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

by V. F. Mason

  I don’t allow the feelings to push to the surface. Instead, I box them up in my mind so I can stay cold and rational.

  Feelings have no place in revenge; otherwise, I won’t be able to help my woman.

  Yes, my woman, because I know for a fact she’s not pregnant.

  I would have never endangered my wife and child like this, knowing Andreas was on the loose.

  Which means I have very little time to save my Briseis.

  When he finds out she doesn't have the heir he so desires, he will kill her.

  And under no circumstances will I ever let it happen.

  He took everything from me.

  He doesn't get to take her too.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “People say the ugly truth is better than pretty lies.

  And they are probably right.

  Right now though… I wish I never knew the truth.

  Because it hurts so much I don't know how to breathe.”

  Briseis

  Chicago, Illinois

  Santiago, 18 years old

  George pulls the car up by Octavius’s mansion, and Florian flies outside, a phone still pressed to his ear. He has been calling him relentlessly the whole twenty-minute drive here.

  Remi and I follow suit. “You can go home, George. We’ll study here.” He nods, I know he will keep his mouth shut no matter what happens.

  He’s known us all since we were in diapers, after all.

  “Fucking pick up!” Florian exclaims, and we race toward the main door that’s slightly ajar, and surprisingly Antonio is not rushing outside to greet us.

  Uneasiness travels through me, because this signifies something is indeed wrong, and when we start going up the stairs, we hear rock music blasting from speakers, rattling the walls. Exchanging looks, we speed up our pace, and Florian barges in with us bumping into his back.

  Darkness welcomes us along with the smell of alcohol saturating the air. Florian flicks on the light, and the usual squeaky-clean house comes into view while nothing seems out of the ordinary.

  Well, besides the rock music that becomes louder the farther we get inside, a music that’s forbidden in this household, because Octavius’s stepfather orders everyone to listen to only classical.

  “Maybe we overreacted. Maybe he’s not home yet.” Remi breaks the silence, although he doesn't sound convinced, glancing inside the living room. “Is anybody here?” No one answers though, which in normal circumstances wouldn’t have been so surprising, since this household has only Antonio, a driver, and two maids, because his parents believe in a minimalistic approach in life.

  His stepfather even refuses to have security watching his property, and the iron gates guarding it have a special code that allows you to get inside.

  Florian is one of the few who knows it.

  However, right fucking now when the music is blasting so loud my eardrums start to hurt, their silence is strange and alarming.

  Florian pushes me to the side and then darts to the second floor, his boots thumping loudly on the marble, and we trail after him as the music becomes louder and louder, coming from the direction of the master bedroom.

  This time though, another sound joins it, a loud whimper followed by a cry of pain overshadowing the music.

  Meirda!

  The stepfather dearest clearly started the punishment, and that’s why the staff is absent; he probably sent everyone home so he can properly torture Octavius.

  As if the scar on his cheek hasn't been enough to serve as a permanent reminder of his hate toward him.

  “That fucking asshole!” Florian mutters, kicking the door open. We run inside, only to stop dead in our tracks when we see what’s really going on.

  Mr. Reed is on the bed, thrashing while whimpering something incoherently. Or tries to at least. Octavius clamps his mouth with his hand while his other holds a knife as he starts to stab him over and over again, his clothes soaking in blood while the white bedsheets turn scarlet.

  “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Octavius screams, raising his hand and stabbing him hard again, probably finding an artery as the blood splashes on him, and the sight of it finally snaps us from our shock.

  “Octavius, no. Stop!” Florian lunges for him first, yelling, “Stop!” He tries to catch his elbow, but Octavius pushes him to the side, and Florian loses his balance, dropping on his ass by the bed and groaning.

  Remi rushes next, although he wraps his arms around Octavius’s shoulders and pulls him back, trying to separate the bloody bodies, which only results in Octavius spinning around still kneeling above his stepfather. He swings the knife at Remi, nicking him deep on his arm by the looks of it, as Remi hisses, jumping to the side and joining Florian on the floor.

