Santiago's Conquest : A Standalone Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by V. F. Mason

  “Shut your mouth, Santiago, if you want to eat today.”

  Before I can say anything, Artem elbows me, hinting for me to listen, because my antics might cost us food. We’ve already been starved for three days after my last joke on Edward, which ended with punishment and starvation.

  The wounds festering on our backs from a knife slashing our skin can attest to that.

  Ah, sometimes I forget my brothers-in-pain—because what else is there to call them—didn’t have such rigid training before ending up in this hell, so I can’t put them in danger.

  I’ve grown to like them both as much as it’s possible in the current circumstances and would never purposely cause them harm.

  “I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you,” Jonathan warns as we come closer to the basement door. “Soon, you’ll be too big for them to enjoy. Already so fucking tall. And then you all will be dead or…” He rubs his chin, and then says, “Or he can sell you to some whorehouse. Depends on his fascination with you, I imagine.”

  Well, fuck.

  Fascination is one word Callum can’t stand.

  This time, Artem’s elbow digs into him, steadying him in the present so he won’t be lost in his painful memories, and he finally nods in acknowledgment.

  Instead, he replies to the fucker, “We will see what fate has in store for us.”

  Jonathan’s eyes narrow at his reply, and he stops abruptly, pulling at the chains holding us all together, and we stumble back, hitting each other in the shoulders and wincing, since our skin still has fresh wounds weeping blood.

  “You think since you are his favorite toy, you can talk to me like that?” he shouts and then slaps Callum across the face with the key, scratching his cheek while continuing to scream, “Ungrateful assholes! After everything I’ve done for you.”

  Yeah, fuck him and what he says.

  This time, Artem makes no move to stop anyone, because we’d all rather die with dignity than thank him for pimping us out and treating us worse than dog shit.

  “Done what? Chained us and sent us to be raped? Yeah, fucking thanks,” Callum tells him, sharing a chuckle with us.

  “You piece of shit.” He raises his hand but freezes with it midair, and his eyes glaze over before he groans, grabbing his heart. “Call someone,” he whispers, leaning on the wall and slowly sliding down it. “Call someone,” he says again, but none of us move.

  None of us want to miss this spectacular view.

  His eyes slowly roll back, and he exhales his last breath, dropping on his ass while his head hangs to the side, dead.

  “Heart attack,” Artem concludes, his voice void of any emotion.

  We share a look with Callum before shrugging it off.

  Through the years, Artem always showcased knowledge in medical shit, so he ended up patching us up or treating our wounds. We never asked questions, because his guarded expression hinted to us he didn’t want to share.

  He kneels and presses his fingers to Jonathan’s pulse, forcibly opening his eyes with the other, checking for any sign of life. “Yep, dead.” He looks at us over my shoulder and announces, “Who wants to call the guards?”

  Our collective, barely audible laughter fills the space, but then I step closer, dragging Callum with me, since the chain connects us, and reach for the keys in Jonathan’s palm.

  I quickly open our chains, and we rub our wrists. The fuckers wouldn’t let us live here without them. We even have to shower with them on while Jonathan pulled at them and made us slip on the tiles.

  So yeah, fucker, may you never rest in peace and burn in hell for eternity.

  I snatch the knife and gun from the asshole and pass one to Callum.

  “What do you want me to do with it?”

  Judging by Artem’s reaction, he has a similar question, which only reminds me how innocent they are, despite everything. They haven’t killed anyone, and maybe that’s why weapons scare them.

  However, this is our chance, and we can’t miss it, so they have to catch up fast.

  “Shoot or stab, I assume. We can kill the guards.” I continue to talk, oblivious to their skepticism. “There are five guards inside and then some in the garden.” Over the years, Edward has allowed us monthly walks under strict supervision. We would go out to the garden with different designs and the weirdest statues and flowers.

  Just like you do with dogs on a leash, take them out for a breath of fresh air before they are returned home, to know who their owner is.

