Exhausted from his exertions, he dropped down onto the dirty cot and passed out.
Day 7
Xander sat on the cot, glaring past the cell’s bars and thinking of all the different ways he wanted to kill José Barrera.
Since he was underground with no windows, he had no idea what time it was, whether it was even day or night. But he kept careful observation of the guards, when they were around and more active compared to when things quieted down. He wasn’t exactly sure how many days he’d spent in captivity, but he guess-timated seven.
One week in hell. But he was starting to feel like a human being again. His body was healing fast and his need for vengeance nearly consumed him. The only problem was he had no idea how he was going to escape the cell or where Barrera was hiding. But he knew in his gut the fucker was nearby.
Every so often a guard brought him some table scraps and slid them through a small opening. He never thought he’d be thankful for growing up hungry, but it had taught him how to make do on very limited levels of sustenance. If the guard brought him half an apple and a stale piece of bread, he ate the apple before it went rotten, but only half of the bread. He’d finish the bread before it went moldy with half of whatever they brought him next. He’d learned to stretch food out between meals, making things last longer. Always having a scrap stashed away until something else arrived.
So far, no one had dared to unlock the cell door. It’s like they expected him to try to make a break for it. Well, they weren’t wrong. He would charge right through whatever motherfucker opened the door, snap his neck and hunt down his prey.
The first chance he got, he would get out. Then he’d find Barrera and kill the bastard. In the most slow and agonizing way possible.For Lyssa.
Day 15
Where the hell is he?
Xander stalked back and forth in his cell like a caged lion, cursing Barrera to hell. Pausing, he raked both hands through his hair and tugged hard at the strands. He hated feeling trapped and helpless. Purposeless. For the past few years, his sole reason for living was to avenge Lyssa. Now, he was so close to his goal, but unable to move forward.
He also began wondering why they were keeping him alive, but ignoring him? Barrera must be planning something.
The sound of thudding boots and chatter snagged his attention, and he hurried over to the bars. Peering out, he waited to see who would come around the corner. Moments later, he saw the devil himself.
Surrounded by his men, Barrera appeared.
“Hey!” Xander yelled, hands wrapping around the bars.
Without even so much as a pause or glimpse in Xander’s direction, the drug kingpin strode right past. And nothing irritated Xander more than being fucking ignored.
“Get over here, you spineless fuck! You can’t ignore me forever!”
But Xander’s trash talk fell on deaf ears. Frustration roared through him. Slamming a hand against the bars, he bellowed out a long, very colorful expletive-laden rant about Barrera and what he planned to do with his rotting corpse.
Day 25
Where…the…fuck…is…Barrera?
Xander had the horrible feeling he was going to rot away in that cell with nothing but his vengeful thoughts to keep him company.
Day 35
Fuck my life.
Leaning his head back against the rough rock wall, Xander stared straight ahead at the bars of his cell and wondered why the Universe hated him. Hated him with such a passion that he’d been forced to struggle to survive the majority of his damn life.
Fuck you, Universe.He pulled in a breath of musty air and continued his daily litany.Fuck you, Mom. Fuck you, Dad. Fuck you, Barrera. Fuck the CIA. Fuck the cartels. Fuck Mexico. Fuck this underground mine.
While his sister had made daily wishes full of unrealistic hopes and dreams, Xander had always known better. Hopes anddreams amounted to exactly nothing. Jack shit. If he wanted something done, he’d always had to do it himself.
Jaded didn’t even begin to describe the level of bitterness putrefying his dead heart.
Okay, so maybe he’d made a stupidly rash decision which led to his current abysmal situation. Technically, he should only be mad at himself. But he was angry at everyone and everything. It was easier. And misery did love company.
Fuck you, world.
He hit his head back against the wall and instantly regretted it. “Ow.” Another bad decision. When had he become so phenomenally good at making so many shitty decisions?
