by V. F. Mason
Emerging from the shower, I wrap the towel around me and go to the sink, wiping the fog from the mirror, studying my reflection, but finding nothing out of the ordinary.
The woman gazing back at me is the same one I saw just this morning, yet everything inside me feels different, from the buzzing my body constantly experiences to the throbbing between my thighs reminding me of what I’ve done.
Although the hickeys splayed all over my neck, shoulders, and collarbone manage to do the job just fine.
Running my fingers over them, I rub them gently and close my eyes, the images of my encounter with Santiago flashing in my mind.
His rough yet gentle hands gripping my hips.
His mouth feasting on my flesh.
His voice wrapping me in a cocoon I never wanted to break free from.
Gasping, I lean on the counter and grab it firmly, hating the betraying lust traveling through my blood, fueling it with the desire to do it all over again and find Santiago to fulfill this need of mine that’s driving me insane despite how wrong it is.
The likes of Santiago Cortez don’t marry or love illegitimate daughters of whores. So indulging in his interest or whatever it is keeping him by my side for now would be a mistake on my part.
He’ll dump me the minute he becomes bored, while my heart might not survive another wound, crumbling under the pain.
For the sake of my sanity and future, I should stay away from him, being grateful for this one passionate tryst.
After I ran away from him, I caught a cab and hopped inside, only realizing after that I forgot my shoes. I arrived home in record time, and I slipped into the mansion so fast no one had a chance to see my rumpled state.
Thankfully, Lenora had to cancel our meeting all together, something with the new fashion show approaching soon, so she had to be at the warehouse.
Since Santiago’s scent still lingered all over me, I sat in the bathtub for hours trying to wash away any trace of him and the discomfort my muscles experienced.
God, no one told me sex could be this hot. This intense and needy, with the whole world disappearing while the man drives inside you over and over again, bringing you to the brink.
Maybe then I would have experimented more back in Greece.
I drop the towel and put on the shorts and T-shirt hanging on the hanger, running my fingers through my wet hair. Giving myself one last glance in the mirror, I step out and frown at how warm it is.
No matter how much I asked for it, Clare always refused to install AC in my room.
Sighing, I go the window and slide it open, welcoming the wind slipping inside, billowing the white curtain in different directions, and tickling my skin.
Owls hoot in the night along with several birds chirping as the dark clouds gather above. Lightning flashes before loud thunder echoes through the sky, making the birds fly from the trees and rustle the leaves.
By the strong humidity in the air, I anticipate the rain will start pouring any moment now, and I wonder if I have time to run to the alcove deep in the garden to sketch.
Rain has always been my favorite weather, and in the rain, my creativity flourishes, allowing me to open myself up to all the feelings boiling up inside me.
Turning around, I’m about to grab my sketchbook and pencils, when I hear a loud scream reverberating through the walls and chilling my blood.
Without thinking, I bolt into the hallway only to hear another pain-filled scream, but this time accompanied by disgusting laughter. “She is pretty, isn’t she, Bill?” an unfamiliar voice asks as someone whimpers.
“Yes, she is. Those plump lips sure would look good wrapped around my dick.”
The bile in my throat rises along with the need to help whoever they want to hurt, and I dart downstairs, quietly stepping down and pressing my hand to my mouth, stilling the cry of shock ready to erupt when the first floor comes into view.
Wilkinson lies on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding him, the back of his head blown off with brain matter spilled next to him, a look of surprise on his face.
A little bit farther away from him, Grandmother sits by the stairs, a wire wrapped around her throat with blood slipping from her neck, her face blue from all the blows delivered to her, and her eyes are closed, leaving no doubt she’s dead.
I sink to my knees, gently touching her hair with my trembling hands, wanting to shake her somehow so she’ll say something and be alive.
“We’ve no time for this shit, Terry,” another voice mutters, the loud banging in the kitchen telling me their location.
“No one will even know!”
Barely controlling my gag reflex, so I won’t barf all over the stairs, takes the focus off my shock. Which, if I let it, will paralyze me and leave me unable to function in this dangerous situation where fear cannot win the battle with my instinct to survive.
Jumping over Grandmother’s body, I go to the common room in search of the alarm button, which will have police arriving shortly. Grandmother installed it in case burglars ever came to steal something valuable, her precious belongings dear to her heart.
How tragic and ironic that they stole her life instead.
The men continue to talk, their conversation becoming a blur for a second when I see Clare lying in the common room, knife wounds all over her body, her guts spilled beside her as if someone opened her up just to play with her. And the maid lying next to her has her eyes carved out, and her face is slashed so much I don’t even recognize who she is.
“Which of those fucking girls did the boss need?”
“How the fuck should I know?”
“Well, there are two of them. Pick one!”
The boss? The girls?
I go to one of the couches and hunch down, blindly finding the button and pressing on it swiftly, hoping like hell their argument will last a lot longer so they won’t kill my stepsisters.
Their beauty among the elite is legendary as well as their pickiness and love for playing with their suitors’ emotions, creating competitions between them for who is more worthy of their time.
