by V. F. Mason
Every inch of his body screams pain and havoc, as if who he destroys next depends on his mood.
Their appearances and how Santiago stays unfazed by their presence lets me know they probably participate in the same dark stuff my husband does, and in such, I should stay as far away from them as possible.
I try to dart forward, wanting to go back on the dance floor or somewhere else just so I won’t be in their company, yet Santiago only tightens his hold on me, his hand running in soothing motions over my arm. “You know what they say. The make-up sex is the best.” Is he kidding me right now? Besides, who promised him sex anyway?
Although, I’ve been such a weakling when it comes to him, is it a wonder he expects things from me?
The blue-haired guy rubs his chin, his brows furrowing, as he asks, “Is that what it was?” Then his gaze lands on me, and he finally introduces himself. “Arson Scott. Congratulations on the wedding, Briseis.” His name rings no bells in my mind, but shouldn't it, since he is Santiago’s friend?
The other guy nods in agreement to his statement and extends his hand to me, palm up. “Callum MacRae.” Only to pull it back with a chuckle when he glances at Santiago.
Santiago takes out his phone from his back pocket, puts it to his ear, and when the person on the other end answers, he orders, “Sam, come here.” He hangs up, and then our eyes connect as he tells me, “She’ll keep you company while I talk with my guests.” His fingers dig into my skin, and he hugs me closer, making it impossible to think about anything or anyone else but him. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He presses his lips to my forehead and then pushes me to the booth, so I land there just as Sam appears next to us. “Eyes on her all the time. She leaves this place, you’re fired.” He issues his warning and then moves past the dance floor and hallway leading to his private room while the men give me one last glance before following him, but I think they do it only because they need to discuss something with him.
Otherwise, I think they never follow anyone’s orders.
As I stare at their backs, I wonder who those men are, but more importantly, why they are here.
If you marry a dark horseman, there won’t be a dull moment in your life.
And unfortunately, that includes meeting the scariest men in the country.
Santiago
The minute we’re inside the conference room on the second floor, I shut the door and point at the bar. “Anyone want a drink?”
“Yeah, because I came here to drink tequila.” Arson walks around and drops on a nearby chair while Callum sits next to him, sliding the ashtray closer to them as he takes out a pack of cigarettes from inside his jacket.
“Fair enough,” I reply, sitting on my chair and leaning back, my brows lifting. “Why are you here? ”
Arson flips the lighter between his fingers smoothly, casually lighting it up as Callum leans forward to light his too before going back to play with it, his constant toy ever since he created that fire when we escaped all those years ago.
Where Artem died and Arson was born in his place.
And got a taste for burning people alive while they begged him not to.
“So it’s okay when you come to our towns, but we need an explanation for a little visit?” Callum wonders aloud, sending smoke around us. He addresses Arson. “Smells like a double standard, doesn't it?”
Arson doesn't bother to reply to that statement, but then again, neither of us expects it. He’s a quiet predator who studies your every move before he strikes you where it hurts the most, to use you however he sees fit.
Friend or enemy, no one is safe in his company; maybe that’s one of the reasons I so love to rile him up and show my nose in New York when he’s repeatedly asked me not to, since it brings trouble with Lachlan.
Besides, I despise anyone forbidding me anything, so either way, it works.
Callum though is a different beast entirely; that fucker will smile and charm his way with anyone and anything before showing his true self, then torture someone so much they’d wish they never crossed paths with him.
Deadly, ruthless, heartless.
Who would have thought a quiet boy who trembled whenever the doors opened and cried after all the shit inflicted on him would grow up into a man whose one pleasure in life is destroying certain people?
A man who has stayed a loner and resides in Houston, not believing in brotherhoods or friends, preferring to rely only on himself. The only reason he’s even here is because he owes me a debt.
Arson’s voice brings me back to the present. “A wind whispered in my ear about your plans. You found Andreas.”
I lean on the table, grinning widely, although by the coldness lacing my tone, they can hear my true emotions on the matter. “Didn’t know Lachlan was such a tattletale.”
“I saw the file. It wasn't hard to guess who would need this information.”
Callum motions with his head toward Arson. “He shared it with me, and we thought a visit was in order. Don’t you agree?” He taps his cigarette on the ashtray’s edge. “Especially considering you married his daughter. I guess the clash at this point is inevitable. Any idea when it might happen?”
“If he married his daughter, it means the fucker wants an heir, doesn't he?” Arson asks, flipping his lighter through his fingers again before flicking it on and staring at the blue and orange flecks entwining. “So I guess one or two months… depends how hard he plans to work on it.”
Callum snorts, pressing the butt in the ashtray. “What a great plan. Ruthless too.” He clacks his tongue, the sound grating on my nerves, and my hand fists.
“Lives up to his reputation. In chaos do they thrive.” Arson mocks the dark four motto and leans closer, dropping his voice as he says, “Achilles was ready to give up war when they took Briseis from him. She must be disappointed.”
