Page 34 of The Seller

“Yes, Nils?”

“Your new shipment is arriving.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

I have my work to keep me busy, even if I have nothing else. Being broke is no way to stay free, and I landed here with a plan, which I have to say, is going very well. My cash reserves grow by the day, and soon I’ll be as untouchable as it’s possible to be. But I suspect I’ll still be lonely.

Wrapping my scarf around my neck and then across my mouth, I tramp down to the dock. It is snowing lightly, obscuring my vision just a little, enough to make it a picturesque sight. I love this place. It is completely different from anywhere I have lived before. The people are different too. They tend to keep to themselves, mind their own business. I love that more than anything.

A ship has just come into port, a great big black thing casting a shadow in the pale northern sun. This is no fishing vessel. This is a cargo carrier, one of many thousands which travel back and forth around these waters and further afield. This one has brought me something special.

The rear of the ship opens up like a great maw, and the cargo starts rolling. The nice thing about Norway is the abundance of natural ports. There’s even more here than there were in Greece, and the coastline is much less populated. Moving things in and out of this icy realm is as easy as it gets. Greece was similar, but there was more competition down there. These cooler climes and open spaces represent an opportunity which is not yet being exploited.

The crates start to be unloaded. They’re marked as fish, but the contents are more fish-y than they are sea food. They’re drugs, in other word. Recreational, illegal, profitable drugs. I’m looking forward to getting this shipment moved. This is my break even point. This is where I start to really make some profit. Maybe, in time, I’ll be able to move to a bigger city, somewhere there’s a night life. Somewhere I can forget what came before and look forward, into the future.

“We have a stowaway!”

The shout draws my attention back to the ship. Usually ‘stowaway’ refers to a rat or a spider or something like that.

What I see isn’t a rat, or a spider. It’s something worse.

Stavros.

He comes strolling out of the shadows, a smirk on his face, his gait so fucking casual. He looks so. fucking. pleased with himself.

I want to be sick.

I back away as my men close in around me protectively. I don’t have to tell them that something is wrong. They know. The appearance of a man from inside the ship, a man who wasn’t supposed to be there, is enough to put them on high alert.

Stavros

I thought I’d hunt Siri down to some far flung corner of the world, and we’d be reunited. I knew it wouldn’t be smooth sailing, metaphorically or literally. But I wasn’t expecting to find Siri surrounded by large nordic men, every single one of whom looks at me like he’d rip my face off with his bare hands.

Is she fucking one of them?

Is she fucking all of them?

“You,” she says. She stands between them, so small, so feminine, and still so powerful. She always had a presence, even when she was locked in my basement. When she was supposed to be nobody and nothing, she was someone, and something.

I want to say all of that, but I can tell I’m not going to get a chance.

I thought she’d look at least a little pleased to see me, but she doesn’t. She looks upset and unsettled and now I’m wondering if it was worth it, putting myself in that foul smelling underbelly just to make this grand entrance. I thought she’d see me and realize that she missed me. I thought this was all it would take.

I was a fucking idiot.

She takes one step back, and then another, moving further and further away from me before gesturing to her men.

“Get him out of here.”

They close in on me, a bunch of dock workers and henchmen besides. I’m unarmed and I don’t want to fight. I want to claim Siri for my own. This was supposed to show her that I would do anything for her, go to the ends of the earth in the stinking belly of hell for her. This was supposed to be the grand gesture which would make it all better, but it hasn’t made anything better. Just as I start to feel angry at her rejection, I catch sight of her face. It’s pale white with fear.

She’s frightened of me. Of course she is.

I’m not her hero.

I’m the hell she was trying to escape.

Siri

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