by V. F. Mason
Four cages hang from the ceiling with dancers inside wearing provocative clothes, showcasing their skills and flexibility to the awe of everyone watching. The crystals on the chandeliers shift in the breeze from the AC, brightening up the entire space with colorful lights.
Pushing through the bodies, I zero my gaze on the dark corridor behind the bar leading to the elevator, which will take us downstairs. The floor below holds our meeting room and individual fuck pads always available if the mood strikes us.
We don’t bring women home—too many complications. Next thing you know, they’ll start planning a future with you, and I almost bark a laugh at this.
Pressing the button for the elevator, I slip inside and turn around to see the guys joining me, staying silent as we ride downstairs, tension rising among us all. Finally, we get out, going to the spacious meeting room, which has a huge round table with four chairs, a TV hanging on the wall, laptops, and four tablets.
And a golden bowl right in the middle of the table.
Octavius locks the door behind us, and we all sit on our chairs, all three men looking at me while I take out a cigarette from my pocket and wave the pack at everyone else.
Florian raises his hand, and I throw it to him and do the same with the lighter after lighting up.
“Start talking,” Octavius barks, and the cigarette pauses midway to my mouth while anger spikes my blood.
“You are not the leader, Octavius, so back off.” Even though in our circle we lead them to believe he is, so he can handle all the negotiations among the different territories with serial killers. We aren’t some motorcycle club with presidents and enforcers.
Each one of us holds equal power in this brotherhood, and for this reason alone, we’ve managed to be part of it for such a long time.
“You started a storm tonight. When it hits, it’ll affect all of us. So cut the shit and talk.” Remi glances at his watch. “Preferably sooner, because I have better things to do than spend my evenings with you.”
I bet his “better things” include stalking his obsession once again; he has been insane ever since he laid eyes on her and doesn’t take no for an answer.
“You’re not going to New York,” Florian says, blowing smoke and pointing a finger at Remi. “I have to finish a necklace for an auction, and I’m not in the mood to get interrupted to save your ass.”
Somehow, among all this mess, everyone has come to the conclusion—and by everyone, I mean Lachlan—that Florian is the easiest going among us, so they prefer to deal with him.
Hilarious as fuck really, considering the deeds he does in his bayous under the moonlight, killing people in such ways that even I wince.
“Fuck you, Florian. I didn’t ask to be saved. Besides, I do whatever the fuck I want.”
“True. Except what you want is in Lachlan’s territory, not to mentioned part of his family. So….” I trail off to fuck with him for the hell of it and laugh when he growls.
Lachlan can forbid us from things all he wants; doesn’t mean we’ll listen or follow his orders.
The Four Dark Horsemen listen to no one but ourselves.
And if someone or something stands in our way?
We destroy it until we get what we crave so much.
Octavius has had enough of this shit though. “Let’s focus on Santiago. And you,” he says to Remi. “Think before you act.”
Useless advice, as Remi always acts first, thinking about the consequences later. His hotheaded nature landed us in so much trouble back in the day, and nothing has really changed since.
“I’m with Octavius on this one. You called tonight and told us to attend the Dawson party together. Danced with Briseis for everyone to see. And then we all left. Kind of idiotic move on our part.” Florian drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Why do you have such an interest in the Dawson girl?”
“I’m not interested in Briseis. Only in what I can get through her.” I get up, going to a small bar in a corner stacked with our favorite drinks and ice. Pouring myself a glass of tequila, I add, “She is Andreas’ daughter.”
Deafening silence greets my statement.
I sit back in the chair, kicking my feet up on the table while swirling the glass in my hands, enjoying the ice cubes clinking against each other and slowly melting, proving once again even strong material can be broken with the right weapon. “Fake records show Howard Dawson adopted her, although based on inside information, she is his biological daughter—at least everyone in the family thinks so.” All three of them stare at me as I continue with my indifferent tone. “No records of her mother, her past life. Just one day a baby ended up on their doorstep with a letter.”
A baby girl who they’ve failed so many times, exposing her to their harsh treatment, because her father couldn’t stick to his marriage vows.
The glass in my hands cracks when I squeeze tight, imagining Howard instead of it, and the beast inside me wants to torture him in the most agonizing way for the nightmare he turned Briseis’s life into.
Will she appreciate me chopping off his limbs bit by bit, enjoying the screams of terror emerging from his mouth while I collect his flesh and bring it to her, as a warrior does his trophies?
Remi clears his throat, pulling me out of my unacceptable thoughts, because my obsession with Briseis could never become personal. “Why do you think she is Andreas’s daughter, then?”
“A little bird told me.” I decide not to elaborate on the matter. None of us care what we do in our spare time. We don’t interfere in our individual tortures, only when it threatens the unity. “I’ll still check it out of course, but it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.”
“And why is that?” Florian asks.
