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 ofmetal 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 hadbeen 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 himnotbeing 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.