Chapter 16
Felix
The day he went missing
The gunshot reverberated through his skull, and it took him several seconds to realise he was still alive. His breath came in pants, and his head spun when the bag was pulled from his head once more.
“Well, that was a letdown,” he joked, swallowing hard. “I was expecting to see angels.”
“The only angels you will be seeing are the ones bringing you water while you’re here,” the guy said. He gestured to another man, who grabbed Felix’s other arm and pulled him to standing.
They dragged him down a hallway, no longer hiding the destination from him, and though he still couldn’t smell anything because of the heat cream near his nose, he could feel the chill of the air, even through the clothes they had dressed him in.
He assumed they didn’t actually want him dead right at that moment, so they provided him with some warmth.
After going down some stairs into what looked like a reinforced basement, Felix raised his eyebrows at the cells.
Small, square, metal-caged cells that looked far too well-built for his liking.
They stopped him in front of an open one and unfastened his hands before pushing him into the cell and locking the door behind him.
The other man left, leaving just the original guy who had been doing all the talking.
“Now you are secure, Mr Jamison, I have a question for you. One you must think very hard about because I will only ask you once.”
“Shoot,” Felix said, rising to his feet but staying away from the bars.
“You have a choice to make. Who dies: the royal family or Brett Cage?”
Felix raised his eyebrows. “No contest. Brett Cage.”
The man tilted his head. “You would kill the man you love to keep the royal family alive?”
“Every single time.”
“I will admit to you surprising me, Mr Jamison.”
“You obviously don’t know me as well as you think you do.” Plus, Brett would never forgive him if he chose him and let the Sutcliffes die.
“Obviously.” The man turned away and then turned back again. “You may as well get comfortable. You’ll be here for a while.”
“Looking forward to it.”
He disappeared up the stairs and closed the door at the top, leaving just a small window high up on a wall as the only light source.
Felix studied the area with all his available senses.
The cream was wearing off a little, although it would take a while to fully go away, and he was finally getting his taste buds back.
He’ll give them some props; they knew how to kidnap someone.
When he saw no obvious escape route, he refocused his attention on the cell contents themselves.
A narrow single metal bed with a thin mattress and a bucket was all he could see in the limited light.
The mattress was of the foam variety, meaning there were no springs for him to use as a weapon.
However, the bed itself showed promise. Felix removed the mattress and studied how the bed was put together.
The frame of the bed was one solid piece of metal, the legs having been soldered to the frame, as were the slats going across from each side to support the mattress.
He almost sighed in frustration until he saw that one slat was coming loose. Lucky him.
Without care for protecting his hands, he pulled, pushed, tugged and bent until the rest of the slat came off and flung him on his butt to the floor.
His palms burned, but he ignored them, wiping the blood onto his clothes.
He put the mattress back on the bed, hiding his handiwork, and then took off his jacket and T-shirt.
He put the jacket back on but wrapped his T-shirt around the end of the slat and kept it to hand.
He had a weapon, but he didn’t fool himself enough to believe it would work more than once. And he was under no illusion that if he attacked whoever came to him, he would be punished.
Settling himself on the bed with his back to the wall and facing the stairs they had come down, he rested his head back and closed his eyes.
He regulated his breathing and took his mind somewhere else.
Brett. His boss would be looking for him, but he didn’t know when he would realise he was gone.
Jason would undoubtedly message Felix several times when he didn’t show at Book Drunk, but again, would he just leave when Felix didn’t show, or would he mention it to someone?
He’d like to think they’d figure it out fairly quickly, but it wouldn’t be the first time Felix had got distracted after saying he was going to meet someone and then never turned up.
If he got out of this—when—he would make sure he never took his friends for granted again.
His mind wandered to Brett again. Would he ever get to see the man he loved again?
Would he ever have the chance to feel him again?
He was eternally grateful to have had that one experience with him in the chapel.
Granted, it had been the wrong time to do it, especially as they’d had no time to talk or anything afterwards, but he would never regret it.
He could only hope that he would get the opportunity again.
God, the feel of Brett sliding inside him was something he would never forget. The burn as his thick cock slid through his channel, the warmth of his breath on his cheek, the grip of his hand on his cock. Felix felt his body respond and chuckled.
“Fuck. I must be the only person on the planet who is kidnapped and gets hard while in captivity,” he muttered to himself, trying to ignore how his dick pressed against the zip of his trousers.
He took a few deep breaths to get himself under control and then refocused his mind on what he could remember about each of the people he’d seen so far, filing each detail away so he could recall it later when they went searching for them.
Brett could wait. Because Felix was determined to get back to him, whatever the cost.
It was around three hours before someone came down the stairs again.
Felix has lost track of the time a little, but his internal clock wasn’t completely out of whack.
He studied the man as he reached the bottom, striding across the floor with a heavy footfall as if he was a guard.
He had broad shoulders, a severe expression and held a bottle.
Felix didn’t move, allowing the guard to come closer to the cell.
“Here’s some water,” the guard said. He went to put it through the bars but realised it wouldn’t fit. He frowned, glancing at Felix, who hadn’t moved, at the bottle and then finally at the lock. “Stay where you are.”
Felix nodded.
The guard grabbed his keys and unlocked the cell door.
The moment the key clicked in the lock, Felix was up and shoving against the door, slamming it into the guard.
Unfortunately, the man was built like a rugby player and didn’t move much, but it was enough for Felix to get his prepared weapon through the gap and into the man’s stomach.
The guard shouted in pain, a shout that would bring others, and leaned forward as Felix pulled the weapon free, resting against the door and making it impossible for Felix to get free.