“Not living up to her namesake. What a pitiful fate indeed.”
“Unless she doesn't know about the father dearest.”
“Hmm… interesting point.”
I thought I owed them one for all the shit I pulled on them through the years while I loved fucking around with their personas, but my patience lasts only so long.
Fuck. That. Debt.
“Enough. What do you want?”
Callum drums his fingers on the table. “Personally, we don't want anything. Do you?”
My brows furrow in confusion while I’m trying to process what he means by that. Surely they didn't show up in my town to offer me any help?
They barely leave their cities unless something urgent happens, and as they’ve proven to me, they don't consider me an urgent matter.
Arson must read my silent question, because he answers. “He’s sick, and we’d personally love to indulge in this mission so we can end him and all his acquaintances.” He waits a beat before adding, “And help you.”
“In short, we’re here for you. Just tell us if you need anything,” Callum says while they both stare at me, each more closed off than the other, which doesn't allow me to gauge their true intentions. So I gaze right back with my indifferent expression so they won’t notice how their statement shocks me.
Their behavior even after our shared captivity implied nothing but distaste for my person and any memories, let alone the desire to spend time in my company. Whenever I butt into their business, they’ve had to accept my help but never flat out asked for it.
And now they want to repay a debt and are willing to extend an olive branch?
How fucking hilarious and sad at the same time.
“Compared to you, I believe in friendships and connections. I have my dark horsemen to watch my back.” I get up, the chair’s legs scraping against the floor, and slap my splayed palms on the table, looming above them while my voice becomes icy cold. “My revenge is twenty-four years in the making. Nothing will stop me or stand in my way. Do not interfere in my fight.” Stepping back, I tell them, “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, and whatever you have tonight is on m
e. Want to meet up after that and go down memory line? I’m game. Want to torture some sick fuckers in my town? Be my guest. But don’t ever speak about Andreas. I don't need help where he is concerned.” Spinning around, I march toward the door, and my hand wraps around the knob, when Callum’s words halt my movements.
“The dark horsemen didn't live in hell with you. They will never understand your desire for vengeance.”
“It doesn't matter. They will stand by me.” This I know with absolute certainty, because if years have proven anything to me… it’s that our unity is unbreakable and unshakable.
I glance at him over my shoulder, but my eyes shift to Arson, who speaks up. “That they will do. However, they don't know how important that drive inside you to destroy the enemy is. You cannot fail, Santiago. And only the three of us know why.”
“We’re one phone call away. Just know it,” Callum says, and thousands of memories pop in my head, one more horrid than the other, playing like a colorful movie in my mind, showcasing our years at Edward’s mansion and the hideous crimes done to us.
An endless nightmare leaving such deep scars they never fade away.
The type of scars that can only be understood by someone who lived through it.
These scars will never heal, but they might stop festering over and over again, if you finally punish the one responsible for them.
And this is indeed something they can understand and my dark horsemen will never know.
“Gracias,” I finally say and wink at them, pushing all my emotions away and giving the world back the carefree Santiago who can fuck you up with a smile. “But I won’t need it.”
This time, I walk out of the room, leaving them sitting alone, and as I dart toward my wife, for the first time in my life, I understand why they never welcomed me in their towns.
Sometimes, the memories become so vivid I relive every single thing.
And sometimes, the pain that comes with it is so strong once again I don't know how to survive it.
But my greatest pain didn't come from the wounds inflicted on me—oh, no.
It came after.
In the place where my wife agreed to spend the tonight.
Chapter Seventeen
“Family home means everything, they say.
You’re always welcome there, they say.
No one can hurt you behind its walls, they say.
It’s not true, I say.”
Santiago
Chicago, Illinois
Santiago, 15 years old
The cabbie pulls up by the huge mansion that is my family home, slightly away from the iron gates guarded by several men, and leans forward a bit as if trying to study it through the windshield. “Are you sure we’re at the right place?” He throws me a look over his shoulder, his eyes scanning my less-than-stellar appearance, as I’m still wearing torn pants and a small T-shirt while my feet remain bloody and bare, stinking like hell and reminding me the wounds will fester if I don't take care of them soon.
But then again, what’s another scar on my body, right?
Wiping my hands on my pants, I snatch out the hundred-dollar bill I promised him when he agreed to bring me to any address I requested. Everyone else refused me based on appearances alone.
My ride with the guys didn't last long. I drove the car as fast as my limited skills allowed until we crashed into a tree and bumped our heads hard, but luckily no one was injured.
We heard a train pass by closely, found the station where it was waiting for a few minutes, and hopped inside. Since it had sand and building supplies stacked around, no one noticed our presence.
Only then did we breathe easily, leaving the area that had brought us so much pain.
Staying together was dangerous though, and besides, I wasn't sure anyone had the desire to anyway. Destiny connected us by mutual pain, but that same pain almost made us resent each other, as we served as living and breathing reminders of what happened to us.
