Page 104 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

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?

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