Stabby boy deadly daddie.., p.9
Stabby Boy (Deadly Daddies Book 2), page 9
“Did you contact the FBI?”
“We spoke to every alphabet agency in the country. The New York FBI field office swore they’d find him. When they dropped the ball, we hired private investigators to track him down.”
“I take it they never found him.”
“They overturned every fucking rock in this goddamn state. No one had any information.”
“What was his name?”
“Gregory.”
“How old was he when he vanished?”
“Thirteen.”
“So five years ago.”
“Yes. He’d be nineteen now.”
“Did you reach out to the CIA?”
“The FBI told us it wouldn’t do any good. The CIA only handles security cases.”
“Did you glean any information at all?”
“The only thing we learned was that he was wearing a rainbow bracelet when he vanished. The FBI told us that likely made him a target for a hate crime. They theorized someone pulled up in an unmarked van and beat him up because he sported rainbow gear.”
“I take it you didn’t buy that.”
Dax raises his Glock and fires a shot at our target.
Crack.
His gun smokes as he stares dead into my eyes. “Not for a fucking second. Hate crime victims aren’t thirteen-year-old boys walking to class. That shit doesn’t happen.”
“This is why you started predator hunting?”
“I couldn’t sit by while the FBI dropped cases like my stepbrother’s. I knew men kidnapped him—I felt it in my fucking gut. Gregory was the sweetest boy, one all his teachers praised. He didn’t run away like the private detective I paid for told me. And intolerant bastards certainly didn’t kill him and hide his body.”
“You’re certain he was abducted,” I say.
“Yes.” Dax stares at the thunderclouds in the distance. “He was a child model. He appeared on three cereal boxes my stepmom framed in her house. When he vanished, she put his modelling pictures into storage because she couldn’t handle seeing them every day.”
I place my hand on Dax’s shoulder. “You did a good thing by starting your YouTube channel. Most men would accept what the FBI told them at face value and go on as usual.”
Grant never believed the FBI when they said Ollie was gone for good. I also didn’t buy their bullshit when they informed me Sparrow ran away. The incentive structure for government agents doesn’t align with victims’ families. FBI agents chase low-hanging fruit to move up the corporate ladder. The more easy cases they win, the faster they excel through the bureaucratic ranks.
That’s why they frequently target mentally ill citizens. It’s easy to lure them into staged operations as opposed to chasing down real criminals in our society—such as senators who participate in child sex rings. Federal agents turn a blind eye to power, but they’ll use five agents to lure a broke twenty-one-year-old boy into a drug trafficking plot. Then they’ll lock him up for twenty years and pat themselves on the fucking back.
Victims’ families need agents to fight for them. To get on the streets and search for their missing children. The lazy, career-climbing men in suits don’t care.
“I know he’s still out there.” Dax clenches his fists. “My gut tells me he’s alive.”
“Did you look into the Diavolos’ victim list?” I step toward Dax. “Grant didn’t discover what happened to Ollie until he found him on a sexual assault video in their Yonkers basement.”
“It’s worth a shot.” Dax fires another shot at his target. “I haven’t because I don’t have access to it. If you could help me search, I’d be grateful.”
“What’s your stepbrother’s full name?”
“Gregory Jensen.”
I make a mental note of this. “Did he have any aliases?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Nicknames. Changed first names.”
“He had a little goldfish he posed with in a cereal commercial. His stepmom called him Nemo for a bit. I can’t imagine he stuck with that.”
I nod. “I’ll put in a request to search for Gregory or Nemo in the Diavolos’ records. Constantine will assist me.”
Something niggles in the back of my brain. Nemo isn’t the only nickname one could have that stems from goldfish.
Fish have scales, tails, and… fins.
Could Sparrow’s friend Finn be Dax’s little stepbrother—the missing boy who spurred him to hunt predators?
Constantine and Grant will help me get to the bottom of this.
I lift my AK-47 and aim it at my target. It’s a hay mound with three circles.
