Bait: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

headlock.
    “Asshole, you just signed your own—”
    In a flash the tables were turned. Arms got inside Felix’s guard, wrists slipped past his face, easily outmaneuvering his attempt to defend. Before he knew it Felix found himself in a clinch and at the man’s mercy.
    Death warrant.
    He’d underestimated his opponent, a critical mistake. One sentence filled the ticker tape of his thoughts, still transmitting as the first instance of pain came.
    This is how it ends.
    The man’s forearms crushed Felix’s head like a vise, compressing his cheekbones, squashing his ears to his head, burning them with friction as he tried to pull free. When the knee came up, Felix wasn’t ready. It was like something he’d seen in an underground Muay Thai fight once. The man’s knee bore into his gut with such upward force that Felix felt his heels lift off the ground. Seconds later another knee planted in the same spot and the vise grip released. Felix dropped like a puppet with strings slashed, the wind knocked out of him. His breath would not return.
    Dude is pro,
Felix thought.
That wasn’t luck.
    On his knees and doubled over, forehead a foot from the floorboards, Felix knew the misjudgment would cost him. His lungs demanded oxygen, though intake was impossible. He anticipated only two or three seconds before a heel or fist came down on the back of his head, or, worse, a bullet. He could visualize the police report:
murdered execution style
. Felix braced for the sound of a hammer being cocked. Instead he heard a low Texas drawl, the smile behind it as unmistakable as the pained breath in it.
    “It’s your lucky day, boy. Any other and I’d have finished you for that.”
    A vicious kick to the ribs flipped Felix on his back. Breathless, he lay there, staring at the discolored, waterdamaged stucco of the ceiling, waiting for hands to rifle his pockets and make off with his wallet and contraband. The robbery never came. His attacker was already on his way out, boots clomping back the way Felix had come. One last remark came from down the hall.
    “You best count your blessings while you can, man.”
    Felix dared not move, wheezing, coaxing his lungs to expand enough for a full breath. With strength returning he propped himself against the wall in a sitting position and fought the urge to vomit. He took a tiny baggie out of the inside pocket of his jacket and carefully checked it over, making sure it wasn’t damaged in the fight. This was his other purchase, his one true master: that which had made a modern-day slave out of him. The fine white powder inside didn’t look much different from what was in the vial, but the two were incomparable to Felix. The heroin held his eyes and gnawed at his brain stem. He thought of freshly fallen snow, a delightful worm wiggling through white drifts. His voice was pained, wispy, when he finally spoke to the empty hallway.
    “Hell, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Seven
    NOW.
    “W ho knew hell could look so beautiful?” Felix said, eyes skating over the turquoise water, fingers finding their way inside his open shirt to caress the two-day-old bruise on his stomach that was camouflaged from the others by his dark skin.
    “We’re in hell?” Kenny asked.
    “Got a feeling we will be soon enough.”
    “Fuck, I’m already there,” Ginger grumbled and nodded toward Nash. “Who put this clown in charge?”
    Nash ignored her. Someone had to handle the situation and none of them seemed willing to step up to the plate. He paced back and forth, arms crossed, voice authoritative.
    “Okay,” Nash began. “First of all, does anyone remember how they got here?”
    They all shook their heads except Ginger. She stood motionless, face pinched, bitterly pissed at him for taking the helm.
    “Okay, does anyone know where the hell we
are
?”
    Shrugs and silence. After some consideration Felix spoke.
    “I’m guessing somewhere in the Florida Keys?”
    Nash rolled his eyes.