There’s a big difference between winning a hand and winning the match. When I married Honey, I won the hand, a dainty and fine one, at that. But when Bheka captured me, he won the match, and ultimately, that’s the only thing that matters.
I was foolish to press forward with our plan to take him out when he was turning my own men against me. I didn’t trust the woman that I should’ve trusted, and I trusted people who had no good intentions for me. Now, I pay the price in a small box made from white plastic, cooking like turkey dinner in the midday sun. I’ll die here.
I shift my posture in the small plastic box that Bheka set up specifically to torture me before he chops off my head on camera for the world to witness. He’s a sick man, locking me up in here to swelter in the desert heat. I can barely breathe, and the colorful flowers on my shirt are dark with sweat. I feel like I’m swimming in sweat.
I can’t see out from the plastic, but I’m pretty sure I could move to escape it if I really wanted to. The only issue is, I’m sure I would be shot the second I stepped out, my head blown into a pink mist like the men they lined up to kill earlier.
Bheka took the lives of every single foot soldier I had brought with me and burned their bodies afterward. The sick scent of charred flesh still lingers in the air and on my clothing. He’s a maniac, like a twisted version of myself, in a way, if I had no moral compass whatsoever. I’m not that evil, although I’ve killed plenty in my time on this earth. I suppose karma has finally come around to bite me.
I wonder what they did with Honey, but the thoughts that run through my mind make my stomach feel like it’s being eaten by battery acid. She’s such a pure young woman, and I can’t stand to imagine how they will torture her. Because I know they will. Bheka has no limits. He has no empathy,
I didn’t get much of a chance to speak to him after he made me watch my men die. He shoved me into this deathtrap and left me here to think about my inevitable demise for a while before he killed me. I believe he’s still out there in the compound, setting up camera equipment to record my execution.
It’s clear to me now that he doesn’t just want to tear down the Dormer Mafia. He wants mine, he wants Honey’s, and he wants to control them both with an iron fist. He’ll make sure that everyone in my ranks knows that he is their new leader, and god help the ones who don’t obey him.
I don’t expect it to be easy for him to do, but with both Honey and me dead, a leader will have to take our place. Someone always does when there is a power vacuum. Hell, even I did the same when Honey’s father died, but my intentions were purer than Bheka’s. At least, that’s what I’d like to think.
Sweat is no longer soaking into my clothes. I’m past that point. My brain is foggy, and I’ve sweated all that’s in my body to sweat. I’m sure my piss would look like cola at this point if I could even go. I’m sure Bheka would force me to live in my own filth if I did, so I’d rather not even think about it.
My hands are zip-tied behind my back, and my fingers tingle with numbness as the black plastic digs into my skin. I’m actually thankful he didn’t use handcuffs because the metal would burn my wrists after a few minutes in the sun. I’m not in direct sunlight now, but I was on the way here.
The cube of translucent white plastic is like a giant milk jug, but there isn’t enough room for me to stand inside of it. I’m crouched down, unable to even spread my legs out due to the lack of space. There’s a door cut out in the plastic directly in front of me, but it was archaically roped shut once I was placed inside. All I can do is listen and wait for the sound of footsteps, praying that Bheka eventually gives me water.
“Fuck,” I croak, unable to tear the thought of Honey from my mind. The last thing I said to her was an accusation, like she was just another disloyal woman trying to screw me over. God, she’s so much more than that, and she deserves better.
Regret doesn’t change the past, however, and she’ll remember me as a monster if she even makes it out of this alive. I know that I won’t live long enough to see her disappointment in me come to fruition. I’ll never get to tell her that I’m sorry.
I’ve failed with women in my life before, but this is different. I let myself start to fall in love with Honey, and that’s never happened before. I didn’t know how to handle myself, and when I felt that I was growing weak, I exploded on her. She never did anything wrong.
I’m the monster.
I’m the killer.
I’m the madman who could handle everything except for love.
I slump forward, letting my head hit against the plastic, breathing hard as I suck the hot air from the crack in the door. I don’t want to live without Honey. I don’t want to face the bitterness that will follow. I don’t trust myself to act rationally after this. It’s probably better that I
