Page 103 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

That’s all we need.

One fucking small chance.

* * *

Santiago, 15 years old

3 years later

Artem, Callum, and I walk down the hallway while Jonathan hisses angrily at us, “No one wants to do a job here, right? What am I, a nanny to collect you all from different rooms?” We don’t react to his words—it’s not like he doesn’t sing the same song over and over—then continue to stroll to the basement while passing various guards holding guns who salute Jonathan. “Edward has to raise my pay for this.”

Not this bullshit again. Everyone here knows there is no bigger coward in this world than Jonathan.

The fucking asshole who has been supervising our every move for the last three years has no idea about the words dignity and respect. Maybe that’s why he’s stayed Edward’s bitch this long and dances to his every command.

“Then you should definitely raise that in your next meeting.” The blow to my head comes swiftly, but I don’t even flinch, just smirk, which makes Jonathan’s eyes flash in anger, but he doesn’t hit me again.

“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.

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