Page 4 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

“Baila, Peter. When in hell, do as the devil says.” Dancing around him, letting the music wash over me, I kick him hard in the back, and he falls forward, bending in two, but the chain keeps him upright, and while he chokes on his breath, he does his best to straighten his body.

I clap my hands, goose bumps breaking out on his skin with each slap, and I announce to him, “While you dance, you are alive. Vamos, baila.” He nods, bumping his head to the beat, and stands up, moving on the glass, his raspy breath a pleasure to my ears. “More energy, Peter. Dance how you danced at the club last night. Or can’t you do it without the pills?” Sashaying across the concrete, I snap my fingers repeatedly to distract him from the music enough so he can’t concentrate on it.

He might find solace in it, holding on to this miserable life of his, but where would be the fun in that?

I stop in front of him, noticing how sweat coats his face and body. He steps harder and harder on the glass, his lips chapped from constantly biting on them. “Maybe you need a little bit more encouragement?”

“I’m sorry, Santiago. I promise—” His loud cry of agonizing pain ricochets through the arena when I stab my knife into his collarbone, right in the middle of his fucking tattoo that I can draw in my sleep, then quickly withdraw it, letting the blood pour from the wound as he breaks into tears. “Oh God,” he whispers, putting his hand on the wound, but it does nothing to stop the inevitable.

“Time is ticking, Peter. Dance. And keep your mouth shut while you’re at it,” I advise him, and he pales even more, fisting his hands before dancing again, barely breathing through the pain, as it’s too much for him.

Strolling to the desk a few feet away from me, I slide my fingers over several bottles, carefully reading all the descriptions and musing over which one is better to use on him.

Finally settling on my choice, I put leather gloves on, and I wrap my hand around it, pouring the substance into the glass before adding water to it.

It flashes a little, bubbling before fully dissolving, and I grin, anticipating my next action.

When one learns to control his emotions, he opens himself up to so many opportunities when it comes to human suffering that it’s sometimes unbelievable.

Peter still dances, mumbling under his breath, but thankfully I don’t hear it.

“You must be thirsty, Peter,” I say and lift the glass to his mouth, ordering, “Drink.” He shakes his head, his eyes begging me not to do this. I chuckle, gripping his chin between my fingers, pressing on his jaw so hard I almost break it, and forcefully push the water into him before closing his mouth and nose so he has no choice but to swallow if he wants to breathe.

Funny thing about death?

No one wants to face it. Even in the most despicable of times of despair where you lie in your own vomit and wish for the ground to open up and dump you somewhere… you still breathe and wish, wish so fucking much to live it’s astonishing.

One of the things I still don’t understand about us humans.

Why are we so attached to this cruel world that shows no mercy to those who most need it and allows the monsters to thrive?

Throwing the glass to his feet too, I’m contemplating another weapon, when his voice penetrates through the fog of my musing. “I have something you want.” His head snaps to the side when I slam my fist into him, his bones cracking under my assault, and he whimpers, the full scope of pain of his nose breaking not even registering in his mind, probably due to the adrenaline rush every dangerous situation inspires in a person.

Nature’s way to protect us during danger. We catch up with all the disasters once the storm is over and calm has settled on us.

Although calm never comes for any of my victims, and isn’t that just magnificent?

I tsk at him. “I did warn you, didn’t I?”

The stupid fucker, though, focuses his glassy, pain-filled gaze on me and rasps again, “I have something you want.” I push my arm back, ready to deliver another blow, when his next words stop my movements. The familiar ringing in my ears starts, along with a red haze enveloping me in its charms with rage and unbearable pain that should always be contained.

Otherwise, it has the power to destroy me.

“Andreas is alive.” He scrunches his eyes, breathing through his mouth, and a groan of distress erupts from him before he continues. “He didn’t die all those years ago.” A roar of denial pushes up my throat while my whole body shakes with all-consuming fury. I take a deep breath, for a second blocking away everything around me, and place myself in the mental glassed cage I imagined back when I was a child.

In this cage, there are no emotions, no physical distress, but more importantly… no one can destroy my peace. If I concentrate hard enough, time will pass in a blur around me, and I’ll be able to get the fuck out of there.

The human mind is so smart it saves us even from ourselves when it feels threatened.

One more breath, and I put a lid on the Pandora’s box living inside my soul and grin at Peter, who blinks in confusion, clearly expecting a different reaction from me. “How tragic. Don’t see what it has to do with you.” I kick him hard in the groin, and he tries to bend in two, his cry of pain so loud it could awaken the dead, but then again, who gives a fuck?

Devastating agony is my best soundtrack to dance to, and I’m about to go for the electric drill when he talks again. Doesn’t he understand self-preservation? Some fuckers astonish me so much I wonder why I’m called the crazy one. “If you don’t kill me, I can tell you a secret no one knows about.”

I lift my brow, barking out a laugh. “You aren’t getting out of here alive, Peter, so hold on to your secrets.” I pick up the drill, pressing on the button, and pleasure spreads through me when the drrrr sound bounces off the walls, and I wink at my victim. “Ready for the real fun?” He opens his mouth, ready to protest, and I sigh dramatically, fed up with this shit. He isn’t that interesting to waste so much of my precious time on.

I bring it to his dick and drill, the blood and flesh spitting in different directions while he shouts so loud I hope his throat will rip from the inside out and he will finally shut up.

If I knew he was such a screamer, I would have taped his mouth.

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