Bishop's War (Bishop Series Book 1) by Rafael Hines Read Free Book Online Page B

fists cocked, eager to fight. John stood casually, waiting for his opponent to come in range when Felix jumped in front of him. He should have known that his cousin wouldn’t be waiting around for some nut to throw the first punch.
    Felix closed the gap in two short steps then fanned his left hand in front of the spitter’s face. The quick simple hand feint created an involuntary blink reflex and in the split second the eyes were closed Felix followed through with a devastating straight right that echoed like a gunshot in the cell. His rock hard knuckles flattened the big beak nose and sent blood spraying from both nostrils. The spitter’s eyes rolled back in his head and he went down and out.
    “Damn!”
    “Yo, you see that shit?”
    “Sweet dreams mothafucka!”
    Felix barely heard his shouting cellmates. Looking down on the unconscious man he stepped back to get more leverage in his kick and was about to inflict some permanent damage when John wrapped his arms around him and pulled him away.
    Felix struggled to get free. “This bitch-ass punk spit at you, cuz! I ain’t even close to done!”
    “Easy Cat, easy. We wanna get outta here tonight. You already put his ass to sleep. Let’s leave it at that, okay?”
    Felix was losing it and fought to get free. His eyes blazing and muscles popping as John held him close.
    “Cat, Cat. Be cool, be cool. You did your work, and we’re never going to see this Jihad motherfucker again,” John said into his ear.
    Felix eased off and then turned to the group of youngsters standing close by.
    “Pick up that piece of shit and throw his ass under the toilet.”
    Eager to please, they picked him up and roughly threw him in the corner with his bloody face pressed up against the steel bowl.
    Felix turned to address the room. Taking his time, he looked every man sharing the cell directly in the eye.
    “Anyone asks, he slipped and fell when he was trying to take a drink. He ain’t from this country and thought the toilet was a water fountain. We clear?”
    Every head nodded in full agreement. When his eyes met the Investment Banker’s, Tucker’s bladder involuntarily let loose. Felix shook his head as he watched urine drip out of the man’s six thousand dollar suit and onto the floor.
    Fletcher walked over to the unconscious body.
    “Leave him be Fletch,” Felix said.
    Ignoring him, Fletcher took a tiny pin out of the waist band of his shiny green shorts. Pulling up the spitter’s right pant leg, he carefully inserted the pin into his Achilles tendon and walked back to John and Felix.
    “He won’t even notice it when he wakes up, but within a week that tendon’s gonna pop. Fuckin’ asshole,” Fletcher said.
    Felix was laughing now. He put him in a head lock and then gave him a big bear hug.
    “Nice job Fletch. Wish I could be there to see that thing bust,” said Felix.
    “Me too, but like I said, we’ll never see that piece a shit again,” John replied.
     

Chapter 6
    Team Razor
    Khost Province, Eastern Afghanistan
    Special Forces sergeants Bobby Floyd and Able Diaz were that typical size and shape of American front line combat soldiers. Bobby at five-ten, a hundred-eighty-five pounds and Able at five-nine, one-seventy. Tough strong and lean, they were guys that never quit, guys that can take on anything and get the job done.
    Bobby came from western Kentucky. He grew up hunting in the mountains and was considered by most to be the best tracker in Special Forces. People called him Tick, short for Bluetick Coonhound, some of the finest hunting dogs ever bred. Modern technology had nothing on Bobby “Tick” Floyd. He could read the land and find the enemy. Bobby was a man hunter.
    Able “The Mexican” Diaz was born and raised in Detroit, Michigan. His parents were from El Salvador and got factory jobs in the auto industry after becoming U.S. citizens. He grew up in a poor all-black neighborhood where fighting was a way of life. Always small and lightweight, he