“Andreas knows or thinks she’s his daughter.” I close my eyes when I gulp my drink, enjoying the burning liquid bringing me much-needed discomfort and pulling me from the dark memories that always haunt me wherever I go.
“Which means he’ll come to collect what’s rightfully his.” Octavius concludes and slams his splayed palm on the table, rattling the bowl. “Damn it.” He threads his fingers through his hair. “What’s your plan?”
“Before I share anything with you, I need to ask you a question.” They all freeze, their eyes filling with disbelief, and I shrug, playing by the fucking rules we set a long time ago on that rainy day in Octavius’s house when we got connected by a cold-blooded murder.
The Four Dark Horsemen were born on that day, and along with them came vows and rules.
“Andreas is my problem. Always has been my problem.” Although they know some pieces about him, they have no idea about the full extent of what happened to me, and I’m never going to share it. Never going to take myself back to the hopelessness and terror I experienced all those years ago. “You don’t have to participate in this. It will get ugly, messy, and dark. Everything we love might be destroyed. I cannot be reasonable about this.” In other words, madness will become my second name on the quest of catching my prey.
We operate with unity, creating a powerful front nothing can break, and in this, everyone stays away from us.
Which means any small thing can shake the unity and bring the downfall to all four involved, one of the reasons we’ve agreed to vote on decisions.
If a vote is not in someone’s favor, it means one of the four is on his own and deals with his situation separately, never endangering anyone else.
Sitting up straight and pushing my glass away, I twist the sapphire ring on my finger glistening in the harsh light and think back to the day Florian made it.
“What the fuck is this?” Remi asks, picking up one of the rings with a black jewel, examining it closely.
“These are our rings.” Florian gives us the rest, each one of them having a different color stone in the middle matching our eyes while the overall shape and the platinum surrounding it is identical. “With this, we are part of the Four Dark Horsemen, our unity.”
“Isn’t it like a chic
k thing?” Octavius wonders, slipping a ring on his hand. Oddly, they all look good on us, not standing out as unnecessary accessories. “I vote for matching tattoos.”
“We’ll do that too.” Remi shows us the design on his pad along with the quote. “In chaos do we thrive.”
“That’s what makes us feel alive,” I reply, and we all laugh while the darkness slowly settles into our hearts when the full meaning of this hits us.
Those rings forever represent one simple truth.
We’re murderers.
Taking off my ring, I throw it into the bowl, where it rattles loudly, and wait for their decision.
The clock hanging on the wall ticks loudly, the only sound filling the room, and I slide down in the chair, resting my head on the back of it while my eyes close, not rushing them.
And smile when I hear three distinctive rattles in the bowl, announcing to me their choice that I never doubted in the first place.
Once upon a time, a group of boys made a decision.
Form two groups of best friends who would be able to defend each other if a fight erupted inside the four.
And connect each other with one brotherhood.
A brotherhood that would seal their fates together and friendship that nothing would be able to break.
Even death.
Chapter Seven
“Achilles got Briseis by force.
She was a war’s spoils, his possession, his prize and reward.
With time, she grew to love him.
Or maybe she learned to accept her fate instead of dreaming about the impossible.”
Briseis
From Flora’s diaries
5 January
Sobs shake my entire body as I write this entry, the tears falling drop by drop on the paper and washing away the ink.
Happiness no longer wraps around my heart. No, now despair and agony fill every artery and the organ brings me so much pain I want to cut it out of my chest and throw it out the window.
Last night, I gave my body and soul to my Paris, and what a magical night it was… or so I thought anyway.
After it was all done, I told him my dreams about marriage and having his kids. He tensed in my arms, but I didn’t pay attention to it.
When I was almost dozing off to sleep, I heard a phone ring in the distance. He carefully slid from under me, picking it up on the fifth ring, and his gruff voice said, “Clare, I told you I’m on a business trip. Yes. Yes. Tell the girls Daddy loves them, and I’ll be home tomorrow.”
Without thinking, I sat up as he spun around in shock to see me awake, and I whispered, “Daddy? Be home tomorrow?” The realization of his words hit me all at once, and I gulped for breath while he lounged on the bed, hugging me close, and tears streamed down my cheeks when everything aligned in my head.
Married.
He’s married and has daughters!
I pushed at his arms so hard I probably hurt him, not that I cared in that moment. Wrapping the sheet around me, I stood up. “You’re married.” I kept on chanting, putting on my clothes all while he tried to plead with me, and maybe in his head all his reasonings seemed legitimate, but for me though?
They all sounded like giant excuses.
“Flora, listen to me. It’s not what you think. I’m not with her. We don’t love each other.” I just shook my head, slipped into my shoes, and rushed to the door, only for him to catch me midway, his hand circling my waist and pressing me flush against him. “I’m staying because of the girls,” he whispered into my ear, rocking me in his arms as I stood still in them. In that moment, the full scope of my stupidity hit me so hard I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping for it all to be a nightmare instead of my horrendous reality.
