Page 126 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

“Start talking about sex whenever we have a conversation. Do you even know how to talk to women without throwing sexual innuendoes?”

Surprise crosses his face before he masks it. “I don't engage in sexual innuendoes, as you put it, with other women.” I guess he didn't have to, since women wanted the dark four for their looks and social position alone.

However, our every encounter has had one. Even tonight at the club, he was so jealous, and I expected it to blow up in my face, yet he switched to another conversation about what he wanted to do to me.

Now, he must be angry, because we are at his parents’ house, but he covers it up with desire yet again.

Is it possible that I evoke certain feelings inside his dark heart, and he doesn't know how to deal with them, so he does the one thing he knows will bring me closer to him?

Sex?

Because that’s one area I’ve never refused him, right? And ironically, it’s the only thing really connecting us, as we’ve never spoken about anything meaningful.

“Why are you so angry at your father?” I ask, and the energy around us changes. His face becomes blank and all the playfulness is gone, leaving only a predator ready to pounce on his prey for daring to even ask such a question.

I jump in place when thunder echoes in the night, the lightning grazing the sky. Dark clouds gather together, ready to pour heavy rain on us at any moment.

“Let’s go.” He grabs my elbow, pulling me forward, and in two short steps, we are finally out from under the branches. My jaw drops at the small house in the distance with glassed doors, the light already turned on, which allows me to see one spacious long room that has several bookcases, a large bed, a couch, and a TV. Another small door probably leads to the bathroom. “Mom prepared everything,” he mutters and saunters toward it while I speed up once again, as light raindrops are already dripping on us.

We slip inside just before more thunder rocks the sky and it starts pouring hard, the droplets splattering against the asphalt noisily while Santiago points with his chin to the bed. “Feel free to rest.” By how detached his voice has become, I’m assuming sex is no longer on the table and he prefers to not talk at all, rather than answer my question.

He presses the cigarette butt in the ashtray, leaving the door slightly open, allowing the fresh smell to slip in and envelop us as the wind whooshes inside, billowing the curtains in different directions.

Placing the rose on the round table next to the couch, I focus my attention on the bookcase that holds dozens of books that talk about myths; three of them have the four horsemen in the title in some variation.

Going closer, I take the jacket off and run my fingers over them before snagging one and flipping it open, finding explanations and myths about them.

This is the perfect source of information for my research that will allow me to present it to the kids in an appropriate and fun manner. After all, he probably has all the books there could even be on the subject, so I will be saved from making any mistakes.

Santiago takes off his shoes and then removes his shirt, throwing it in the hamper, and once again my heart hurts when I see the scars marring his tanned skin.

Without saying a single word, he walks outside, and I blink in surprise when he tilts his head back, allowing the rain to cascade down on him and soak him, his jeans turning dark blue.

Pressing the book to my chest, I pad to him. “You will get sick.”

His mouth curves in a smile, his eyes staying closed, as he replies, “Hardly. I’ve done it so many times and never got sick.” Another thunderclap reverberates, and I glance warily toward the sky.

“It’s dangerous to be outside while there’s lightning. What if it strikes you?” Showing how much I care about his well-being probably gives him material to tease me with to no end, but I don't care.

I’m starting to think that everything I ever thought about Santiago Cortez was wrong.

“Then you’ll be a very wealthy widow,” he announces as if it’s no biggie, while I just watch him in confusion, not understanding anything.

Why? The man is clearly not in love with me. Does a monster’s obsession run so deep he devotes himself to his favorite prey? We’ve known each other… what? Two days? Three if we are counting that disastrous ball.

I have an excuse for crushing on him; what’s his?

Or does Santiago not value his life, so he doesn't care about the future and lives in the moment, fully giving in to his desires, because they might not last for long?

Glancing once again at the book, I ask a different question. “Why do you all call yourself the Four Dark Horsemen?”

Silence greets my words, another lightning bolt appearing in the sky, and I lean on the doorjamb, extending my bare foot to feel the warm rain on my skin.

“Our moms have known each other since we were little, and all of us innately clicked. We’d gotten into trouble so much they jokingly called us the four riders who might cause an apocalypse one day.” His amused voice pulls my gaze back to him. “Never understood what it meant. Until I turned seventeen and my parents didn't know what to do with me, so they found me a new therapist, since all the previous ones quit. Or rather my father fired them.” He chuckles, although it lacks any humor. “Compared to all my previous ones, the woman actually listened to me and suggested I read the Bible, where maybe I’d find answers.”

He opens his eyes, his blue orbs glistening in the night, yet he makes no move to come inside, still standing under the rain. “At that point, religion meant nothing to me, and I didn't believe in God anyway, so I laughed in her face and wished her a good day. The next morning, Jimena accidentally spilled orange juice on me, and I snapped, shouted so much she ran to the corner and sat there, covering her ears from me in fear. I couldn't think about her though. All I did was relive the moment when someone else spilled their juice on me and ordered….” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but he doesn't elaborate on the juice part. “She had so much fear in her eyes until Dad showed up, pushed me aside so I’d finally shut up, and scooped her into his arms.” He stops, inhaling a breath, and by how his tone changes, I know he beats himself up to this day for that. “She wouldn't come near me and called me a mean Santiago.”

Resting my head on the doorjamb, I whisper, “So you went back to the therapist?”

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