Page 77 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

“A family name protects you.

A family name lets everyone know who you belong to.

A family name makes people fear you if you’re powerful enough.

But sometimes a family name becomes a curse that destroys you.”

Santiago

Location unknown, United States

Santiago, 7 years old

Cold water spilling on me startles me awake. My eyes snap open in surprise as I shake my head, trying to evade the icy liquid, but no matter how much I turn, it continues to spray on me. “Stop,” I murmur, rolling to the side and crying out in pain when something sharp digs into my stomach and my cheek hits the hard concrete.

Oh no. Did I fall on the floor again in my sleep?

“Enough. The little fucker is awake.”

I follow the direction of the stranger’s voice and gasp when I see two men looming above me, holding a water hose while they grin widely, reminding me of all the villains from cartoons.

The water finally stops, and I rub my eyes until my vision clears, then cry out in horror when the image around me reminds me nothing of my room back home.

Instead, rusty walls and a floor smeared in red paint greet me. The single bulb on the ceiling flickers on and off, slightly brightening up the darkness around me. A disgusting rotten smell floats in the air, and a dripping sound echoes in the distance. That’s when I spot a sink and toilet in the right corner, all smeared in something brown with flies flying over it while two bowls for dogs lie next to it along with a dirty mattress where two dead rats lay.

Swallowing hard, I look behind them and find a single door probably leading outside, and I dart toward it, wanting to escape this situation, because it must be a bad dream.

Daddy assured me as long as I fought for a way out in my nightmares, I’d always wake up back home where they’d protect me.

Everything is possible in dreams and nightmares, right? So the bulky, scary men holding knives in their hands won’t stop me.

I don’t manage to take even two steps before the heavy chains clasped around my wrists and ankles pull me back, where I land on my knees and elbows on the floor, a loud cry slipping past my lips. The men laugh, the sound scaring every part inside me while my heartbeat speeds up so much it pulses strongly in my neck.

“Not bad.” He waits a beat before ordering, “Look at me, boy.”

I scrunch my eyes, shaking my head, and chant, “That’s not real. That’s not real. That’s not real.”

“You heard the order, fucker,” another voice says, less patient than the first, and I detect anger lingering in his tone, but I focus my gaze on the red paint smeared on the ground, praying to God he would end this.

“Not real. Just a nightmare. Not real.”

However, no matter how much I chant for these men to disappear, it doesn’t happen. Instead, I see the tip of their shoes coming closer and closer to me until they stop inches away.

I groan when one of them fists my hair, tilting my head back so far I’m afraid he’ll rip my hair out. “When a dog hears a command, he fucking listens.” He seethes into my face, his nails sinking into my scalp, and I whimper, trying to shake off his hold, but the chains on my limbs don’t allow me any freedom. They’re too short. “Do you understand?” He grips my hair harder, shaking me a little till my teeth snap while his dark eyes drill into me, rage pouring from him.

“Daddy!” I shout, hoping he’ll hear my cries through the nightmare and come to my room to slay all the monsters as he’s always done in the past. “Daddy! Papá! Ayudame por favor!” Anger twists the man’s face, and he pushes his elbow back. The next thing I know, his fist hits me hard on the nose, which cracks under the assault, and such agonizing pain fills my body a loud cry tears from my throat.

The pain comes in waves one after another, hitting me harder and harder, traveling all over my face and scalp until nothing but ringing in my ears remains. He lets go of me, blood dripping on the floor while I struggle to breathe.

Tears stream down my cheeks, rapidly falling and mixing with the blood, but I can’t even whine, because the slightest movement brings me pain.

“What the fuck have you done, Peter? The boss told us to get the boy.”

“He needed a lesson in obedience.”

“I hope you’re fucking right. Otherwise, we’re both dead.”

“How many boys have we kidnapped through the years? He sells them, and that’s it.” He kicks me in the stomach, and I fall on my side, breathing heavily while blood continues to come, and my stomach flips before I barf all over the floor and my knees, the bitter scent filling the air, making me gag some more. “This one won’t be any different.”

---