  Octavius goes back to stabbing his stepfather over and over again, continuing to chant, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

  “You’re killing him! Fucking stop, Octavius!” Florian gets up swiftly, traps Octavius’s arm between his palms, trying to drag him to the side, but it has zero effect on his friend, who’s already in the zone.

  A zone I’m too familiar with.

  Florian lands on his ass once again, and that’s when I come from a different angle, catch Octavius’s wrist as he raises it, his knife dripping blood between us. His gaze is glassy with fury. This empty expression will scare everyone who encounters it, and that’s how I understand that rational thinking has left his head.

  He jerks in my hold, ready to deliver another hit, when I pull my arm back and punch him hard in the face.

  When a person is in the zone under the effect of this rage, talking to them is of no use, because they don't hear you.

  They only hear the voice of their abuser whispering in his or her ear about how worthless and weak they are, wiping away any self-control or dignity they have.

  And the need to kill becomes so unbearable they do it without realizing what’s going on or who stands in front of them.

  Octavius stumbles back, dropping to the floor on his knees while the knife slips from his fingers, landing with a loud clatter.

  Florian already slides toward him and places his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it roughly, but it brings no reaction from his friend.

  He just stares into space, his chest rising and falling with each breath that’s heavier and heavier, his palms splayed on the marble, leaving bloody prints.

  Remi hisses again as he presses his hand on his wound, so I go to him.

  Crouching, I push his hand away to examine the wound. Although the tip struck deep and might leave a scar on his shoulder, no major arteries were touched. He should be fine as long as we put stitches in it soon, so it doesn't get infected. Considering the knife was in a now dead body just seconds ago, who knows what Remi might catch from that fucker. “You okay?” He nods, glancing over my shoulder at the guys before shifting his focus to the body. “He’s dead,” I tell him, hoping he won’t erupt into hysterics, since that’s his first time encountering a dead body.

  Theirs really, since both of them were so adamant to stop him. I only joined when he finished the job.

  The only thought flying in my mind is good riddance, but I decide not to voice it. Besides, they all must be in shock.

  Remi smirks, a cold look settling in his gaze, then spits to the side. “Good fucking riddance.” Then he winces again as he studies his wound before he tears off a piece of his shirt and presses it to his shoulder.

  What. The. Fuck?

  That’s all he has to say?

  My brows lift in surprise, and noticing it, he whispers, “You’re not the only one with secrets, amigo.”

  Well, who cares? If he is okay, then it means I will only have to deal with…

  “What are we gonna do now?” Florian asks calmly, patting Octavius’s back, who now sits on the floor and hugs his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth, still in a trance. He probably doesn't even comprehend what he’s done.

  I get up, rolling my shoulders while focusing my attention
on Florian, who has a bored expression on his face. The only concern he shows is when his gaze lands on Octavius. Yet the body on the bed earns only a snarl and a muttered, “Rot in hell, fucker.”

  Once again.

  What. The. Fuck?

  Why are my childhood friends who lived in a fairy tale while I burned in hell unfazed by it all?

  Why aren’t they panicking, screaming, running around holding their heads, and crying, because this shit is so dark?

  I pushed them all away, so my darkness wouldn't smear or accidentally lure them.

  Yet it seems darkness has already claimed them, judging by their reactions.

  “He turned eighteen last month. If we call the cops, they’ll put him behind bars,” I finally say.

  “He can plead self-defense.” Remi gets up, hissing a little when he moves his arm. “We can serve as witnesses.”

  Florian shakes his head. “This won’t count as self-defense. He was holding a fucking knife and stabbed him many times. He doesn't have any injuries.” He lifts Octavius’s shirt, and while his back can rival mine in the scars department, there are no fresh wounds on his skin. “Proving self-defense will be almost impossible.”

