The conversation I overheard refused to leave my head. I spent the entire next morning sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the wall while pieces kept rearranging themselves into possibilities I didn’t like.
Someone wanted to buy me. Someone connected to the mob.
Someone with enough money to make the Black Reapers consider selling a hostage instead of killing one.
The worse part was that I couldn’t stop thinking about my father. Not because I believed he ordered my kidnapped.
Because I didn’t. At least I didn’t think so. The problem was that every road somehow led back to Vincent Calloway.
Weapons, money, ports, mob politics and Black Reapers. It all tied in together.
The entire mess felt tangled together and the closer I looked the uglier it became.
The door opened arou
