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Chapter Forty-Seven
Maceo
Iwake with a fucking migraine, but I dare not move. I remain on the ground where I was dropped, concentrating on all the noises surrounding me. My hood has been removed, but my wrists are still restrained behind my back. It’s dark, but light enough I can make out shadows in the small space.
I think I’m in an underground cell, but I can’t be sure. The ground smells earthy and pungent with decay. How many others have died in this place? The space is dank, sending a chill up my spine. The surface is covered with dirt and rocks, making me guess I’m underground, but if I strain my ears, I can hear the wind above me.
Am I in a pit?
After gathering every bit of intel I can, I look up and see a grated hole above me. I’m indeed in a pit, almost well-like. The limited light spilling in from the grated manhole indicates it’s nearly nightfall.
The throb in my head makes me groan low in my throat as I sit upright. A wave of nausea threatens to make me vomit, but I swallow it down.
I test the bonds on my wrists. Whoever restrained me knew what they were doing. I can’t twist my wrists free.
Fine. I’ll do it the hard way. I feel around with my hands on the ground. There are plenty of rocks down here. All I need is one sharp one.
My fingers come across one that will do the trick. I wedge the rock into the ground to steady it between my tethered wrists. Up and down, I saw at the rope binding me. I work up a good sweat as I increase the friction until slowly the rope begins to fray. I strain against the binding as I saw, putting tension on the fibers. The rope weakens and snaps.
Quickly, I free myself and stand, straining my ears for any noises above me. All I hear is the night wildlife awakening and the constant wind.
There’s no way Esteban threw me into a pit without security monitoring the perimeter. I may be in a fucking hole, but it’s not anything I can’t break free of. Stretching out my arms and legs, I’m able to reach both sides of the cylinder space with enough leverage to hoist myself upward.
Slowly, I work my way up the twenty-foot shaft, trying to make as little noise as possible. I concentrate on the task at hand. One wrong move and I could plummet back down. All I need is to twist an ankle or break a leg to fuck up my escape.
Josephine. Think about her and the babies.
Images of my wife flood my mind. Josephine’s smile when she sees me after a long day of being away from each other. The way her coastal-blue eyes read me like a book. Her arms wrapped around me while we fall asleep at night.
I need to get back to her.
My arms are shaking and my head is pounding, but I can taste the air changing as I climb closer to the grate. It’s crisp, less stale. Freedom is within my reach.
At the top, I balance all my weight on my legs, freeing my arms to test the grate. I’m damn near doing the splits, but I thank God I’m flexible enough to do this. Stretching with Josephine after runs has never come in handier than right now.
I test the grate. It moves but it’s heavy. I wipe my sweaty palms on my cargo pants before getting a good grip on the grate.
Gritting my teeth, I shove my shoulders against the grate with all my might. It opens and I push it off the hole. With the weight gone from my body, I grab hold of the sides of the hole and hoist myself up.
I’m barely upright on solid ground when a floodlight shines on me. I hold up my hand, blinking. Esteban sits but ten feet away with a pistol in his hand. Two bodyguards flank his sides. In front of him is a man bound and gagged on his knees.
Esteban places the pistol in his lap and starts clapping. “Bien hecho mi hijo.” Smoothly, he stands, gripping the pistol. “Juan told me there was no way you’d get out of the old well. But I told him not to underestimate your ability, that my son was a master in combat and survival. Isn’t that right, Juan?”
The restrained man whimpers.
Esteban smiles cruelly at his victim. “Your overconfidence has failed me, Juan. What if I didn’t have men stationed nearby, hmm? What if my son escaped? I’ve only just gotten him back and your fucking pathetic excuse for a cell nearly cost me what I hold most dear. And what if it was someone else? If one man can do it, then others could too. It’s unacceptable.”
Juan pleads through his gag, but it’s no use. Esteban raises his pistol and shoots him right smack center of the forehead. Juan’s eyes roll back in his head before his body slumps to the ground.
Esteban wipes the blood splatter off his face, unruffled like killing a man is as commonplace as breathing. He raises his gaze to me, holding my stare.
Jesus!Mypadre’sjournal wasn’t lying about him. He’s a cold-heartedsonofabitch.
Cracking branches alert me there are others nearby. I swiftly survey the surrounding area and find I’m surrounded by armed soldiers.
“Maceo,” Esteban says, bringing my attention back to him. “I’m sorry for how you were handled. I ordered that you not be hurt. You’re my blood, making you an extension of me. An attack on you is an attack on me. No one lives who disrespects me.”
Another bound man is dragged forward by two soldiers. He thrashes wildly, tears flowing from his eyes. He’s tossed on the ground in front of us. Esteban dares to come closer to me, his black eyes shining in the evening light.