  “He will still get years behind bars. So either way, he’s gonna end up in prison.” I support his point. “Even years of abuse and a psychiatrist claiming he wasn't in his right mind won’t save him.”

  “Fuck!” Remi exclaims, stepping closer to Octavius.

  He still rocks on the spot, chanting, “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up,” over and over again, his bare feet tapping the floor and only smearing more blood on his skin.

  “If we don't call the cops right away, our asses will be on the line too.” I decide to address the elephant in the room. “The longer we stall, the guiltier we become.”

  Florian pulls at his hair, standing up too and pacing back and forth. “They have security cameras. That might be good evidence.”

  “And how do you plan to get them? Doesn’t Antonio oversee this shit? I hardly doubt—”

  A harsh clattering sound echoes in the space, interrupting Remi as glass shatters into tiny little pieces around us, and all our heads swing to the doorjamb where the man in question stands, a tray lying by his feet.

  Fucking great, another witness who is about to put an end to our argument.

  My ass ending up in jail wasn't in any of my plans after coming back home.

  We stare at one another for several moments, Antonio’s gaze darting between us all while finally settling on Octavius and then traveling up to focus on the dead body.

  He gasps, covering his mouth, and trembles slightly.

  Several emotions flash, wave after wave, on his face before he finally straightens up, adjusts his butler jacket, and addresses Remi. “Estella went to visit her friend with the driver, and the maids have the day off today.” His quiet voice is barely audible. “The camera footage is downstairs in the basement.” He looks between us. “What should I do?”

  This evening is turning beyond bizarre if even the butler is ready to cover up a murder.

  A chuckle slips past my lips. Florian pushes me in the shoulder, and all the amusement is instantly gone. “What’s so funny, Santiago? Octavius might end up in jail!” He shouts the last part, raising his arm, but I block it and punch him in the gut instead, so he stumbles back.

  He might know a thing or two about murder, but he clearly doesn’t have strong enough stamina.

  “Then he shouldn’t have killed his stepfather for everyone to see,” I reply, indifference lacing my tone, because emotions don't help.

  They never help, only complicate things.

  “Fuck you!” Florian spits, lunging for me again.

  But Remi stands between us, shouting, “Shut up, both of you! Shut up! Fighting right now won’t help! We need to think!”

  Octavius whimpers, palming his head, and his rocking becomes more violent, snapping our attention to him. I do my best to rein in the anger inside me.

  Maybe because in a way I understand his pain.

  Or the boy who is still inside me remembers that, once upon a time, these three guys were my best friends, and I would have done anything for them.

  Clearing my throat, I order Antonio, “Delete all the footage from the camera right now.” He nods, ready to bolt, but my words stop him. “If you ever speak to anyone about what happened tonight, you will be guilty too. Keep that in mind.” Never in a million years would I have imagined threatening the guy who was practically a grandpa to us all, but fear has such a strong power I have no choice.

  He nods again and darts away while I face the rest of the guys. “Any ideas how to handle it? Think fast. At this point, we will all be guilty of the crime. Our lawyers won’t be able to help us.”

  “We need to hide the body,” Florian says, rubbing his face and then opening up his suit.

  Remi fists his hands before hitting his hips. “There is blood everywhere, his DNA and fingerprints. We can’t just hide it. They will search for it; he’s one of the richest guys in the country. Besides, how do you plan to get rid of it anyway?”

  “I don’t know, Remi. What am I? A serial killer on the fucking hunt?” Florian spits, and I snap my fingers when an idea appears in my mind.

  “Serial killer. We have one in the country right now, right?”

  “Right. They mentioned it on the news. What does he—” Remi’s eyes widen. “He might be the cover we need.”

  Florian opens his mouth to comment, when Octavius whispers, “Florian.” He rushes to him and lands on his knees, mindful of not stepping on the blood, and places his hands on his shoulders. “What have I done, Florian?” His voice finally rings with awareness, and he looks over his shoulder at us. “What have I done?” A horrified expression crosses his face, and he shakes his head. “I killed him. Fuck, I killed him.” Tears form in his eyes. “Estella. She will be all alone,” he whispers the last part.

