Page 87 of Reaper’s Wrath

The physical strain helps defuse the emotional pain. I know it’s not her fault. She didn’t carelessly throw out the memories with the trash, but it still hurts. To have shared nearly a year of my life—my secrets and dreams—with someone I love, only to have it all vanish into smoke is devastating.

I have to accept the possibility that her memories are lost forever.

That is the truth I’ve spent the past day facing. What I’ve come to realize is that while the loss stings, it doesn’t change my resolve. I will make Isa mine again, but I won’t have our past to fall back on. I’ll have to prove to her that the man I am today is worthy of her love and commitment.

Even so, she may not be willing to leave her life in the city for me. More importantly, I wouldn’t want to ask that of her. Where does that leave me? Am I willing to stay?

Can I honestly see myself leaving her?

Not a chance in hell that’s happening. I’m too damn selfish to deny myself like that. My place in this world is standing beside Isa, wherever that may take me, which means I’m going to have to confront my past because the two can’t be separated.

Isa. DiAngelo. My parents. The abandonment. All four threads are too tightly woven to free one without touching the others.

I assure myself that making Isa mine will be worth the sacrifice as I force my trembling arms to keep lifting and lowering my body in one push-up after another.

“Weren’t you in here working out last night, too?”

Michael. He better not have come here purely to give me a hard time. I’m not in the mood.

“Why? You the gym police?” I shoot back as I press through another push-up.

“My bad,” he replies in a tone with enough attitude to inspire a few more rage push-ups out of me. “I came by to talk about Ruban. I think you’re right about the listening devices. We heard his men discussing a newly scheduled dentist appointment.”

Now, he has my attention. I push back onto my knees and finally bring my gaze to his. “That’s got to be it. He’s practically begging us to show up.”

Michael's features darken. “Yeah, but I’m still concerned it’s too risky.”

“Not if we plan accordingly. When’s the appointment?”

“Tomorrow at one. Can you have everything ready that quickly?”

A Machiavellian grin creeps across my face. “I was made for moments like this.”

He chuckles. “If you say so. We can head first thing ashore in the morning.”

“Yeah.” I rise to my feet and use a nearby towel to wipe away the sweat on my face. “I have something I need to do in the city tonight. You good to prep the guys without me?”

“Sure. " Does this errand have anything to do with our plans?” he asks, eyes studying me.

“Just some personal business,” I murmur.

He’s quiet for a second before responding in a somber tone. “Glad to hear it.”

I don’t need his approval, nor do I even want his opinion, but now that I have it, I can’t deny that the encouragement feels good.

“I’ll head out in an hour.” I nod and leave the gym, feeling motivated to finally shake off some of the weight I’ve been shouldering. Tonight’s trip into the city won’t be easy, but it’s necessary, and when it’s done, I’ll be one step closer to my goal of making Isa mine.

Training can help a person effectively control the body’s physiological response to a stressful situation. Instead of a racing heart rate and thoughts only of fight or flight, someone prepared for the unexpected faces challenges with a level head and a steady hand.

The Greek made sure his crew wasn’t susceptible to panic. We were subjected to years of ruthless training, including deadly tests in which only the successful survived.

I remember months after waking on the Greek’s boat watching as the older men tossed the lifeless body of one of their own overboard. His name was Matthias. He was the young man who brought me a milkshake at the motel the day after I almost died. When I asked what happened, I was told he flinched. Later, I learned what that meant and how deadly fear could be.

I never flinch in the face of danger.

So, why, in the name of all that’s holy, are my hands trembling at the prospect of seeing my brother? I’m the one who texted and arranged this meeting. I picked the time and place, so why am I so rattled?

As I prepare to go inside the building where I know he’s waiting, I can’t seem to regain control of myself. My heart kicks and flails as though seconds from drowning. Nothing I tell myself manages to convince my body I’m in no imminent threat. I haven’t felt this degree of fear … maybe ever.