  Needless to say, we fucking hated all those walks.

  An iron fence surrounds the place with more guards, and we never see any other kids. Jonathan once got drunk and spilled that other kids are in a different area, handled by some John guy.

  Edward just brings us here, because we are his and his favorite clients’ most beloved toys.

  “You’re talking about running away,” Artem says and gets up, stealing the knife from me and tapping on the tip with his finger.

  By the glint in his eyes and how they fixate on the blade, I know darkness has settled in him too. The need pumps in your blood, demanding vengeance so much you can taste it on your tongue.

  True beauty of darkness lies in the fact that it welcomes anyone with open arms.

  “We need to kill them before they raise the alarm.” Artem rubs the tip on his chin, careful not to draw any blood, considering it’s sharp. All the more pain for the victims.

  “So we need—”

  “The remote,” Callum says, and Artem nods.

  The guards usually use those to open the gates when they have deliveries.

  “Roccko has a remote.”

  We frown at our memory of the beefy guy who has muscle upon muscle on his body and stands next to the gates. Killing him in our condition and without training is impossible. Based on how he swung his sword the last time, he is very skilled, and facing him would be suicide and nothing more.

  Still though.

  Destiny has granted us an opportunity. How can we turn our backs on it?

  Eight years.

  Eight long, painfully, agonizingly slow years I’ve waited for this moment, and I’ll be damned if I stay here in fear any longer.

  No matter what life has thrown at me, I’ve survived.

  So why can’t I trust my destiny now?

  Callum glances between us, an emotion passing in his eyes, but it’s so quickly gone I can’t trace it, and he speaks up with resolve in his voice. “I’ll handle Roccko if you can arrange everything else.”

  “Handling” Roccko means what exactly?

  His death?

  Well, fuck no, amigo.

  Frowning, I decide to knock some sense into him, as I don’t need someone seeking death on our mission and begin speaking. “Well, I don’t think—” I don’t have a chance to finish my point though, as the loud, almost deafening siren echoing through the entire house interrupts me.

  Fire alarm.

  Briseis

  In the stretched silence, tension rises across the table, everyone’s gaze focused on my reaction or lack thereof. I finally snap out of my shock, taking a deep breath into my lungs and willing myself to calm down and find a solution to my problem.

  I’ve managed to live just fine without Santiago, so I don’t need him holding my hand all the freaking time, although when I see him again, he will damn well hear what I have to say about ditching me here.

  He left me in the fire of his creation and expects me to burn right along with his family?

  He has another think coming!

  “I haven’t started working on my sketches yet. I went to the library yesterday, but then… well….” The relief that instantly washes over everyone at the table is palpable, and it’s clear they dreaded answering any questions I might have regarding this conflict.

  Quite frankly, I’m not that interested, or maybe deep down I’m afraid to look closely into it, because it might present the man I know in a different light, and then…

  Then would my view of
him and his actions change?

  Although, who am I kidding?

  I already excuse so much shit he does and allow him to touch me freely, sleep with me, and everything else, so I might as well fall down the rabbit hole.

  Jimena picks up her napkin, wipes her mouth, and winks at me. “You came to the perfect place.” She leans back on her chair, and I notice how she pats her stomach slightly, almost gently touching it, which raises suspicion in me, but her next words don’t let me dwell on it much. “Santiago for years collected information about the four riders. At one point, he was so obsessed I wondered if he had lost his mind.” She chuckles, wrapping her hand around her water glass and lifting it to her mouth. “That’s his trait though. If he is obsessed with something, the thought or person consumes him.”

  Her words hang in the air, no doubt hinting at something to me. But once again, I ignore it, because obsession is an unhealthy short-lived emotion, so I don’t think she should talk about it so proudly.

  “Books, you mean? Or the Bible? To be honest, I’m not really savvy on this subject, so I’m not sure where else they could have appeared.”

