Why do I feel this way?

Chapter 38: Silent Knight

A/N— This one is somewhat intense, but I think y'all might be okay with that...

Bennie sped off from the docks. One of the scary things about the cartel lieutenant was his ability to seem calm. It was chilling how he could mask murderous rage beneath a surface as calm as still waters.

He arrived at Roger's home and shuffled his way to the door. He found himself giggling just a tad thinking about how the little rat would react. His calm night at home was about to twirl 180 degrees—that just might land him six feet under— or more.

Roger swings open the door and greets Bennie with a handshake. "Well hello Bennie. I wasn't expecting you— what can I do for you?" Roger leads the lieutenant into the sitting room, "would you like a drink?" As the man sits on the sofa, he softly says, "No, I'm good. And actually—could you hold off on the drink as well?"

The dark haired man pauses, sets his glass down and turns towards Bennie. He crosses his arms over his chest as he asks, "Why is that?" The man leans back interlacing his fingers behind his head. "I need you to do a yacht run with me to France tonight. One of my crew's wife just had a baby and is taking care of his family. Business doesn't stop just because somebody had to take time off."

"Alright Bennie, I can help you tonight. I need to change into more appropriate clothing and then we can head out." As Roger disappears at the top of the steps, Bennie sends a message, "Is everything loaded up?" A few seconds later his phone pings, "Roger that..." A slight and sinister chuckle escaped from his lips as he enjoyed his crew members humor.

They arrive at the yacht quickly boarding without exchanging words and make their way across the English Channel. Once they get about 10 miles out, they come to a sudden stop.

"What the hell is going on? Why are we stopping in the middle of nowhere?" Roger states dripping with annoyance. As he makes his way up to the deck of the boat, he is met with Carlos' fist. Carlos was the muscle of the crew most of his body was composed of muscle. If he were to fall over board, he would have no chance of staying a float— he was like a stone.

Roger was knocked clear out and the men made quick work with the chains. One of the men closed Roger's fist tightly around a fox figurine. This was the cartels signature method with those that became greedy. The fox is often a symbol of cunning and greed.

He then used duct tape to secure the hands grip on the figure. The final touch— handcuffs around his wrists.

Two other men attached the shackles to Roger's ankles. On the other end of these chains were massive cement blocks. All the crew together positioned Roger near the edge of the yacht. "We are going to wait until he is conscious... he deserves to feel all of it."

A few minutes later Roger begins to groan as he comes to. He begins struggling against the cuffs and chains, "Bennie! What the hell is this?"

The calm mannered man leans in to whisper, "You should have followed my rules Roger." He begins to lean up, but decides to pause, "I watched the tapes... You're a pathetic excuse for a man. She was right to leave—and wise to tell me your dirty little secret."

Roger's eyes were as big as saucers, "What are you talking about? I followed your rules! That whore doesn't know anything—" Bennie cuts Roger off, "She might become quite useful to me in the future..."

The atmosphere fell silent. Only the quickening of Roger's breathing was heard and the soft slap of waves against the boat. Roger leans his head up looking at his feet. "Please! Please Bennie don't do this... Remember, I have a lot of connections. You need me."

Bennie scoffs, "Why would I need you when I have Janice?" Shock floods Roger's face as the cement blocks are thrown over the side dragging Roger along.

Is this real? This... this is how I die. That stupid Bitch!

Roger's body being weighed down by the cement descends quickly. The pressure in his ears builds before he can equalize it and his eardrums burst. The pain is excruciating. The silence and darkness that surrounds him feels even more intense.

As his body is pulled deeper, the pressure on his lungs increases making it more difficult to hold his remaining oxygen. His body involuntarily begins to jerk as his brain recognizes the lack of life sustaining resources.

This isn't real. It can't be. Please—just let me wake up. I'm not ready... not yet.

His body becomes lifeless as it continues to pierce through the water towards the bottom. 500 feet under— on the way he felt a small fraction of the torture he bestowed upon others.

His pleading did no good. This wasn't a nightmare. This was the end—the dead Knight.