“Vamos!” The leader led them deeper into a thick section of tall trees, and Xander spotted a yawning, cave-like opening in the side of a rugged hill.
So, this is where the rat’s been hiding.
The men tramped inside, and Xander’s eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lights hanging on the rock walls. It was an abandoned mine. A perfect hideout. As they made their way deeper, he kept the switchblade tucked between his clasped hands, his heart thudding harder with each step closer to Barrera.
Just when Xander started to wonder how deep they were going underground, the group reached three cells roughly dug from the walls.Fuck.He needed to face Barrera before they locked him up or—
“Who are you?”
Xander turned to see the most vile human being on the planet enter the area from a different tunnel. With the element of surprise on his side, and fueled by a bone-deep rage, Xander lifted his arms, whipped them down and snapped free of the plastic ties. Before anyone could begin to register what was happening, Xander had Barrera pinned against the bars of the cell, his blade against the other man’s throat.
“I’m your worst fucking nightmare,” he growled, and sank the blade into flesh.
Tunnel vision on his target created blinders. Before he could watch the light leave Barrera’s eyes, someone grabbed his elbow, hauling it back and landing a hard strike against his forearm. The blade flew and Xander slammed his elbow backward, knocking the man off his feet. But it wasn’t enough.
Barrera’s henchmen descended like piranhas on a carcass. They shoved Xander down to the ground, grinding the side of his face into the rocky earth until he tasted dirt.
“Put him in the cell!” Barrera ordered.
They dragged Xander up and tossed him into the closest cell, slamming the door shut and engaging the lock before he could recover. Stumbling inside, he spun back around, his attention zeroing in on Barrera. The other man took a step closer, and Xander smirked when he noticed the shaken look on Barrera’s face.
“Who the fuck are you?” Barrera demanded.
Xander spit dirt out of his mouth in answer.
“I will find out. And you will regret what you did.” He touched the blood sliding down the cut on his neck. Rubbed some between his thumb and index finger. “Beat the holy hell out of him,” he ordered his men through gritted teeth. “But don’t kill him. I may have use for him yet.”
Barrera turned on his heel and left.
Xander clenched his fists, preparing to face off with Barrera’s men. All six of them.Sonofafucker.Why did he let himself get into such shitty situations? He’d always been too impetuous. Action-oriented. More rash than sensible.
The six narcos unlocked the cell door. And Xander steeled himself.
Twenty minutes later, he lay curled up in a ball, trying to figure out if there was one part of him that didn’t hurt. He’d gotten in a solid kick or two before they’d been able to subdue him. But they’d done a very thorough job of kicking his ass. A quick inventory revealed he had a split lip, bruised ribs, a dislocated shoulder and who knew what the hell else.
Agonizing pain tore through his body, causing him to regret his reckless behavior and stupid impulsiveness. It didn’t always serve him well.Maybe I should’ve thought this through a little better.
Then he passed out.
Chapter two
Day 2? Maybe 3?
Xander woke up with a splitting headache, his thoughts fuzzy and feeling like he’d been run over by a truck. He tried to blink, but one eye refused to open. He gingerly touched it and winced. Swollen shut. A flash of the meaty fist repeatedly slamming into his face, one painful blow after another, reminded him of his current location.
José Barrera’s underground lair.
It all came tumbling back in a rush: going rogue on the mission, allowing Barrera’s men to take him prisoner, fucking up his opportunity to kill the bastard, and then getting the shit kicked out of him.
With a groan, he tried to sit up. A lightning strike of pain sizzled through his shoulder, a sharp reminder that one of Barrera’s thugs had dislocated it. He laid back down and let out a sharp breath. The CIA had trained him to deal with pain but, damn, he felt like a piece of bruised fruit left to rot and wilt under the sun. Luckily, he had a high pain tolerance.
And an even higher drive for revenge.
First things first. His fucking shoulder was on fire and refused to cooperate when he tried to move it. He needed to snap it back into place by himself.Good times.Forcing himself to take several long, deep breaths, he clamped his mouth shut and slowly extended the injured arm to the side. A dislocated shoulder wasn’t anything new. He’d experienced it before. Only last time, his entire body wasn’t beaten all to hell, and his partner had helped him pop it back into the joint.
Very slowly, he raised his injured arm, bending his elbow and touching the top of his head. Fucking fuck, that hurt. Grinding his molars, he carefully slid his hand behind his head and gradually moved it down toward his nape. Pulling in a deep breath, he reached for his opposite shoulder. Pop! A moment of fierce agony followed by immediate relief filled him.
Sitting up, cradling his arm at a ninety-degree angle against his belly, he glanced around the cell for anything he could use as a sling. An old towel lay in the corner. Perfect. He dragged himself to his feet, shuffled across the small space, grabbed the towel and tied the ends over his opposite shoulder. Then he placed his arm in it. Keeping the injured arm immobile would help it heal fast. And remind him not to use it. The last thing he needed was it popping back out of place before it had a chance to fully settle.