Felix cursed, trying to push the guard away, but although the man was injured and would likely die from his wound, he was stubborn and wouldn’t let go.
He pushed and shoved, trying with everything to get the man to move, and just as the guard sank to the floor, some of his strength leaving him and allowing the door to move more, several people ran down the stairs.
Guns cocking had Felix backing away with his hands in the air, and he found five men aiming at him. The man from the beginning—Mr Talkative—stepped forward, lowering his gun and bending to feel the pulse of the guard Felix had injured. Mr Talkative raised his head, meeting Felix’s gaze.
“That wasn’t very pleasant, was it?” he said, rising to his feet. “He had a wife and two children, who are now fatherless thanks to you.”
Felix’s stomach rolled, but he grinned and said, “Well, what can I say? I don’t particularly like being held against my will.”
Two men lowered their weapons and moved the dead guard to the side, allowing the door to open. The two other men walked inside, guns still pointed at Felix with no sign of a tremor in their hands.
“Against the wall,” one of them said, and Felix stepped back until his back hit the stone. “Drop the weapon.”
“I don’t think so. I might need it,” Felix said.
The gunshot was loud in the small space, but Felix didn’t flinch as the bullet hit the wall beside his head.
“You don’t need to be alive, but I would prefer it. Drop the weapon,” he said again.
Felix glared at him, defiant, but dropped the slat after a few long seconds.
The guards came forward, guns still aimed at him, until one dropped his down and grabbed his arms, turning him to face the wall while holding his wrists.
Felix heard sounds of metal and footsteps but couldn’t see what was happening from where he was held.
It was only when he was let go, and the men left his cell and locked it again, that he saw they had removed the bed, although left the mattress.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” the man said.
“Do you have a name?” Felix asked, and the man stared at him, expressionless.
“Miles. Because that is how far away you are from help.” The man, whom Felix would now call Miles, regardless of whether that was his name, smirked and left, the other men following in his wake, carrying the dead guard between them.
Felix had known the chance of him getting the upper hand in his initial fight would have been small, but he now had a better understanding of the men and their abilities, and that would help him plan for the next time.
He didn’t have a weapon—and likely couldn’t find another one with what was left in the cell—but he had his hands and his feet and his entire body, which was uniquely honed for pain and suffering, as well as sniper duties.
He settled on the mattress, leaning against the wall again, and closed his eyes.
There was no point in wearing himself out when he needed to keep his strength up, and despite his situation, he would sleep, knowing that the moment someone opened the door at the top of those stairs, he would hear it and be instantly alert.
There was something to be said for being trained by two people whose lives were solely focused on the army, even if one of them had been a nice person with it.
Uncle Frank had been his lifeline in a time when his father was too focused on being what he wanted to be—an army officer.
His uncle, however, kept his easygoing attitude alongside his training, knowing that both were assets and gained more from people than someone who yelled and cursed every day.
It was something Felix had tried to emulate throughout his life, even more so after Uncle Frank had died.
Did Felix hate that he had been trained in all things nasty and messy?
He couldn’t say that he did. He hated what he had to do sometimes because it meant he had to end someone’s life, but he would do it with no qualms when it came to saving the innocent.
And some people just deserved every bit of pain he doled out.
The light dimmed further, and he assumed the sun was going down.
He had no idea what the men planned to do with him, and the video they had taken—or seemed to have taken—of him being shot was strange.
Why would they video him not being shot?
It didn’t make sense, but he was sure he’d figure it out in the end.
Two guards came down the stairs the next time, and Felix again stayed where he was.
He didn’t have a weapon—other than his body—and doubted he would get a chance to do anything.
Instead, he would try to get information about what their plans were and to see who was most likely to be turned to his side.
“Thank you,” he said when they set a tray inside his cell. He could see there wasn’t much on it, but it would help with his strength all the same. “I’m assuming it’s free from poison or drugs because you seem to want me alive.”
One man glanced at him and nodded. “You’re fine. We want you alive.”
The second man glared at the first and added, “For now.”
The first man glanced at the speaker and looked away again, and Felix made a note of his features so he could start working on him whenever he came into the basement.
“Much appreciated,” Felix said, keeping his gaze on the first man.
They disappeared up the stairs again, closing the door behind them and making it difficult to see the tray.
It wasn’t difficult to find it, and he could just about see there were three slices of bread and an apple, along with a bottle, which he assumed held water.
Taking it back to where he had been sitting, he ate slowly.
The night passed slowly. Felix slept in fits and starts, noises from above waking him regularly, but no one came down to him until the light had begun to wipe away the darkness.
When the door opened, Felix placed the tray by the door and went back to his spot by the wall.
The man from the previous evening came down, hovering at the bottom of the steps before moving forward.
“Thank you for the food and drink,” Felix said.
The man nodded. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m okay, thanks.” Felix paused. “What’s your name?”
The man worked his jaw, staring between Felix and the top of the stairs. “I’m not supposed…” He sighed. “Rico.”
“Puerto-Rican?” Felix asked.
Rico tilted his head side to side. “Not me, officially. My parents lived there before they moved to the UK. I was born here.”
Felix nodded, tucking those bits of information away. “I’ve never visited, but I’m told it’s beautiful.”
Rico smiled. “It is. My wife loves visiting.” He winced and cursed quietly. “If you don’t need anything, I need to get back.” He turned away.
“I won’t hurt your family, Rico. That’s not what I do.”
The man paused with one foot on the bottom step and then continued up the stairs, closing the door with finality.
“One step in the right direction,” Felix murmured to himself.
He glanced at the bucket in the corner and sighed. “Oh well, it’s just the rats and me, and when you need to go, you need to go.” He stood and unfastened his trousers as he headed for the corner.
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