  Rebecca shakes her head, a fake smile on her face, but I don’t miss how her hands shake slightly as she sips her wine. “Santiago has an entire collection about the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse at the guest house. I think you might find it interesting.” She puts the glass back on the table, clasps her hands together, and then rests her chin on them, her blue eyes staring straight at me. “We might also send this work to some of my friends, so take all the time you might need, preferably though finish it in two months… just in time for my upcoming gallery opening.”

  “Friends?” I ask dumfounded, slightly surprised at her offer, but also excitement builds inside me despite the earlier scene, because such opportunities don’t just fall in anyone’s lap.

  Rebecca is connected to many artists and gallery owners who mean something in this country and has various high-ranked friends abroad, so if any of them sees my work and likes it… I might actually have a chance to make it in the industry.

  Because once all of this is over, I won’t have anything but my career, right? So I should work hard on this project despite the fear filling my veins on this new journey where I can fail once again.

  Although this time around, failure cannot be an option.

  “First though, you have to create a worthy product. I won’t work with anything ordinary or boring.”

  I nod absently while she grins once again, only for it to slip from her lips when Lucian gets up, a stormy expression still etched on his features, but there are traces of something else on it too.

  Something akin to deep sorrow that probably nothing in this world will ever be able to soothe. “I have a business call shortly. Con tu permiso.” He kisses his wife on the forehead, lingering a little while she clenches the sleeve of his sweater before he steps back and walks around me, patting me gently on the back. “Welcome to the family once again, Briseis. If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to tell me.” He waits a bit and adds, “Our lawyer already knows about the case, so do not talk to the police alone. Request his presence at all times. He’ll be expecting your call.”

  “Thank you, that’s so….” He leaves the dining room before I even have the chance to finish the sentence, just like his son earlier, and Rebecca sighs heavily, palming her cheek and standing up too.

  “I have a slight headache, so I’m going to lie down in the greenhouse. You girls enjoy dinner. There is chocolate cake for dessert. Our cook bakes the best in the city, believe me.” She kisses her daughter before reaching me and placing a soft kiss on my cheek. “We can discuss the sketches later. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She moves in the direction of the terrace but stops, spinning quickly to face us. “I prepared the guest house with the hope of you guys staying the night. We haven’t had a family breakfast in ages, so if you don’t mind, please stay.”

  “I don’t have a change of clothes.” I quickly come up with the most reasonable excuse, but she only waves her hand.

  “I already bought a few things, so your room has everything you need. Unless you feel uncomfortable….” She trails off, expecting my reaction, and I curse my husband seven ways to hell for putting me in this situation.

  Obviously, their reaction to our marriage lost them some points in my book, but I guess I can’t hold their desire to be on their son’s side against them, and I still feel kind of bad for what just happened, because it’s clear as day they love their son and all this kills them both.

  The last thing I want is to spend the night here alone and have an even more awkward breakfast when my husband dearest doesn’t show up, hurting his parents once again.

  That’s the rational part of me though; the rebellious side apparently existing within me enjoys the prospect of driving my husband insane and longs to go against his stupid orders.

  So, mustering a bright smile on my face, I reply, “That sounds lovely.”

  Happiness shines on her face as she replies, “Thank you.” Turning around, she resumes her walk to the garden, reaching the terrace doors in five steps. Silence once again stretches around us, and I lean back in my chair, covering my face with my hands and groaning into them.

  What in the hell did Santiago get me into?

  “Don’t beat yourself up. After five or six such dinners, you’ll get used to it.” I glance at Jimena, noticing her staring at me as she leans on her elbows, her blue eyes sparking. “So I consider this dinner a success. It lasted almost fifteen minutes.”

  “How long do they usually last?”

  She shrugs. “Five or ten minutes. Depending on Dad’s resistance to Santiago’s subtle jabs aimed his way. Although there was an exception when the dinner lasted for thirty minutes.” She frowns, snapping her fingers several times before pointing the index one at me. “It was on Mom’s birthday, and she begged Santiago to stay till we cut the cake. The minute she stopped slicing it up, he disappeared like the wind.”

