Page 52 of Reaper’s Wrath

“Mr. Farina, yes?” He nods. “I have your son here.”

“Elio,” I offer.

The Greek nods. “If you want to see Elio again, you’ll need to come up with two-hundred-thousand dollars. You have twenty-four hours.”

He ends the call, sending my stomach plummeting.

“You … you’re not going to just let me go?” I say on a ragged breath, dumbfounded that I could be back in the same damn situation I was in.

He pats my shoulder, then opens a bottle of pills. “We will see what they say. If they are unwilling, you will come with me. Now, take your medicine if you want to stay ahead of the pain.”

I’m now wary of taking anything from him, but the pain is creeping back in. I want to believe he has no reason to hurt me since he saved my life. Maybe he just wants his payday. Surely, my luck can’t be so horrendous that I’d end up in the hands of two evil psychopaths in a row.

My parents will pay, and I’ll be home by this time tomorrow.

Dad told the last guy he didn’t have the money—you heard him. What’s to say this time will be any different?

It will be because I refuse to think otherwise.

I swallow the pill, wincing as it goes down. A knock on the door is followed by the click of the lock turning over before a man enters. He’s in his mid-twenties and dressed casually in a T-shirt and worn khakis. My sluggish brain debates whether this man is a threat but can’t seem to summon the energy for panic. He looks relatively normal, and I’m so tired of being terrified.

“Captain, she’s all ready when you are.” The man eyes me warily, then hands me a Styrofoam cup with a straw. “Vanilla milkshake.”

I take it and gingerly begin to gulp down the glorious drink despite the pain of swallowing. I’m absolutely famished.

“Good. Matthias, this is Elio—the boy who gave death the finger. He’s a strong one.” The Greek raises a brow at me, and I feel a small surge of pride. “We are discussing the possibility of him joining us. Either way, we’ll depart tomorrow evening.”

Matthias nods. “Yes, sir. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Yes, I need you to take something to Stavros for me.” He goes to the small circular table in the corner and begins to write on paper he takes from a leather portfolio. After a good while, he seals the letter in an envelope and hands it to Matthias, who promptly leaves.

The Greek gives me a placating smile as he relaxes against the headboard of the other bed. “Get some rest. Everything will work itself out tomorrow.”

God, I hope he’s right.

My eyelids carry the weight of the world, so I let them fall shut and escape back to sleep.

I don’t wake again until the following morning. Eggs and oatmeal are waiting for me, which I gobble up. I appreciate that the food is soft. Despite the Greek’s assertion that the damage to my throat was primarily superficial, my entire neck hurts like a bitch. I’m not sure I believe him, but who am I to argue?

I don’t sleep the rest of the day, too anxious about the upcoming call. We have the television on, and the Greek makes several calls. Some in English, some in … Greek, I suppose.

“Are you some sort of doctor?” I ask him at one point, my curiosity about the odd man getting the better of me. “Is that how you knew how to stitch me up?” Who else can do that sort of thing and has access to surgical supplies?

“No. I’ve spent my life at sea, and that sort of isolation demands competence in a broad range of skills.” His answer makes sense and explains his weathered skin. He’s definitely spent a lot of time outdoors.

“Are you a fisherman, then?”

He smirks. “Of sorts. I do a great many things.” He takes out his phone and makes another call, effectively ending my Q&A session.

By the time evening rolls around, my nerves have my stomach in a knot. Eventually, he takes out his phone to call my father. My palms sweat with such ferocity that I have to wipe them on the sheets every few seconds.

Please, let this nightmare be over soon.

“Mr. Farina?” the Greek demands in a firm tone after placing the call on speaker.

“Yes, this is Mr. Farina.”

It’s him. It’s my dad. I’d know that voice anywhere.