We bonded again but not because we all wanted to, though.
One of us committed a hideous crime.
And the rest helped him cover it up.
Every dark brotherhood starts with blood on their hands.
Once upon a time, we picked our favorite riders due to how deep they resonated with us at any age.
Santiago’s is Conquest, because he loves to conquer whatever life throws his way or whoever shows him a challenge, one of the reasons he survived the hell his enemy subjected him to.
Mine is War, for my whole existence was a war. First with my destiny and then with him, craving to bring the downfall to the one responsible for the disaster attached to me since birth.
Octavius's is Famine, because hunger is all he knew in his existence. First for basic needs, as his awful stepfather beat him on a daily basis and starved him. Then for knowledge and power, so no one would hurt him again.
And Florian’s is Death, as it chased him since he took his first breath, because a psycho destroyed his family, and then he started to search for it himself, soaking up the vices and sins this world has to offer to save him from the agony and guilt eating at him.
So different and yet so much alike.
We are the Four Dark Horsemen no matter where we go, what we do, or who we become.
Only in unity we survive, because in chaos do we thrive.
Penelope
I’m floating on a cloud. Or at least it feels like it, as warmth and softness surround me, swallowing my body and sending a pleasurable ache through me. The kingdom of sleep still holds me in its tight clutches, urging me to drift far, far away as I refuse to open my eyes.
However, something splashes water on my skin. It sends sensations through me, dragging me away from contentment and forcing annoyance out of me.
Not ready to give up this heaven, I roll my head to the side, but the wetness follows me, and my brows furrow.
Why is something dripping on me in my sleep?
Clenching the blanket, I pull it over my face and mutter to whatever it is, “Go away.” For some reason, my subconscious doesn’t want me to wake up, convincing me that some disaster will happen once I do.
My whole body is sore in places it shouldn’t be, which confuses me even more. I still try my best to fall back asleep.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, chérie.”
The deep, husky voice makes my eyes snap open, and when I lower the blanket, they clash with deep, dark ones as the man looms above me, his splayed palms caging my head. Water drips from his wet hair onto me.
His masculine scent and the smell of fresh shaving cream tease my nose. His tan skin still has water droplets on it.
Remi.
My husband.
The events of last night play in my mind, one after another, starting as a romantic comedy turned erotic horror where I couldn't resist the temptation and allowed my captor to use my body as he saw fit.
And the worst part?
I enjoyed every second of it. Apparently, my body doesn’t care about morality; it just craves pleasure and satisfaction only this man has been able to give me.
He clacks his tongue, bringing me back to the present, and winks at me. “Self-loathing isn't good for your health, ma chérie. I wouldn’t overthink our relationship much if I were you.” He removes a lock of hair from my face and grins at me while a hot flash rushes through my veins at his close proximity, making me painfully aware of my naked state under the blanket. “You’re mine. The sooner you accept that, the easier our lives will be.”
Fury overpowers me, and I push him away, hissing, “Get off me.” I sit up, pressing the blanket hard against my chest, grateful at least the blinds are shut so he won’t see much.
The only light comes from the hallway where the door is open and the bathroom too; otherwise, darkness surrounds us.