  “No, we have a plan.”

  “No!” he shouts, slamming his fist into his chest. “My fault. I did the crime. Get out. Get out, all of you, and I’ll call the cops. Turn myself in. Just promise to take care of Estella,” he tells Florian and adds, “Please.”

  Florian squeezes Octavius harder, his voice turning deadly. “I’ll do anything for you, man, but not this. We will find a way.”

  “There is no fucking way! I’m a murderer! Get out!”

  Rolling my eyes at this martyr act nobody gives a shit about, I go to him and slap him hard across his face.

  “The fuck, Santiago!” Florian roars, but I push him back too, holding Octavius’s gaze that’s finally cleared, and his brown pools comprehend information.

  “No one is going to prison because of your irresponsible ass. Our future is on the line. Now snap out of your fucking shock. We need to take care of your mess, and we have no time to console you.” He blinks, and I take a deep breath, reminding myself that these guys have never been exposed to the shit I’ve seen.

  At least not in the same amount, because I don’t know what to make of their odd reactions.

  Yet it doesn't change the variables in this equation where, in order to survive right now, we have to stick together.

  So that’s what we do.

  On that day, we had to become friends again, as we were connected by a secret, and everyone watched our moves for a long time.

  Slowly, not instantly, we became an unbreakable unit, destroying anything standing in our way.

  Because the darkness already tainted them, I no longer had to be afraid of smearing them in mine. I accepted their friendship as we grew our empires and chased our own demons, secure in the knowledge that no matter what we do, where we go, or what we might need… we have each other to count on.

  The Four Dark Horsemen.

  Only in unity we survive, because in chaos do we thrive.

  Briseis

  Pain.

  That’s the first thing in my mind when I open my eyes. The throbbing in my jaw sends prick
les all through my scalp.

  The marble floor under me is almost icy, making my body shiver. Breathing heavily, I sit up, placing my hand on my chest while trying to make sense of where I am.

  I freeze when a voice speaks, and with this, all the memories come flooding back.

  “Finally, you’re awake, Briseis. All it took was dropping you on the floor.” Paying no attention to his disgusting voice, I wipe away the tears sliding down my cheeks when I think about Leo bleeding.

  I hope Santiago managed to get to him in time; the beautiful creature doesn't deserve to die because of this monster’s madness.

  “Go to hell, whoever you are,” I tell him, looking around to study my environment, and my eyes widen at the picture around me.

  We must be in a huge mansion, because I’m in the common room surrounded by endless space that has only paintings hanging on the walls and a big throne-like chair and a table next to it right in the middle, several feet away from me. A man sits there, crossing his legs and sipping whiskey while his orbs glisten in pleasure at my outburst.

  Two guards stand behind him, each having two guns in their holsters, their stares trained on me.

  He takes another sip before replying, “I don't like sassy mouths.” He nods, and the air sticks in my lungs when one of the guards advances and fists my hair, dragging me across the floor, while I try to halt his movements, pain slamming into me from the previous injuries, but it’s useless.

  He brings me closer to the man, and I end up at his feet. His leather shoe tips my chin up so our eyes meet, and disgust flashes on his face. “If only you weren’t born so plain, you’d truly be my masterpiece.” I thrash in the hold, scooting back, but the guard tightens his grip on me, keeping me still while the tip of the shoe taps me on my cheek. “It was enough for Santiago though.” He chuckles. “These Cortez men have strange tastes in women.” He leans forward, his whiskey spilling a bit on the floor. “The fact that you’re my daughter didn't stop him from falling in love.” He taps me on the cheek again. “Well done, darling, Daddy is proud.”

  He snaps his fingers, and the guard lets me go, my scalp aching as I palm my head but keep staring at the man, musing over his words, yet they make little sense to me.