  “I see.” Because what else is there to say in such a situation? I highly doubt asking her the source of it will be any help anyway, so I open my mouth to comment on the invitation to stay here and maybe check the library and resources Santiago has about the four riders.

  My sketches always helped me in my darkest hours, my soul finding solace between the pale white pages and the ability to purge any emotion on to them. I found some relief from the endless sorrow eating me alive. Maybe working again will bring me peace until this situation is over.

  My heart pangs painfully in my chest at the prospect of not seeing Santiago again, and I hate myself in this moment, despising its weakness.

  Even if I stayed and he changed… could I ever live with a man who is a monster?

  A predator who has already tasted blood on his tongue would never, ever become someone who lets go of it willingly.

  No, he’ll continue to hunt his prey till the day he dies, chasing them all, one after another.

  The loud ringing in my purse halts my intentions though, and I quickly take it out, seeing Lenora’s name flashing on the display. “Sorry,” I tell Jimena who gestures in a “don’t worry” move, and I tap the Answer icon, lifting it to my ear only to pull it away when Lenora’s screeching voice shouts.

  “What in the hell, woman?”

  “Hey—”

  “Don’t fucking hey me. The day is almost over, and did you call me? Nope. I have to do it all on my own.”

  “Yeah, well, I just got my phone back like an hour ago, so.”

  My excuse means nothing to her, not that I thought it would. And besides, it’s not like I can tell her I got blackmailed into marriage, so I had no means to communicate with her anyway?

  “Seriously? I can’t believe it. You know how worried I was? Especially when I saw all those bodies covered in white sheets…” Her voice trembles a little, and I sigh, wishing for my best friend to be here so I could wrap my arms around her and reassure her I’m okay. “And then I f
ind out you sneaked out to get married. Honestly, you’re in big trouble, Briseis.”

  “I’ll do my best to make it up to you.”

  “You better.” She exhales heavily before she asks, this time concern lacing her tone, and a smile tugs at my lips, because it’s such a Lenora reaction. She gets angry quickly but underneath it all, love pushes always to the surface, because she cares about the people around her so much. “Are you really okay?”

  Oh, how I wish to spill the beans to my best friend and beg her to come here. Then I, at least, would have someone in my corner who’ll be on my side among all these people who love Santiago fiercely and who throw threats my way or warn me about what happens if he doesn’t have my loyalty.

  For her to hug me and to cry on her shoulder, because all this is such a mess.

  But mostly importantly, I want to tell her how my body and heart crave a man who no sane woman should be with.

  However, none of those things is an option, as I don’t want her to be part of this twisted blackmail.

  “Yes, I’m okay. A bit shaken, all things considered, but I’m okay; don’t worry.” Since she stays silent, I add, “No one hurt me last night either.”

  “That’s good, because I wondered…. Doesn’t matter. When can we see each other? I’d totally stop by your place but don’t want to interrupt the love birds,” she teases, laughing softly while my cheeks heat up, because it’s so freaking true, which is an annoying fact in itself.

  “I’ll have to ask Santiago about that.” Although based on our conversation in the car, I assume invitations are allowed, since he told me I can live my life normally?

  However, no way in hell am I inviting my friend over while that fucking lion lives in the territory. I love animals and all, but such beastly creatures should be admired at a distance and not run around my yard dreaming about eating me for lunch or dinner!

  She huffs in exasperation. “Spoken like a good wife. Okay, ask the husband dearest and let me know. I’m traveling to New York in a week, so we have to meet before then.”

  “Oh, why?”

  “Amalia Scott is getting married soon, and she wants Frankie to design her dress. Frankie though has so many projects she offered for me to design it instead, promising Amalia she would love my work. Can you imagine? I have the best boss.”