Chapter 2
Chapter two
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.
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 and dreams 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?
Looking around the dirty shithole he’d been forced to call home for the last thirty-five days, he could admit he’d made a piss-poor decision when he’d split from Corey after infiltrating Barrera’s mansion in Sinaloa.
But then the Villarreal cartel showed up like an angry mob armed with RPGs, and chaos ruled supreme, Xander knew Barrera would go underground.
Go into hiding like a rat. And then he’d never be able to find the fucker.
And that was a chance he couldn’t take. The monster who’d raped and murdered his baby sister wouldn’t get away unscathed. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t rest until José Barrera and the people he loved most were six feet under.
According to CIA intel, Barrera’s parents had been killed in a car bombing by the rival Villarreal clan.
Then Miguel, the second oldest son, was shot down in a hail of bullets meant for José.
That left another brother and a sister—Tomás and Estrella María—and the bastard himself, José, on Xander’s hit list. Wiping the Barrera family from existence would give him great pleasure.
And he’d do anything to achieve his goal.
At the time, it seemed like a good idea to get captured. Infil fast without having to search out multiple locations, take out his enemy, exfil himself the fuck out. Now? Not so much.
Way to think things through, Hawke. He’d let his passion for vengeance override his common sense, and where had it gotten him? Locked up and forgotten. But after three years of searching for José Barrera and encountering endless dead-ends, he couldn’t let the fucker get away again.
Xander wasn’t fucking stupid. He knew this would probably turn out to be a suicide mission. But if he could destroy the man who killed his sister—and everyone important to him—then he could die in peace.
Mission fucking accomplished.
Running a hand over the beard covering his face, he pushed off the cot, dropped to the ground and began doing pushups.
He’d lost a good amount of weight since meals were sparse, but he could survive on very little food.
Hell, Darla Hawkings had prepared him for it.
But the one thing he couldn’t lose was his strength.
A sweat broke out on his brow as he pushed himself.
Up, down. Up, down. Refusing to stop until his trembling, burning muscles threatened to give out.
He was a stubborn, focused bastard, and not much could derail him once he set his mind on something.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t still twenty-five, and his forty-two-year-old body didn’t bounce back quite as easily as it had once upon a time.
But he still had it where it counted. And the tunnel vision he’d possessed since learning Alyssa died at Barrera’s hands kept getting narrower and narrower.
Now, even after more than a month in captivity, Xander couldn’t be more focused.
And Barrera couldn’t be more dead.
Jumping up, he grabbed onto an iron bar lodged into the low, rocky ceiling.
It ran from one side of his cell to the other and he’d been using it to do pullups.
He wasn’t really surprised he was being held in an old mine.
He was frustrated with himself for not considering that avenue earlier in his hunt for the man.
The Tierra Caliente region of Mexico was rich in gold, silver and copper. Abandoned mine shafts were abundant. Hiding out in one was smart. It was cooler underground, and they were probably in the middle of nowhere, practically undetectable.
The sound of male voices speaking Spanish echoed from down the hall and into the cell, and Xander dropped down, brushing the rusty flecks from the old bar off his hands. All this time down here, and he’d only seen the object of his revenge pass by twice.
Being ignored by a fuckhead like Barrera pissed Xander off to no end.
Today, the rat himself appeared, flanked by two guards.
José Barrera wore a designer suit and enough gold jewelry to rival any of the OG rap artists his buddy Jayson always listened to.
But no amount of wealth or fancy clothing could hide the man’s true nature.
Xander felt the ruthlessness he emanated.
Saw the ice in his black eyes. Knew his cruelty was renowned for very good reasons.
“Well, I think it’s about time we talk.” Barrera gave him a serpentine smile that immediately put Xander on edge. As far as he knew, Barrera had no clue about his identity.
And he damn well wanted to keep it that way.
“You know, I almost killed you,” Barrera continued thoughtfully, twisting a chunky gold ring on his index finger with the edge of his thumb. “But something told me not to. Call it a gut feeling. Now I’m glad I didn’t… Xander Hawke.”
Fuck. Me.