Page 117 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

“Of course not, darling. When have I ever?”

She pats his chest, and while the embrace could have been considered romantic, it doesn't even feel that way. But it makes me question why she fell for Florian when I can see Remi being so affectionate with her?

Unless the fact that her family practically raised him factors into it, and they see each other as siblings?

She blows Santiago and me a kiss. “See you at breakfast tomorrow.”

“Bye, babe,” Lenora says as they pass us, and Remi nods at me while he gets a chin lift from Santiago.

Once they are on the dance floor, pushing through couples to go outside, I say, “Remi hasn’t been my favorite person, but thank him for being nice to my friend.”

Santiago snorts. “Nice, my ass. He never does anything if it doesn't benefit him or moves him toward his goal.”

Picking up the glass, I throw my own question. “And giving my friend a ride benefits him how?”

He doesn't answer though, not that I care much as long as the dude doesn't hurt my friend. At least I can be safe in the knowledge he lusts after some woman in New York.

Wait a minute…

Santiago doesn’t let me dwell on it, as he must remember his sister’s parting words, because he asks me, “Breakfast?”

“Your mother invited us to stay with them tonight, and I’ve agreed. So we will have a family breakfast tomorrow.”

If looks could kill, I’d be dead right now.

A server passes us by, and Santiago snatches the tequila bottle from the tray. After flicking the lid and taking a gulp, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What did you just say?” Although his tone stays calm and even, anger and rage simmer on the edges of it, sending shivers down my spine. I step back a little, the booth’s seat bumping against my thigh.

“She wanted a family breakfast, so I agreed.”

“You agreed.” He repeats my words, a hollow chuckle slipping past his lips, and he gulps more of his drink before continuing. “My conversation with Dad didn't give you just a little hint that I wouldn’t like this decision?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat as I see him squeeze the bottle so tightly his knuckles turn white. Because I’m afraid it might crack at any minute, I reply, “Since you left me there alone, your feelings didn't factor in my decision.”

His eyes flash dangerously, the icy stare blazing so intensely I shrink inwardly, hating how in a matter of minutes he turned from the man who couldn't wait to fuck me, into a man whose hands probably itch to strangle my neck.

Instead, he swings the bottle up again, gulping it greedily. His Adam’s apple bobs, bringing attention to his flawless neck, and then he puts the bottle on the table. “You won this time, my wife.” He leans closer, trapping my chin between his fingers and tilting my head a little so I can't escape his gaze. “Let it be my apology.” I gasp when his fingers dig harder into my skin before his knuckles run over my cheek as his voice drops to a cold whisper. “But if you ever side with anyone else, be it my mother or my enemy against me….” He trails off, letting my imagination build my own images of what such punishment will entail, but for some reason, guilt travels through me when I don’t hear anger in his voice.

Rather, irrational hurt as if me ignoring his feelings on the matter crushed some part of him. That’s impossible, right?

Monsters don’t experience pain and hurt. They inflict it on others.

Why then does my heart get heavy at the look on his face that he quickly masks? Everything inside me screams to make it right, and I open my mouth to explain that his mother put me in a situation where I couldn’t refuse, when a deep and husky voice from behind him freezes us both.

“Ah, is the marital bliss already over?”

Santiago half turns, maneuvering me so I’m pressed to his side, and my eyes widen when they settle on the two men standing in front of us.

They are both tall, almost the same height. Their broad shoulders showcase their muscular physiques while their auras scream danger and power to anyone and anything around them.

I have no doubt that rarely anyone crosses these two men, and if anyone is stupid enough to do so… they pay a high price for it, which probably amuses the two, judging by the cold smiles marring their features.

However, that’s where similarities end and differences begin.

Focusing my gaze first on the one on the right, I notice his dark hair that ends slightly below his ears, while his brown eyes appear to hold secrets no one will ever crack. He’s wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and a T-Shirt plastered so tightly against his chest it shows perfectly his carved six-pack. Although the handsomeness of the man disappears rapidly when I detect the edge swirling around him as if warning of his cruel nature.

Shifting my attention to the one on the left, my gaze sweeps over him, and I start to think maybe the one on the right isn't so bad, because this one is positively lethal.

His hair is made into a man bun, but the unusual blue with the ends colored in orange reminds me of fire spreading while the orange flicks entwine with the blue. His gray eyes stay absolutely cold, no emotion or expression visible in them, making it seem as if he’s not even human. Several tattoos marking his neck and chest are visible because of the V of his T-Shirt, which plasters against his form. He too is wearing blue jeans. Despite the slightly colder weather, the man appears unfazed by it, since he has no other clothes on him.

---