Page 91 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

We drive around for several hours judging by the time on the watch while I wonder what the point is to all these expensive clothes on me and even styled hair, as if they went out of their way to make me look pretty.

Dread fills my stomach, several images popping in my head.

Realization slams into me, my pulse speeding up, and I gulp for breath, mentally counting in Spanish in order to stop the familiar panic attack and push away such dark thoughts.

No one has touched me like that. Andreas forbade it when someone tried, and he killed the man.

But what if…?

I don’t get to dwell on it longer, because suddenly we stop. I hear several loud voices arguing, and then they open the van. Tensing inwardly for this unknown reality, I frown when they throw another body inside before shutting the doors and soon driving off again.

The small boy lands on the opposite seat—he looks around my age or maybe younger. His entire body is beaten up, dry blood on his nose, and the burned smell coming from him almost makes me gag.

What in the world?

Banging on the window, I shout, “Who is this?”

“Shut your mouth, Santiago. He’s an additional gift,” the guard replies, and my eyes widen. There will be the two of us?

Since the boy is unconscious, I decide to stay quiet and give him some time to rest before I speak to him voluntarily.

He’ll be the first one in a while, because I’ve never trusted anyone back at Andreas’s hell, and besides, any interest could have been used against me.

After a few hours pass on the bumpy ride, the van moves so fast I constantly hit my head, but the boy lying opposite me stays unconscious.

Why does he still sleep? Shouldn’t he be awake by now and at least worry about his whereabouts? I’ve learned to sleep light in my captivity, knowing that one minute might decide if I live or die.

Since he ran into trouble, his sleep shouldn’t be this deep either!

Or maybe he’s… dead?

“Hey, amigo. You alive?” I slap him on the cheek and forcibly pull his eyelids open with my fingers, sighing in relief when the boy finally wakes up. “They didn’t put me in a wagon with a corpse, right? Esto es una mierda!” Spending a week with two dead bodies a year ago was enough, thank you very much, so I slap him again just so he doesn’t fall back to sleep.

Based on his injuries, one might not know how strong he is to survive this ride, and he better fucking live for the duration of it. I’m not sure how far away the place they’re taking us to is, but a corpse smells like shit. The scent is forever imprinted on my brain, and I don’t need a repeat performance.

He croaks through his dry throat, “Stop,” and opens his deep gray-like-liquid-silver eyes, staring back at me in shock.

Fucking yes!

A huge grin curves my mouth at his voice, and I clap my hands. “You are alive. Bien!” His brows furrow, probably at my Spanish, but he’ll have to get used to it.

But the rough rumble of the ground under the vehicle sends him flying in the opposite direction, and he hits his shoulder on the wall, only because the van moves really fast.

I guess Philip doesn’t like to wait.

“Who are you? Where am I? Where are we going?” He croaks the questions, pressing his back against the side of the vehicle, and winces, which doesn’t surprise me. His injuries must hurt a great deal.

I drop back on my seat opposite him, studying him with interest instead of answering his question. So he does the same, his brows furrowing when they zero on my gold watch.

“My name is Santiago Cortez.” I finally introduce myself, putting emphasis on my family name and gauging his reaction, but his face stays blank. This alone lets me know he doesn’t belong to rich society, so they haven’t stolen him from a wealthy family. “We were kidnapped and are being taken to some guy named Philip. This”—I twirl my finger in the air—“is where they’ve kept us for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Yeah.” I flash him another grin and extend my hands, popping my fingers loudly. “I was getting really bored, so I thought I’d wake you up.” He blinks several times in confusion, clearly finding my behavior weird.

I’ll laugh, laugh, and laugh but won’t ever again allow myself to cry.

Never again.

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