Did someone get fed up with it all and decide to kidnap one of them, punishing them in the process by slaughtering their family?
Some serial killer psycho who would stop at nothing in order to catch his prey?
Tears stream down my cheeks at the devastation around me done to my family; they were cruel and unkind to me, but they are my family and dead because of monsters coming to our house. I hold in the whimpers, not wanting them to know about me while praying to God for help to arrive in time.
Self-loathing fills me at how cowardly I hide here, but I have no other choice, or they might do something rash and hurt my siblings.
“Maybe it’s neither of them, huh?” Another disgusting laugh. “Then we can play. One for you and one for me.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” Ava begs, and the sound of a slap rocks off the walls followed by her loud sobs.
“Shut up, bitch.”
Fisting my hands, I look around for any kind of weapon, because waiting is impossible.
I’ve read that criminals might play with you, but the minute they get bored, that’s when they truly plan to off you. And while they have some kind of order for one of the girls, no one knows what they will do once they have an answer.
I pick up the expensive, heavy crystal vase from the table and go to the far end of the room with the small opening leading to the kitchen for the staff to easily bring food into the dining room, my feet soundless on the marble.
Pressing my back to the wall, inches away from the opening, I peek a little inside to see two men wearing everything black, even face masks, their bulky physiques scary on their own. They loom above my sisters who sit on the floor, hugging each other, while one of the men holds a knife and the other a gun over their heads.
“Or we can just ruffle their feathers a bit, huh? A little scar here and there, maybe even cut their hair off.” Judging by the voice, Bill suggests and nudges Terry a
bit. “The pleasure will be divine. I forgot the last time I hurt a living victim.” He moans in anticipation, licking his lips. “Oh yeah. I can almost get off on that.”
Despicable, despicable human beings.
My hold on the vase tightens, and I step closer to them, since they can’t see me from this corner. I’m hidden by the wide cupboard when Addison says frantically, “There is one more girl here. Briseis. She’s upstairs.” A beat passes before she adds, “She’s the one you’re looking for. Please, let us go.” Disappointment rushes through my veins at her throwing me to the wolves to save her own ass, but I block away the rage along with the pain her admission inspires inside me.
None of my emotions have a place here. While they all lost their humanity along the way, I still have mine intact.
Which means I have to save my sisters, even if they don’t deserve it.
The men pause, exchanging looks, and one of them rubs his chin. “Briseis. Right. He did say she’ll have some weird name, didn’t he?”
Ava nods eagerly. “And she has two different eyes.” I step closer to them, lifting the vase, ready to throw it at one of them, when Addison points toward me.
“She’s right there.”
Shaking my head in disbelief at her stupidity, I have to wonder, does she think by shifting their attention to me she’ll be safe?
They swiftly half turn to face me, and one of them mutters, “Yeah, she’s his daughter.” I don’t dwell on their words, their odd meaning confusing me even more, and throw the vase at one of them when he darts toward me. I spin around to run back to the terrace, hoping to find an escape in the garden till the police arrive.
Two gunshots mixed with screams fill the space, making me close my eyes, weeping for my siblings internally as I run with all my might to the terrace and open the double doors. I get out, and my heart, despite everything, hurts for my sisters who got just killed.
You might hate people who hurt you the most in your life, never wanting anything to do with them, yet when their ends come, you grieve all the same.
I’m almost inside the garden when a hand catches me by the hair, a cry of pain slipping past my lips, as he seethes, “You fucking bitch.” He twists me around and grabs my chin painfully, digging his fingers into my skin and leaving bruises for sure. “You’re my two million dollars.” He smiles, showcasing his two missing teeth, and I kick him hard in the gut before hitting him in the cheek with my fist. He stumbles back, groaning and bending in two.
Not waiting for the second one running toward us to catch up with me, I race to the gates instead, my only chance of staying alive, because maybe they’ll decide I’m too big a hassle and leave instead of taking their chances of being caught.
The wind slaps my cheeks as I move in a blur, my hair blown back as my feet slap against the concrete, yet the pain doesn’t register in my brain.
My heavy breathing is the only sound ringing in my ears, and I concentrate on that, focusing only on my survival, deriving strength from it.
I’m halfway to my destination when a rope catches me, wrapping around my neck and pulling me back, and my resistance only makes me drop on my ass, the pain traveling through my entire body as Terry catches up with me.
He tightens his hold on the rope when he walks around me. The air slowly leaves my lungs and my vision blurs. “Like to lead men on a chase, don’t you?” He steps closer, his shoes stepping on my foot, and I cry out, although it’s nothing but a weak rasp with the rope cutting off my air supply. “Well, how about a little punishment before you go to daddy dearest?” He raises his fist, ready to hit me hard, and I tense, anticipating the blow, but surprised when the rope around me loosens, and he stumbles back.
Coughing heavily and gulping for breath, I scoot back and blink a few times to clear my vision only to gasp in surprise when I see Santiago stabbing him with a blade glistening in the moonlight. Then he takes it out, letting the blood drip on the concrete before he grabs Terry’s hands and breaks them, the crunching of bone ringing in my ears.
