Caged (Death World Book 2)

A Forgotten Identity. A Ruthless Enemy. A Global Conspiracy.

Private investigator James Ray wakes up in Russia with no memory and a coded tattoo linking him to a deadly underworld. Kidnapped and drugged by the Yakuza, James is thrust into a violent web of organized crime spanning continents. With only his instincts and a loyal dog to guide him, he must outmaneuver assassins and unravel the truth behind his erasure.

Meanwhile, Tara—his girlfriend and a former elite operative—is imprisoned by Yakuza mastermind Ryu Murakami. Forced into a brutal psychological battle, Tara plots her escape and the downfall of the criminal empire threatening them both. As their stories converge, the fight for survival ignites in a storm of betrayal, action, and revenge.

Get your copy of Caged, the explosive second installment in the Death World series by Lee Pletzers.

Excerpt from the book

Revenge

My head throbs like fuck. I think it’s the reason I came around. I’m reluctant to open my eyes just yet. With my chin resting on my chest, I attempt to assess my surroundings, straining to catch any sounds. In the distance, I can hear soft murmurs—too faint to make out any words. There’s no traffic, but a boat sounds off in the distance. It’s the afternoon, and the warmth of the sun is on my back.

I’m seated in a wooden chair, and something warm rests on my feet. Without looking, I know who is lying there. He typically does this when I am on the sofa. Sensing that I’m awake, he sits up and begins to lick my hand.

Opening my eyes, Buster fills my vision. He’s shifted to a sitting position, resting his chin on my knees. The dog appears happy to see me. Someone has bound me to this chair, and they have done a good job. Rope encircles my waist and the back of the chair. My arms are secured to the armrests, and my legs are tied to the chair legs.

I’m still alive, which is a positive thing. If they wanted me dead, I’d be swimming with the fishes in concrete shoes.

They’re holding me in an old, wooden, and dusty warehouse. It is massive, though not much remains intact. Many boards have fallen, exposing the frame and roof. I can smell the ocean air wafting through the gaps in the timber. The floor is littered with cracks and chipped concrete, suggesting that heavy machines were here in the past. The planks on the walls have gaps, with rotten timber crumbling away.

Next to me is a table. On it are an iPad, two car batteries, cables, and a steel thing that looks like a cap. There are screwdrivers, clips, and my wallet. There is a bucket and a sponge. In a cardboard box, I can see leads and electrodes.

This doesn’t look good.

I’m tied up well. The ropes have no give at all. Wriggling doesn’t do anything. The movement hurts, as if the ropes are cutting into me. Looking over my shoulder the best I can, I see the blue van, rear doors still open. The voices I heard earlier have stopped. Taking a gander over the other shoulder, all I see is an open door and a wide port. A wooden ramp leads up to the loading deck.

In many, many movies, people who have been tied up always tip over the chair and it breaks, freeing them. Worth a shot. Even though I’ll fall onto a concrete floor. This is going to hurt. Fuck it.

I push back. It’s not as easy as it looks. My movement is restricted.

Buster takes a few steps away from me and cocks his head to the side.

Putting everything into it, shoving with my toes up and back arched, the chair lifts off its front legs. It drops down. My weight wasn’t distributed well.