Chapter 30
Chapter
Thirty
Katya
The Deviant’s crew is growing, but it’s sloppy. Five of his sex dens were raided—plenty of tapes and physical evidence to convict—but the women went missing. It’s taken months, but I’ve tracked down a few. They appear to be under the protection of Thiago Ramos.
“Evening, Agent,” he says, leaning against the door of a house I know for a fact his wife and child do not live in.
The house is massive, with three guest houses on the property. I can’t imagine how much it cost or what he did to afford it. And I’m not sure I want to know.
“Good evening. Are you going to invite me in?”
“Depends. Do you have a warrant?”
“No warrant, just curious.”
He steps aside and bows dramatically. “Feel free to check every room, but knock first. The ladies are still getting used to their privacy.”
The interior isn’t set up like a typical house. There are three offices on the main floor, each with nameplates and signs stating whether they’re occupied.
“Dietitian, behavioral therapist specializing in sexual trauma, and an on-site physician,” he explains, pointing to each door. “Every woman goes through an extensive treatment protocol before she can move into the next house.”
His phone rings, and he glances at it. “It’s my mama. If I don’t answer, she’ll call every three minutes.” He steps away, motioning for me to look around.
I pass through an open kitchen with white counters and a “Live Laugh Love” wooden sign over the window. A pot of chili simmers on the stove, and a bowl of rice rests on the kitchen counter. The whole house smells like summer. Daisies in a vase brighten the windowsill.
The kitchen leads into a common area, where two women sit on a big white couch, chatting. They look up when I say, “Hi.”
Their smiles reach up to their eyes. “We know who you are.”
I approach them. “Do you feel safe here?”
The women exchange amused glances and laugh.
“Here? Where we get free food, shelter, and community before we move to the other house? No man touches us. We’re never alone unless we want to be, and we can come and go as we please. ‘Safe’ isn’t the word,” one of them says.
“Free. Human. Seen. Important. Valued,” the other adds.
This is all too good to be true. I dig a little deeper. “And you don’t feel like you’re being forced to say this?”
“Thiago doesn’t force us to do anything. He does suggest we look out for each other and report anything that could get someone hurt. But that’s for everyone’s safety.”
I nod. “How long?—”
“Too long,” one interrupts before I can finish.
“Do you see your family?”
“No, but I can send them money. We also have a phone to receive their messages.” The younger one dips her head. “We owe everything to Thiago and to The Octopus. If it wasn’t for them, I know where I would still be.”
Thiago reenters the room, clapping his hands. “Ah, there you are.” At first, he’s saying it to me, then maybe to the girls. But the women visibly relax as he approaches. Interesting. He wants them to know he’s coming to avoid unnecessary surprises.
“Wanna see the rest of the compound?” He motions to the back door with his chin.
I don’t love that he calls it a compound. From infrared imaging, the houses radiate too much heat for normal buildings. Whatever is happening here, it’s not a typical halfway house. There’s something else going on. Maybe a greenhouse for pot?
I nod, though my stomach twists. I don’t want to arrest the people who protect Dimitri and Uri.
We step through the screen door into the backyard. Another house sits not far off and he angles in that direction, silently indicating I should follow.
“This is where the women work.”
Yep, I’m going to puke.
The power cables leading to the house are massive. Thiago opens the back door but doesn’t announce his entrance—he doesn’t need to. A woman sits at a screen, monitoring security cameras around the property. A long, gnarled scar mars her otherwise perfect face. She waves at me.
This house isn’t set up like a home either. Instead of a living room, there are standing desks and whiteboards. Calendars with circled dates are scribbled with numbers, crossed out and rewritten in red or blue. Pixelated images of cupcakes, candy, and cartoon princesses—original designs, from what I can tell—cover the walls.
Thiago knocks on a closed door. Inside, three women sit in front of computers.
“How’s the training coming?” he asks.
A woman in her late twenties rubs her eyes. “Ugh, I’m so close.”
Another pats her shoulder. “You’ll get it. By the end of the week, you’ll be coding like a pro.”
Coding?
Across the hall, two women sit on a couch, glued to their phones.
“How’s the beta testing?” Thiago asks.
“Level fifty-four is glitchy as hell,” one replies, “but we won’t release it for another two months.”
The other girl stands but quickly averts her eyes. “Sir?”
“Yes, Catalia?” His voice softens. “You know you don’t need to look at the floor when you speak to me, right?”
She nods and lifts her head but drops it again. “Sorry, it’s an old habit.”
“I know,” he says gently. “Let’s have you work with Dr. Shin on that. Did you want to say something?”
She takes a deep breath. “I was thinking about a chess game.”
His eyebrows raise and Thiago’s posture straightens. “Chess? Really?”
“Yeah. Grasshopper already has the algo for it. I thought we could add cool skins for the pieces, create a new scoring system, maybe add a dancing cat or frog. One of the developers at Grasshopper already has most of it completed. We could get it out of beta by the end of the year, assuming Ice Cream Bubble Pop Princess’s new stages don’t need too many resources.”
Thiago scratches his chin and glances at his phone. “I like it. Run it past the team next Monday.”
Ice Cream Bubble Pop Princess? What the hell is going on?
He shows me every room, including the basement, which houses the server room. Once we’re alone under the hum of the servers, it clicks.
“Mobile gaming?”
“Yep. Grasshopper was going to shut this division down, so I brought over only the female developers, hired tutors, and now we’re in the top one hundred on the app store.”
“These women... They were victims of The Deviant’s human trafficking rings?”
He nods. “Yep. I rescued them, gave them skills, ownership in the company, three meals a day, no rent. They’re safe and paid for their work.”
“And what do you get out of this?”
He grins. “This year alone, I’ve made enough through microtransactions to pay for ten years of private school for Maria. Plus, I love taking something from The Deviant and turning it into something beautiful—and equally addictive—with better profit margins.”
“This was your idea?”
He shakes his head. “No, Alana’s. She owns Grasshopper. It started as a gaming company and now focuses on data storage and mining.”
Of course. Alana.
“It’s genius.”
“Oh, and it’s all legal—at least the business side. The housing might be a gray area, but the land is owned by the Olympians, and their lawyers are protecting us. So, if you did want to send a warrant...”
“Nah. We’re good.”
The more I’m involved with the Four Families, the less criminal they seem—and the more dangerous my own coworkers feel. Am I sitting on the right side of history on this one?