Along with his cry of pain. Although all I want to do is go closer and kick Terry, adding to his suffering.
Santiago maneuvers Terry to kneel in front of me, and he takes out the belt from his pants, the whooshing sound sending an odd excitement through me, which quickly turns into horror when he circles Terry’s neck with it. “Do you see this woman?” he asks him, tightening his hold. “She belongs to me. And no one hurts what belongs to me.” With this, he cuts off his oxygen completely, and the man thrashes in his hold, trying to get away, but all his attempts are useless.
His face reddens, his eyes bulging, and shortly his body goes limp.
Santiago drops him and takes a step toward me while I scoot back once again, a different kind of fear enveloping me while I’m stuck on the darkness and cold expression of his eyes with him so easily killing a person. “Stay away from me.” I might not understand a lot of things right now from panic and the adrenaline pumping through my system; however, him so easily doing this is not normal. “Stay away from me,” I snap again when he doesn’t listen but kneels in front of me and palms my head with the same hands that just choked someone to death. “Stay—” I start, then frown when his fingers press so hard on the side of my neck my mind almost shuts down, and even though I want to run away or say something more, my eyes slowly close and the oblivion calling my name claims me.
Leaving me at the mercy of a monster and chaos.
Santiago
Briseis loses consciousness, her lids drooping, and she relaxes in my arms where I catch her easily, picking her up. Spinning around, I stroll to the mansion where the rest of the horsemen are. They scattered all over the first floor, each one of them studying the situation we walked into.
While I planned to kidnap Briseis tonight and kill Howard in front of her, because the earth really doesn’t need a useless piece of shit like him gracing it, I didn’t anticipate my evening turning into a massacre with her whole family slaughtered.
Or should I say selfish fuckers who never gave a shit about her anyway?
Somehow, try as I might—and let’s be honest, I don’t even try—I feel nothing at their deaths.
Coming back to the terrace, I see Howard lying on the floor with his arms and legs spread wide, wearing a bathrobe.
Octavius places the tip of his shoe on Howard’s chin, moving his head back and forth as he examines the wound on his neck. “They used fishing line.” He taps on his nose and jaw. “First though, they beat the shit out of him. Unbelievable that he’s still breathing.” He raises his gaze to me, cocking his head to the side. “Do you think it was an order?”
“In a way.”
You don’t fuck around with one’s daughter the way Howard did with Briseis without some kind of retribution for those actions. Andreas is a horrendous human being whose soul should have stayed in hell, for the only thing the man desires is power and the suffering of those around him.
However, even a vicious monster getting off on pain and torture doesn’t take kindly when someone abuses his flesh and blood.
The massacre was the inevitable outcome after the Dawson family deceived him and then reduced his daughter to nothing but a punching bag.
We shift our attention to Remi who comes closer to us, carefully not to step in the pools of blood spilled everywhere, as we don’t need to leave any evidence tracing to us.
“Everyone is dead. Even two maids and the gardener.”
“Nothing is stolen,” Florian says, emerging from Howard’s office. “Or should I say we didn’t let them steal what they wanted.” Everyone looks at Briseis in my arms, and I cradle her closer to me, the beast inside me roaring at the sight of bruises forming on her pale skin from their harsh treatment and the rope that wrapped around her throat. I barely stop myself from chasing the one fucker who we intentionally let escape in order for him to deliver the news to his master.
Even the knowledge that Andreas kills those who disappoint him, so his days are n
umbered, doesn’t rein in my rage.
I should remember she is bait, a means to an end and collateral damage in my plan.
Nothing fucking more.
Besides, what I’m about to do to her will hurt her way more than this shit.
“Get out of here before the cops arrive. The last thing we need is to explain ourselves to anyone.” Florian motions toward the hall. “I’m going to clean up, so they don’t find any clues leading them to us.”
We divided the workload between us a long time ago, and unfortunately for Florian, it meant staying behind after every dark craving of ours—with a clear head on his shoulders—and cleaning up the messes of our chaos.
The reason why he never drank more than one glass during any outings.
“We’ll be at my dungeon,” I tell him, and he nods, disappearing behind one of the doors as we go back the way we came, slipping into the night like shadows and bringing death with us.
After all, we are the Four Dark Horsemen.
Chaos, death, and suffering are inevitable wherever we go.
Chapter Nine
“I crossed paths with the cruel dark-haired devil who won’t stop until he gets what he wants.
Whatever the hell that is.”
Briseis
From Flora’s Diaries
15 March
It has been two months, yet I remember it all as if it happened yesterday. His scent, breathing, and sadistic laughter wake me up at night, and his face flashing in my nightmares makes me awaken sweaty all over while I scream for help.
Three times, Dad came rushing into the room, trying to hug me or calm me down, and never succeeded.
I didn’t want his hugs, his touch, or anyone’s touch for that matter.
All I wanted was to hit him and order him to shut up, so he would stop mentioning Andreas’s name so much or how much investing in his business helped him.
The only saving grace in my life has been Howard, who destroyed half his room when he heard about the injustice done to me and then rocked me in his arms, promising me he would avenge me.