I pull the trigger and unleash a string of bullets.
Ratata.
My semi-automatic weapon smokes when I lower it.
“Nice fucking shot.” Dax’s voice is deep.
I issue him a curt nod. “I haven’t fired one of these suckers in years.”
Dax lifts his Glock and aims at his target. He blasts a hole through the middle.
Bang.
“You’re a top-notch marksman.” I turn to my companion. “If Constantine permitted it, I’d invite you to Russia.”
“I’m not a wilderness man. My prey lives in the city.”
“You do a damn good job hunting sick men. Your operation is impeccable.”
“You should come with me some night. We could take down these bastards together.”
“I already deal with enough dark shit at my job. I don’t want to immerse myself in depravity when I’m off the clock.”
“You’d make the world a better place.” Dax grips my shoulder. “Every predator we take off the streets makes Manhattan safer.”
Visions of combing through dark alleys searching for abusive assholes flash through my mind. I picture myself with a gun and a video camera, ready to take down creeps.
“I’ll take you up on that offer when I return from Russia.” I jut out my chin. “Not before.”
“Why not?”
“I need to keep my pretty face intact for Sparrow.”
“You dirty dog. He’d consent to a relationship with you, right?”
“I believe so.”
“I’d hate to put you on my YouTube channel.” Dax smirks. “You’d sully my homepage with your ugly mug.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not interested in a relationship with Sparrow. We were too close when he was growing up and besides, he’s my nephew’s best friend.”
Dax spits on the ground. “As long as you talk it through, there’s nothing preventing you from getting together—provided you both consent.”
“Consent is everything.”
“Consent is also sexy.”
“You can say that again.” I lean in. “Sometimes, just talking about consent does it for me. I get rock hard thinking about my partners telling me yes.”
“Goddamn fucking right.”
13
SPARROW
Thursday, July 28th
"Don't be jealous."
Ollie sits on Constantine’s center island and adjusts his diamond ring. He hands me a tray of cannoli and orders me to prepare for his demonstration.
Apparently, his engagement ring conceals a diamond switchblade. I don't know how the hell Grant pulled that off, but he did.
Or so Ollie says. Personally, I think he's exaggerating—he has a propensity to tell whoppers.
I'll believe it when I see it.
"I'm not jealous." I pop Benedetto's cannoli in my mouth, then rub my lips with my right hand. "I'm expressing doubt about the veracity of your claims."
Finn puts his hands on his hips. "We all saw Ollie's switchblade ring at Little Land. We know it’s real."
"Maybe I was loopy that day." I tap my foot on the ground. "Jog my memory."
Arlo lets out a groan. "Hurry up. I want to see your demonstration before Constantine returns from his work meeting."
Ollie, Arlo, Rusty, Callum, Finn and I are at Constantine's penthouse while he and his brothers meet with Jagger, Grant, and Grant’s unnamed acquaintance. They'll be gone for another few hours, but Constantine's extra-strength security system will protect us in the meantime.
Benedetto left trays of cannoli for us to munch on. The smells of vanilla and pastry cream waft through the house, making my tummy rumble.
But right now, my mind's not on the cannoli or the absent Daddies. It's on Ollie's ring. Which I don't believe conceals a weapon.
I'd definitely recall if Ollie's diamond ring contained a switchblade. That's not something you forget.
Ollie flashes his ring in my face. "Press the button on the side and see for yourself."
I lick pastry cream off my index finger. "If this squirts me in the face, I'll beat you up."
"It won't squirt you in the face."
"How can you be so sure?"
"It's my freaking ring." Ollie rolls his eyes. "I'd know if it had the ability to squirt."
"That sounds dirty," Rusty chimes in.
"It's not dirty. Besides, this thing cost five hundred thousand dollars. It's not like one of those roses you get at clown supply stores."
"I think you mean pens," Rusty drawls, helping himself to another cannoli as he runs his left hand through his red hair. "Plastic pens are the things that squirt. Not roses."