I might be sheltered, naïve, and inexperienced when it comes to relationships; however, even I know these are the words every cheater uses to justify his actions and fog the mind of a woman he has an affair with.
Finally snapping out of my shock, I kneed him in the balls—Matilda taught me how to do it—and ran away.
And now I’m in my room, writing this, so I’ll never forget or change my mind about Paris.
No.
He can’t be my Paris in the current circumstances, right?
Paris loved Helen of Troy unconditionally and never had a secret life outside their love.
She was the one who had a husband, but it never stopped Paris. He was even willing to declare a war for her.
My betraying thoughts flash in my mind, shaping a picture in my head of my Paris suffering in a marriage he never wanted, just like Helen.
Based on what he told me about himself, his mother rules his life and never allowed him to pursue his dreams, always insisting on a certain image their family should have.
I hate myself for this, I really do, but I can’t help the emotion building inside me, demanding I go back to him and listen to his truth, the truth that might put a healing balm on my bleeding wound.
A voice inside my head screams for me to push all these thoughts of love out of my mind and protect myself from the inevitable blow that always comes from affairs and secret relationships like ours.
But try as I might, I’m probably too weak to resist love’s calling.
And in this moment when I’m ready to run back into his arms, something else enters my heart, mingling with the love burning brightly there.
Hate.
Hate aimed at Howard for destroying the pureness of our love with his lies, and myself… for clasping invisible cuffs around my wrists that forever attach me to him.
Love is not a blessing.
No.
Love is a curse.
Briseis
Finding a secluded corner in the library, I quietly put my tablet on the table and drop my bag on one of the chairs.
I sigh in relief when I sit down, slipping my wedges off and wiggling my toes that sport a few blisters from yesterday’s heels.
Glancing down, I huff in exasperation at my yellow sundress that ends slightly above my knee, the one I picked from the pile of clothes one of the maids delivered to my room today. According to her, I’m supposed to wear them during my stay in Chicago per my grandmother’s orders.
The whole time she spoke the words though, she kept on trembling and glancing over her shoulder as if she was lying, which was laughable in itself, because who else would have sent all those beautiful, expensive clothes?
My phone vibrates on the table, and I see a message flashing on the display.
Just after I finished my shower last night, Lenora showed up and announced we have to do something fun today.
Our plans include a long walk around Chicago, updating me on all the amazing places the city has to offer and sort of have a date with it. I arrived a bit early and stopped by the library to wait it out.
I check my emails and sit straight when one from my professor lands in my inbox. He found me a job at the art center; they need some help teaching the kids art for fun. Given my professional skills are almost nonexistent, it’s a career high for me. They want to see one of the sketches of mine first though, focusing on some myth.
My brows furrow at this. Shouldn’t they want an interview with me and see my actual work? How can a sketch give them any idea of what I can do with it in real life?
Then again, I’ve never worked in the art industry before, so what do I know? I should be grateful the professor liked me enough to slip a good word for me to one of his best friends.
I grin when the memory of how I begged him for it pops in my head.
“Professor Matias, please! I need a job in Chicago.” I make praying hands, pleading with my eyes for him to agree. “Any job.”
“Niña, you’re a disaster in my class. You and sculptin
g…” He trails off, probably searching for all the words to describe my fuck up, so I help him out.
“Are a horrible match and an insult to art?”
He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Waste of your time and talent.” I frown, taken aback by such a conclusion, because it’s the last thing I expected. “Your talent lies in that sketchbook of yours.” My cheeks flush when I realize he knows about my little secret, a secret I guarded for the last few years, and even Lenora doesn’t know about it. “Why don’t you work on that and let people see you?”
My sketchbook holds one of my darkest secrets, my pain and heartache along with some truths no one ever wants to hear.
Inviting people to the world I created on paper, a story consisting of images, is like opening up my heart for everyone and awaiting their scrutiny and judgment.
“Please, Professor.”
“Fine. I’ll ask my friend Rebecca. She has several studios around the country and one art center. She should have something for you, at least for the time being.”
My fingers hover above the phone, ready to send him my thanks, when the name of his friend registers in my mind. I didn’t pay attention back in his office due to my happiness over convincing him to put in a good word for me.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
Scrolling down to the end, my stomach flips when my suspicions come true and her full name comes into view.
Rebecca Esmeralda Cortez.
One of the best artists in the world for the last thirty-five years and Santiago’s mother.
Rumor among the elite has it that Lucian wooed her relentlessly, but she wouldn’t give in no matter what, so he kidnapped her to Chicago and blackmailed her into marrying him. She ran away from him five times, and every single time, he dragged her back home. Although I don’t believe in such things, because whenever I saw them on videos or in magazines, it was clear the marriage was a love match.
