Chapter Twenty-One
Thiago
Iroll my head between my shoulders, trying to ease the tension.
Nothing works; the headache throbs behind my eyes, making it impossible to enjoy the light, let alone the sun that has decided to come out and play today.
I haven’t gotten any sleep, and at the rate this is going, it looks like I won’t be anytime soon.
There’s a weird sensation that eats at me, the fact that my father is currently fighting for his life, and I’m out here trying to keep his secrets from spilling.
Protecting someone who abused so many others.
Before I head back to the hospital for a visit, I walk towards the tech building.
There’s two things I need from Ted, one to hack into the security cameras outside, and two to find out what's in this drive.
As always, I let myself inside the cramped space.
The smell of burnt coffee and corn chips fills my nostrils.
The fluorescent lights hum quietly, mingling with his aggressive clicking and typing.
I drop the USB on his desk, a small black coffin of secrets.
“Play it,” I say before I have a chance to stop myself.
Ted hesitates, giving me a dumb founded look. “You know you don’t need me to use a USB.”
I let out a long exhale. “I know that. It’s been a long night, just play the god damn thing.”
Ted shrugs before grabbing the USB between his grubby fingers and plugging it in.
The monitor flickers, and I walk around him—taking a spot behind him so I can see.
Static crawls across the screen like tiny insects, and my phone buzzes.
But I ignore it, and focus on the area that comes into view—a warehouse I've visited too many times to count. The same one that holds up a girl with long black hair. Naked and bound by ropes, blood running down her legs. She’s gagged and blindfolded.
Behind her…. Ezra.
My stomach churns, and the headache behind my eyes spikes until it feels like someone is driving nails through bones.
Ezra’s face is half-lit by the warehouse lamp, his expression unreadable as he thrusts into her.
She screams, begging him to stop, but the masked donors encourage his movements, urging him to hurt her more, to make her sing for her family.
And he does.
I step back, hitting the edge of a shelf. My vision tunnels, blurring everything around me, the image freezing for a second before looping.
“Jesus Christ,” Ted whispers, trying desperately to stop the video, but my hand darts out to stop him.
I don’t say a word; my throat is too dry to speak, no matter how hard I swallow.
My pulse hammers, blood rushing to my ears.
It’s not like this is new to us, but it’s the woman he brutalizes that makes me take a seat.
Michaeala’s muffled cries echo through the speakers, and I can’t tell if the sound is real or a figment of my imagination.
My phone buzzes again, and this time I look down at the screen.
Lucia’s name and contact picture fill the screen. Once again, I ignore it.
Biting down on the fleshy part of my cheeks, I watch Ted skip hours of the brutal assault, all orchestrated by the devil himself, Peter, who proudly pats Ezra on his shoulder as he removes the gag from her mouth. She screams for Wyatt before Peter silences her with his cock.
“Thiago, what the hell is this?” Ted asks, his voice shaking with fear. I swallow hard, not knowing what to say. He knows too much, and if he asks too many questions, it will land him six feet underground.
“Proof,” I say flatly, taking in a deep breath that steadies my labored breathing. “Or punishment. I don’t know anymore.”
The screen flickers again—new footage loading. My father’s voice cuts through the static, calm and commanding, before June’s face appears. Red and puffy, begging him to stop. I feel something snap inside me, making me rush towards the small trash can in the room and empty the rising bile into it.
“Fuck, this is some sick shit,” Ted mutters under his breath, looking over at me as if requesting permission to stop.
“It’s hours of this…” he adds, his voice trembling, but I barely hear him.
The sound of June’s sobs still echoes in my skull, a ghost that won’t shut up.
Disgust and anger create a cocktail inside me that has me falling to my ass with the trash can between my legs.
I’m sure I look as pathetic as I feel. Ted reaches for the keyboard again, muttering something about stopping the playback. I catch his wrist before he can touch it, spilling the trash onto the ground.
“Don’t,” I snarl, my voice coming out low and too calm for the storm raging inside me. The kind of calm that makes people afraid, and he’s no different.
Ted freezes. “Thiago, this—this isn’t something we can keep. If anyone finds out—”
“They won’t.” I lean closer until he can smell the vomit and whiskey that cling to my breath. “You’ll wipe all the logs, the cache, everything. You’ll forget what you saw, right after you find out who the fuck made this.”