Although, I was less bitter about it and wouldn’t mind finding them someday if they survived. Not sure about Artem and Callum, since they displayed no desire to stay in touch when I offered to give them my address or for them come to my home with me. I knew they had nowhere to go.
We found several stacks of clothes inside the train and quickly put on shirts, and we even managed to find money to add to our luck. I took only a hundred so I could get home and not involve the cops. I didn’t trust anyone anymore with my safety and sure as fuck wouldn’t give Andreas an opportunity to grab me again before I reached home and got all my rights back.
We all headed to different states. Callum picked our first stop—Texas. I hopped off at the next station, saluting Artem on my way, who would settle in New York, because it was the last stop and he didn't really have a choice.
And just like, that our destinies separated forever.
“Buddy, do you hear me? Are you sure this is the correct address? Because those guards sure don't look friendly.” I glance through the window at said men who frown and murmur to each other before one of them comes closer and taps on the roof.
The cabbie slides his window down and waves. “Hey.”
“Who are you?” the man asks, and the cabbie points at me with his thumb.
“Just brought a passenger.”
The man shifts his focus to me, his stare intense, and my hands fist, barely restraining myself from punching him in the face, because I hate any man’s gaze lingering on me longer than necessary.
My body will always hold the scars and memories of the wrongful things done to it. The all-consuming need to wash myself over and over again until those touches forever disappear from my brain becomes so overwhelming I have to take a deep calming breath.
Creating a space inside my mind where only coldness, fury, and desire for revenge exists.
I give the cabbie the money—he almost rips it from my hands—and I get out of the car, saying, “Thank you.” All things considered, he showed me kindness when most didn’t, even if this kindness required dollar bills.
He drives off the minute I close the door, clearly afraid they’ll kick me out, and he won’t get his money.
The guard studies me for a second, his eyes widening a little when he stares at my face, and a crooked smile spreads across my mouth.
Oh yes, how could I forget?
My eyes, just like my mother’s, are so striking everyone is mesmerized by them. They should help him make the connection pretty quick.
“God, looking at your eyes makes me want to hurt you even more, boy.”
I grit my teeth, blocking away the despicable voices, and instead address the guard. “My name is Santiago Cortez.”
Someone from behind him snickers, and I find another guard pointing at me and saying, “Right. Move along, kid. No one’s gonna believe you.”
I don’t pay attention to him and instead look back at the guard in front of me who still stares, yet he doesn't tell me to go away.
Good to know my parents still have someone smart on the staff.
Instead, he takes out his phone, dials a number, and waits a bit, all while training his gaze on me. I cross my arms, willing myself to stand still and not allow my past to haunt me right now.
“Derek?” he greets the man, and my brows lift, because the name rings a bell. Wasn't he the head of security all those years ago? “There is a boy here claiming his name is Santiago Cortez.” He stays silent and then, “Dirty, around fifteen, I guess? Blue eyes. Honestly… shitty.” He nods. “Okay.” He hangs up. “He’ll be here in a second. We’ll have to wait.”
“What bullshit. This kid—”
The man’s raised hand stops the insults. “Shut up, Dave.” He motions to the gates. “Come closer.” He glances at my feet, but I pass him, padding on the burning asphalt and wincing a little when it aggravates my wounds. But it’s not enough to give them power over me and have them think I won’t be able to fucking run if they do anything.
In this world, I learned to n
ever trust anyone, even guards at family mansions.
Greed and selfish desires rule this world, and in such, they become a temptation almost impossible to resist. If you promise people the things they so crave and seek… they will betray anyone and anything in a heartbeat.
True loyalty is a rare gift not everyone is granted, and even when they are… they should watch their backs.
Because people and fate can change in the blink of an eye.
Closing my eyes, I lift my face to the sun and allow the cool breeze to wash over me while the smell of my mother’s roses and orchids fill my nostrils, transporting me back to my childhood where I used to run around our garden while Mom painted, laughing at my antics.
Or how Dad used to play pirates with me, and we had our own make-believe ships. The gate served as the edge of the world where no one was allowed to venture outside. He’d leave toys called treasures under different trees, so I could happily finish each quest.
The ironclad gates start to slowly move, and my eyes snap open as I step closer, only to be grabbed by my elbow. Instantly, my skin starts to itch as if thousands of insects dance on it, and the bile in my throat rises along with fury and anger overpowering any other emotions.
Dave tightens his hold on me and hisses, “Not so fast, kid.”
Tearing my elbow away from him, I step back and reply in my controlled voice, “You ever touch me again, you’ll regret it. If you value your job, apologize to me right now.”
Dave laughs, ready to grab me once again, but I’m fast and punch him hard in the face. Instantly, pain travels through me while he barely moves, yet a small drip of blood slides down his nose. “You little—”
“You better listen to him, Dave,” comes the deep voice from afar, and I glance at Derek standing on the other side of the gate, his green eyes roaming over me while he swallows hard.
“Hola, Derek,” I greet him, but he ignores it, instead asking his own question.