Ollie fixes Rusty with a stern look. "I've seen squirting roses."
"Which clown supply stores do you go to?" I run my finger over Ollie's ring. "This entire argument could be solved with a quick Google search."
"I swear my ring won't squirt you." Ollie sticks out his pinky finger. "Pinky promise."
I loop my pinky through Ollie's. "You know what’ll happen if you lie to me. I get to chop off your pinky."
"Don't make those jokes. Michael sliced Grant's pinky off two months ago. It's a sore subject for me."
"It's an even sorer subject for Grant," Callum drawls.
Ollie clenches his fists. "That's so not funny."
"It's kind of funny."
"My Daddy's upset about his missing finger." Ollie lets out a low growl. "You're making jokes at his expense."
"I'm more so making jokes at people with missing pinkies' expense, but whatever." Callum dismisses Ollie with a flippant wave. "You can be mad at me if you need an outlet for your incessant rage."
Ollie turns to me. "Do I have incessant rage?"
"We all do." Why bother lying? "All those years in the Diavolos’ Yonkers warehouse would do that to anybody."
Finn lets out a groan. "Speak for yourself. I don't have a rage problem."
I shrug. "We murdered Eder in Brooklyn together just a few weeks ago. If you don't have a rage problem, I'd be scared to know who does."
"That was business." Finn is nothing if not evasive. "We were manipulating Eder to kill him, which is what we planned. Everything was methodical. I didn't feel any rage."
"I must be mixing you up with Burrito." I roll my eyes. "You want to talk about rage problems? I couldn't drag him off Eder until I promised he could eat our next victim's heart. I don't think his previous owners treated him well as a puppy."
Burrito has Mommy issues. That's why he wants to eat everyone.
Ollie swishes his ring back and forth. "Are you going to test my switchblade ring or what?"
"I've lost interest," I deadpan. "Now all I want to do is eat cannoli."
"You're something else." Ollie presses a hidden button on the side of his ring.
It happens in an instant.
The switchblade rushes out of the tip and glistens in Constantine's penthouse lights.
My jaw tumbles to my feet. "Holy shit." Reaching out, I run my fingernail across the blade. "This is serious."
"Grant gave it to me to take out Michael." Ollie's eyes turn to slits. "When we corner him, I'll slit his throat."
Finn ticks his eyes up. "I think Ollie definitely has a rage problem."
Rusty takes a sip of his juice box. "All three of you have rage problems. If I didn't know you, I'd think you were serial killers."
"Hey," I drawl. "Only one of us keeps severed hands in our freezer."
We can't all be Jeffrey Dahmer.
Ollie sighs. "So I like to keep tokens commemorating my kills. Sue me."
Arlo hands Ollie an alien stuffy. "You need to cuddle aliens more. They'll help fill the black hole in your heart."
Ollie takes Arlo's stuffy and presses it to his chest. "Thanks. I'll bring Mr. Alien with me on my next kill."
Arlo, Rusty, and Callum continue speaking to Ollie. I take the opportunity to head to the sofa overlooking the Hudson with Finn.
Finn waggles his eyebrows when we sit down. "Tell me about the Ferraris’ updated plans."
"They're sending Jagger to Russia and they want me to tag along."
Finn drapes his hand on top of mine. "That's exciting. How long will you be in Russia with Jagger?"
"Two months."
Finn's jaw drops. "You're not seriously going after the Diavolos, are you?"
"Why else would we go to Russia? That's where the Diavolos are hiding. The Ferraris must've received the same intelligence report we did about Zaire's yacht."
At least, this is what I assume. I only know what Jagger told me after our breakfast date. He’ll fill me in on the rest when I meet him at the Little Bunny Club.
"Be careful." Finn squeezes my hand. "I don't want Zaire to kidnap you and take you to Abu Dhabi."
"If he tries anything, I'll go down fighting." I mean this with everything I have. "Maybe Ollie can hook me up with a switchblade ring to defend myself."
