Quagmire

I feel the warmth of the blood as it runs out of my mouth, circling my cheek and coagulating on the dirt floor below. The room looks like a medieval dungeon-chains, pliers, surgical tools, blowtorches, and a metal box spring wired to car batteries that first caught my eye. The stench of prior men that never made it out permeated the hot, sweaty air. I could hear their cries even though they are no longer here.

I wonder if it was worth stealing $324 million from the Colombian drug cartels to frame the man who left me for dead in the Dominican Republic. Now, I find myself lingering in the godforsaken jungles of Bogota-all in the name of retribution.

The sounds of three men entering the room sends a chill through my mind and across my body. Will they come for me first? Or the half-dead American DEA agent bound to the box spring. Our eyes meet in dismay. Thoughts of liberation and demise fill the air.

A fourth man enters, with a face I recognize as New York Mafioso. Instinctively my eyes close in pain as the spatter of blood shoots across my face, and the now-deceased Colombian fell upon the dirt floor. Pause lingers, as all contemplate who will be the next to die.

"Fascinating how such a diverse cast of characters are interwound in a non-stop quest for one man's freedom. A Riveting fast-paced, action read." - Readers