Page 43 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

Fear.

Panic envelops my senses, goose bumps break on my skin, and I wrack my mind for an explanation until the events of what happened before I blacked out come to mind.

The murderers killing my family.

How they chased me.

One of them choking me to death.

Did they catch me and bring me here, to some kind of dungeon?

“Dad, please let me go.”

My body of its own accord starts to tremble violently, my teeth chattering from the harsh coldness of the concrete and freezing air around me while thousands of memories tear me apart, one more horrific than the other, bringing me back to being hopeless and alone with no way of escape.

Darkness has been my greatest enemy and sorrow ever since I can remember. I don’t even sleep without my lamp on, too afraid to trust it after all the years of suffering.

Palming my throat, I breathe heavily, reining in the horror fogging my brain, and will myself to focus on survival, because weakness right now cannot be an option.

But then another image pops in my head, those of a blue-eyed, handsome devil coming to the rescue.

Santiago.

“No one hurts what belongs to me.”

He saved me. He was there. Wasn’t he?

Or was it part of my dream after the murderers got what they wanted, a trick my imagination played on me to drop my guard and answer the luring call of the oblivion promising me a safe harbor?

I open my mouth to scream my lungs out for help when bright lights turn on one after another with loud snapping sounds, blinding me with their intensity, and I cover my eyes with my arm, adjusting my blurry vision to the new environment.

“Dear God,” I whisper, when everything around me comes into clear view, showing me an arena that contains several tables holding collections of knives and other weapons on them.

The place reeks of desperation, doom, and torture, chilling my blood, and I swallow back a whimper of distress, detesting showing them my vulnerability and fear.

Monsters feed on those the most.

The long chains pull me in different directions, as if I’m a sinner ready to be punished by the higher order, and I jump up only to land back on my knees with a cry, the chains not giving me enough room to wiggle or move anywhere but in the circle of their creation.

The tight manacles cut into my skin, probably creating scars and reminders of their torture for years to come.

“Finalmente estás despierta, querida.”

Finally you’re awake, darling.

With dread blanketing my heart, I raise my gaze to the sitting area above the arena to see Santiago leaning on the banister, a victorious smile shaping his mouth while his eyes stay dead, their ice color having the power to send anyone running in fear from him.

Only, it’s a luxury I can’t afford in the current circumstances.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice even and calm, because losing myself to hysterics won’t help make sense of this situation or find a solution to my problem to get the fuck out of here with my life intact.

A normal female reaction would have probably been screaming for help, believing Santiago showed up here to help me and any other delusional crap we like to feed our minds in order to believe in the greater good.

However, I was raised in hell with vicious people who would stop at nothing in order to get what they wanted, kidnapping and killing people being one of them should it threaten their reign.

And somehow along the way, my family has crossed a Cortez, so he came to collect, and as fucking always, I ended up being collateral damage.

All the weapons remind me of my obsession with dark topics, after a particularly interesting lecture from one of my professors back in college, especially the minds of serial killers who drag their victims to secluded places and do with them whatever they please.

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