Page 2 of Devil's Riches

Nate’s eyes closed, and his bloody hand dropped to his side.

The stranger stepped over to him and stooped to grab the shackle. He clamped it around Nate’s right ankle, securing him to the long chain attached to the base of the bunk.

“Who… who are you?” Nate muttered, eyes fluttering open again.

“Who am I?” The stranger snarled and spat at his feet. “You still don’t recognize me?”

Nate grimaced and rubbed the back of his head. “No.”

“Christ, how insulting.” The stranger turned back to me, face twisted with a mixture of anger and amusement. “Isn’t that awful, Alexis? He doesn’t even recognize his own blood.”

Nate sat up straighter. More blood leaked through his fingers as he held his hand over the back of his head. “Greg,” he rasped, staring up at the stranger.

The man’s thin mouth curved into a sneer. “Finally, he gets it!” he said, throwing his hands up in a mock celebratory gesture.

I stared up at him, eyes wide. “I… I don’t understand. Who are you?” I stammered.

The man’s cold sneer twisted into a menacing smile. He looked like the Devil himself. “Tell her, Nate,” he said, cocking his head.

Nate looked over at me, ashen face contorted with pain and confusion. “He’s Greg Lockwood,” he said. “My uncle.”

---