I throw my hands up, having already reclined on the bed.
Carter is caught off guard and has no choice but to let his pistol fall to his feet, putting his hands up as his expression changes from rage to fear. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him look so defenseless, and it terrifies me even more than him threatening me. We’re outnumbered and surrounded with no way to escape and no options left to choose from.
This is it.
A bag is placed over my head, and my hands are tightly cuffed as I’m rushed out of the room. I lose track of Carter, unsure as to if he’s being taken along with me or left in the room to be killed. The police want me, but I don’t know why. Maybe Bheka is behind all of this, or maybe the government wants to end the Dormer Mafia’s involvement in their country once and for all. I can only wait and see.
I stumble down the hallway with these men. They look like cops, but they don’t act like it, prodding me and pushing me roughly, as though it brings them joy to see me in distress. They’re not just looking to kidnap me. They also want to terrorize me in the process. There’s more to this than a simple arrest.
I don’t know where I’m going, but I can smell the rich scent of the outdoors, and I can feel the heat swallow my body as we step outside. Little pinpricks of sunlight leak through the thick black fabric over my face, but I can’t see through it.
I hear the sound of a van being opened, and I’m lifted and thrown into the back, falling forward and catching myself on my cuffed hands, the metal digging into my wrists. I’m not given a chance to get up before the van accelerates, throwing me back into the door.
My spine hits the handle and pain tears through me. I whimper and roll forward again.
“Stupid girl,” a man’s voice says from somewhere in the van as it drives away from the hotel.
I don’t respond to it, but it sounds oddly familiar. I rack my brain, trying to figure out who it might belong to. It certainly isn’t the voice of someone from South Africa. It sounds far too American.
“I don’t think Carter loves you. No, I don’t think he loves you at all,” the voice continues.
“Who are you?” I ask, my voice shaking so much that I can barely understand myself.
“Who are you?” the man replies in a mocking tone before switching back to normal. “You’ll find out soon.”
“Are you with Bheka?” I ask.
He laughs. “Straight to the point. I like that.” He pauses for a moment, leaving me in the gritty middle ground of tense anticipation. “You could say I’m with Bheka, but the truth is, I’m with the Dormer Mafia, just like you are.”
My head hurts just trying to figure out who the hell is talking to me. He’s with the Dormer Mafia? I doubt that if he’s kidnapping me. “So,” I begin, choosing my words carefully. “Those men weren’t police?”
“They look convincing, don’t they?” the voice asks playfully.
“I guess so,” I reply.
“They do,” he shouts, punching me in the shoulder.
I cringe at the dull pain, jerking away from him and settling my back against the door, careful to avoid the handle.
“Sorry, I got excited,” he says. “Where were we? Oh yes, the Dormer Mafia. Yeah, I used to be with the Calandro boys until Carter started acting stupid. After that, I knew the union wouldn’t last, and that the resulting fallout would swing in favor of the Dormer Mafia.”
“You were at my wedding,” I say, finally starting to remember where I heard his voice before.
“Yeah, I was. Very beautiful, but ultimately, a waste of time.”
“And you were at the office too, at some point, weren’t you?” I ask.
“Right again. I should give you a present for all your correct answers, shouldn’t I? How about this?” He grunts, tossing something in my direction.
Something falls into my hands, a warm, wet, spherical object the size of a bowling ball with hair on it. I drop it immediately, freaked out by the sticky wetness dripping from it, not to mention the hair. “What the hell is that?” I ask as the van rattles down the bumpy road.
“Your husband’s head,” he answers, exploding into maniacal laughter.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Carter
I wasn’t expecting to meet with Bheka so soon. I didn’t even think he knew I was on the edge of the Kalahari Desert until now. All of my plans of luring him in with a hit on one of his drug warehouses have crumbled, falling apart just as easily as my sanity when I suspected Honey to be behind all of this.
I’m not used to having feelings for a woman. Any inkling of genuine love was beat out of me as a young man. I’m fairly certain that my mother never loved me, and that will screw a man up for his whole life. It seems to have screwed me up good, at least.
When I married Honey, I didn’t expect her to fall into my arms so easily, so naturally. It freaked me out that she made me soft so quickly. I could tell other people were raising eyebrows and doubting my leadership once I began to value her life more than my own. I wanted to hate her for it, but I couldn’t. I still can’t, but I may have made her believe that I do.
Now, none of that matters because I’ve failed to protect her, I’ve failed to eliminate Bheka, and I’ve failed to lead the Dormer-Calandro Mafia into success. I have failed, but I don’t expect to be left to wallow in my failure for long. Indeed, I won’t be doing much wallowing at all once I’m dead.
Bheka is a thug, not a freedom fighter, but his