He swallows hard. “And if I don’t?”
I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Then I’ll make sure you make it into a coffin.
” The words hang between us, heavy and cold.
I didn’t like threatening him, believe it or not.
I like Teddy—that’s my guy. But I couldn’t have him blabbering to anyone about what he just saw.
Ted nods, his fingers shaking as he starts to work on my demand.
I watch him work for a while before my phone buzzes.
Once again, I ignore Lucia’s call and focus on every key stroke, watching the last window close, before plucking the USB and slipping it back into my pocket.
“Now, that that’s out of the way,” I say. “We are moving to your other task of helping me to trace the upload, so we might find out who's running the blog.”
Ted hesitates, shaking his head slightly as if trying to find the words to tell me no. “You’re not thinking straight.”
I turn toward the door. “I’m thinking clearer than I ever have.”
And with that, I leave the small office.
The hallway feels too bright, and my head feels like it’s floating in the air while simultaneously being crushed beneath cement.
Truly a strange sensation. I put on my Ray-Bans to block out the sun before pulling out my phone and calling the only person I need an answer from.
Wyatt.
“Pick up,” I whisper into the phone, beelining to the parking lot.
The calls continue to go straight to voicemail, and irritation quickly takes over.
Is he behind the blogs? The accident? Wyatt…
What are you getting yourself into? The fourth call dies in my ear, the same hollow voicemail tone mocking me.
I stare at the screen until my reflection blurs.
Wyatt’s silence feels deliberate, like he’s already chosen a side.
I shove the phone back into my pocket before I open my car door and slip inside. With the press of a button, the engine growls to life, and I waste no time placing the car into drive, heading towards the hospital. The place I’m expected to be…
The drive to the hospital is a blur of asphalt and ghosts—June’s face, Michaela’s screams, and my father’s voice cutting through the static as he talked them through it.
By the time I pull into the lot, the sun is high in the sky, making the world feel too bright for how grey and twisted it truly is.
I pick up my pace and step into the hospital.
Inside, the air is cold enough to sting. Nurses move like shadows, their shoes whispering against the tiles, and beeping machines offer ambience. I pass them without a word, heading straight for the ICU.
As expected, Lucia is already there, draped in grief like its designer.
Her hand rests on the bed rail, her nails perfectly manicured, her expression practiced.
Was she always this fake? Lucia looks at my father, who lies in the bed, machines beeping all around him, tubes feeding him air he doesn’t deserve.
He looks weak enough to crush…
How easy it would be to end it all…
My hand balls into a fist as I work my jaw back and forth.
Sergio Safra is nothing but a whisper of what he used to be, and it hasn’t even been that long.
But from where I stand, I take in the wrinkles and age spots that cover his flesh.
Has he always looked this way? Or now that he’s fighting for life…
it has drained him in a way that is irreversible.
When I was a kid, I used to dream of becoming like him…
Until I noticed the true depravity of this place…
of him. My heart feels like it’s being held in someone’s fist, painfully squeezing the more I take him in.
Pressure builds behind my eyes, obscuring my vision.
I quickly blink it away, strengthening my resolve.
There’s no doubt, this entire system needs to burn, but I’m just one person.
If only I could talk to Wyatt, maybe we could work together.
Anything…
Lucia finally turns to me when she hears my footsteps approaching. “Thiago.”
I stop at the foot of the bed, not bothering to lift my gaze. “Did you ever want to be a mother?”
Her brows furrow, her head slightly tilts. “What?”
“Did you ever want to be a mother?” I repeat, pulling out my phone and swiping once, and the video plays of Zayden and my father, showing her the kind of horror that doesn’t need sound. Lucia’s face drains of color, watching a motionless Zayden pass out while my father has his way with him.
“Did you know you abandoned a son who found his way into this hell?” My voice shakes with emotion, and her head shakes with disbelief, but I keep going.
Feeding her all this anger that strangles me from the inside.
“Did you know that he raped him?” My voice falters, and I bite back a sob that strangles my throat.
“That— I…” I clear my throat, watching her stumble back, hitting the wall.