walls to bring me back to them.

That doesn't make sense. The stories and photographs Grant hung up went back years. The Diavolos have more recent pictures of me he could've used. Grant wouldn't need to rely on computer simulations to predict how I look today if the Diavolos sponsored his investigation.

"Fuck." I squeeze my dragon stuffy even harder. Conflicting thoughts circle my mind at record pace.

Here I was, thinking Grant was my rock all these years.

My savior.

My redeemer.

He works for the men who hurt me most of all.

That's what I get for trusting someone other than myself.

* * *

I'm preparing a cup of tea when someone knocks on the door.

Instantly, a wave of irritation washes over me. I don't want to answer the door, I don't want to speak to anyone. My heart aches over the shit I've been thinking about, and the nap I took didn't help at all.

If anything, I woke up even more heartbroken. My perfect rescuer is just as bad as my captors. Probably worse. Even though I have zero recollection of this, he could've entered the warehouse and used me. I wouldn't have known whether it was him under a ski mask, which the Diavolos made everyone wear.

I set my mug of tea on the counter and head to the door.

"Is someone there?" Sparrow asks, muting his animated movie.

"I'll get it." I ignore my friend. "Don't jump up to help. Keep watching your movie."

"Thanks," Sparrow says. "I'm really loving this storyline. I didn't realize little monsters lived inside your head who controlled your memories."

I take it my friend's watchingInside Out.

"You'd better be in the mood to watch that again next weekend," I grumble, shaking my head. "You weren't supposed to start that without me."

"We'll make it up to you," Finn says. "We can watch the newLittle Mermaidmovie with Halle Berry and I'll buy you gummy treats."

"I don't think Halle Berry's in that movie," Sparrow says. "I'm pretty sure she's sixty."

"Sixty-year-olds can still be amazing mermaids," Finn snaps. "Shove your age-shaming comments up your ass."

"It's Halle Bailey." Sparrow's voice is extra annoyed. "Not Halle Berry. You need to learn to read."

I open the door… and lose my shit when I see who it is.

My jaw tumbles to the ground.

Miles… what's he doing here?

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