"I doubt it," Finn jokes. "That thing cost half a million dollars. You don't have that kind of money."
"Maybe there's a budget version." I stare at the fast-flowing Hudson river. "I'm fine with cubic zirconia instead of diamonds."
Finn sketches a heart in the window. His eyes glaze over with forgotten memories.
"It's days like this when I think of my past life." His voice is dreamy.
I furrow my brow. "What about it?"
"My family." Finn takes a bite of cannoli. "I told you about my stepbrother, didn’t I?"
Truth be told, I don't recall much about Finn's previous existence. He shared a little in the warehouse, but he didn't discuss specifics. I remember him telling me about his older stepbrother he had a crush on, but every time I asked for details, he changed the subject.
It was obvious he was thinking about his stepbrother when we played with each other in our cages. He moaned and pretended he was making out with him when he came.
"You mentioned him." I issue Finn a knowing look. "And you definitely thought about him when we played together."
"You weren't supposed to know that."
"It's a little hard when you moan someone else's name."
Finn lets out a snort. "I only knew him for a short period of time. My mother remarried and suddenly, he was in my life."
"I thought you grew up with him."
"Nope. I only knew him for a year when I was thirteen. That was back when I still went by Gregory."
My eyebrows stitch together. "Gregory?"
"That's my birth name," Finn explains. "I never liked it. I asked my family to call me Nemo because of my goldfish pet. My friends switched to Finn and I loved it—but I kept this from my family."
"I can't believe you never told me your real name."
"It wasn't relevant to our friendship."
"I feel like you've lied to me for the past five years. I've never met a Gregory."
"It's an ugly name," Finn confesses. "That's why I kept it under wraps."
"I'd never judge you." I scoot close to Finn and wrap him in a hug. "I wouldn't give a shit if your name was Darold. You'd still be my closest friend."
Finn cracks his neck. "What's wrong with Darold?"
"It's the ugliest name in the English language. No one wants to be named Darold."
"That's offensive. If I were named Darold, I'd be upset."
"Good thing your name isn't Darold… Gregory."
Finn glares at me. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me that. My name is Finn."
"I don't think so." I pinch Finn's cheek. "You're Gregory from now on. Or Greg. Do you ever go by Greg?"
"See that?" Finn points to Constantine's balcony. "I'll dropkick you over the edge of that balcony if you keep this up."
"Greg is a great name."
"I'll let Burrito into your bedroom tonight if you call me Greg one more time. He'll eat you in your sleep."
"You wouldn't."
"I would."
"Yeah, right."
"Try me." Finn etches another heart in the window. "There's a reason I go by Finn. It suits my personality."
I unwrap my arms from Finn's body. "Did you ever get up to any hanky-panky with your stepbrother?"
"I was too young to even know what hanky-panky was."
Finn lets out a dreamy sigh. "I had feelings for him, though. Before I even knew what feelings were. He was so sexy and he had ripped biceps and an eight pack. When he took his shirt off at family gatherings, I thought I was staring at a Greek God."
I lick my lips. "I would've made a move… if I were eighteen and old enough to consent."
"I didn't have the conceptual framework to understand my attraction. I wanted to be his friend. His best buddy he took around the city and played football with."
"I take it that changed in the warehouse."
Finn's eyes go dark. "Our captors introduced us to sex when we were way too young. My thoughts concerning my stepbrother were no longer chaste. I inserted him into my fantasies to cope with the Diavolos' abuse."
I thread my fingers through Finn's. "I did the same with Jagger. I don't judge you, Gregory."
"Call me Gregory again and see what happens." Finn tears his hand away from mine.
"I was joking."
"You won't be laughing when I push you over the balcony."
"I thought you wanted to let Burrito into my room instead. Make up your mind."
"I'll do both. When you're recovering from your injuries, I'll sneak Burrito into your hospital room and lock the door behind me."
"You're a monster."
“Takes one to know one.”
14
