Page 38 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

Without thinking, I bolt into the hallway only to hear another pain-filled scream, but this time accompanied by disgusting laughter. “She is pretty, isn’t she, Bill?” an unfamiliar voice asks as someone whimpers.

“Yes, she is. Those plump lips sure would look good wrapped around my dick.”

The bile in my throat rises along with the need to help whoever they want to hurt, and I dart downstairs, quietly stepping down and pressing my hand to my mouth, stilling the cry of shock ready to erupt when the first floor comes into view.

Wilkinson lies on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding him, the back of his head blown off with brain matter spilled next to him, a look of surprise on his face.

A little bit farther away from him, Grandmother sits by the stairs, a wire wrapped around her throat with blood slipping from her neck, her face blue from all the blows delivered to her, and her eyes are closed, leaving no doubt she’s dead.

I sink to my knees, gently touching her hair with my trembling hands, wanting to shake her somehow so she’ll say something and be alive.

“We’ve no time for this shit, Terry,” another voice mutters, the loud banging in the kitchen telling me their location.

“No one will even know!”

Barely controlling my gag reflex, so I won’t barf all over the stairs, takes the focus off my shock. Which, if I let it, will paralyze me and leave me unable to function in this dangerous situation where fear cannot win the battle with my instinct to survive.

Jumping over Grandmother’s body, I go to the common room in search of the alarm button, which will have police arriving shortly. Grandmother installed it in case burglars ever came to steal something valuable, her precious belongings dear to her heart.

How tragic and ironic that they stole her life instead.

The men continue to talk, their conversation becoming a blur for a second when I see Clare lying in the common room, knife wounds all over her body, her guts spilled beside her as if someone opened her up just to play with her. And the maid lying next to her has her eyes carved out, and her face is slashed so much I don’t even recognize who she is.

“Which of those fucking girls did the boss need?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“Well, there are two of them. Pick one!”

The boss? The girls?

I go to one of the couches and hunch down, blindly finding the button and pressing on it swiftly, hoping like hell their argument will last a lot longer so they won’t kill my stepsisters.

Their beauty among the elite is legendary as well as their pickiness and love for playing with their suitors’ emotions, creating competitions between them for who is more worthy of their time.

Did someone get fed up with it all and decide to kidnap one of them, punishing them in the process by slaughtering their family?

Some serial killer psycho who would stop at nothing in order to catch his prey?

Tears stream down my cheeks at the devastation around me done to my family; they were cruel and unkind to me, but they are my family and dead because of monsters coming to our house. I hold in the whimpers, not wanting them to know about me while praying to God for help to arrive in time.

Self-loathing fills me at how cowardly I hide here, but I have no other choice, or they might do something rash and hurt my siblings.

“Maybe it’s neither of them, huh?” Another disgusting laugh. “Then we can play. One for you and one for me.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” Ava begs, and the sound of a slap rocks off the walls followed by her loud sobs.

“Shut up, bitch.”

Fisting my hands, I look around for any kind of weapon, because waiting is impossible.

I’ve read that criminals might play with you, but the minute they get bored, that’s when they truly plan to off you. And while they have some kind of order for one of the girls, no one knows what they will do once they have an answer.

I pick up the expensive, heavy crystal vase from the table and go to the far end of the room with the small opening leading to the kitchen for the staff to easily bring food into the dining room, my feet soundless on the marble.

Pressing my back to the wall, inches away from the opening, I peek a little inside to see two men wearing everything black, even face masks, their bulky physiques scary on their own. They loom above my sisters who sit on the floor, hugging each other, while one of the men holds a knife and the other a gun over their heads.

“Or we can just ruffle their feathers a bit, huh? A little scar here and there, maybe even cut their hair off.” Judging by the voice, Bill suggests and nudges Terry a bit. “The pleasure will be divine. I forgot the last time I hurt a living victim.” He moans in anticipation, licking his lips. “Oh yeah. I can almost get off on that.”

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