Page 123 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

Blinking at my surreal reality, I try to make sense of the last ten minutes, when they seemed almost… normal, all things considered.

And this in itself should worry me to no end, right?

It’s bad to be this comfortable in the company of people who approve of what their kids do, because there’s no way in hell they don’t know.

“This is so weird,” I mutter out loud and groan inwardly when they all drill their stares into me. “Your parents are lovely.”

Amusement flashes in Santiago’s eyes, and he cocks his head to the side. “Did you expect us all to be raised by demons?”

I stay silent, because—damn it—yes! What people, who grow up in love, commit such hideous crimes as they do? Not that anything could ever justify their horrible deeds, but at least those who faced shit have their psyches damaged.

What’s their excuse?

“The world is multifaceted, Penelope. Sometimes, the monsters are the only salvation against the poison polluting this earth.” My brows furrow at this explanation, hating the metaphor used, because it hints at them having morals.

And if for a second I allow myself to believe that, then my heart might succumb to Remi and even view his family differently, which will be a big mistake on my part.

Don’t all abusive relationships start this way? You ignore the signs and hope for the best, but the best doesn’t come, and instead, it becomes worse until it turns into a nightmare?

Accepting our union for the time being for my own sanity and trying to make it work long-term are two different things.

“Don’t scare my wife, Santiago.” Remi places a gentle kiss on the curve of my neck. “Relax, chérie.”

“Please stop saying that. Nothing has been relaxing ever since I met you,” I grumble, and the men smirk.

“You’ll get used to it.” Another kiss and then he throws a question at Santiago. “Where is Briseis?”

“She’s with Jimena.” I notice Florian’s jaw twitch. “She got sick on the way here, so they’re in the bathroom. She must have eaten something.” All humor is gone from Santiago’s eyes. “She hasn't been well for months now but refuses to go to the doctor. Maybe you can convince her.” He elbows Florian, who stands still, wearing an indifferent mask once again. “She always listens to you.” A phone rings in his pocket, and he snatches it out. “I have to take this.” He goes to the terrace before stepping outside, and that’s when Florian spins on his heel and, without uttering a single word, heads right to the bathroom, I assume.

“What will happen once Lucian and Santiago find out Jimena is pregnant?” Dead silence greets my question while tension around us rises.

I mean, they can ignore it for only so long, considering she must be… what? Around three to four months along?

Octavius takes a whiskey glass from the passing server. “Hell.”

“War,” Remi adds.

“Blood will be spilled.” Octavius rubs his chin. “Friendships will be broken.”

More than one.

Lucian and Jacob might have been friends for more than fifty years, according to my dad, but the kings will protect their cubs if a fight erupts.

Will the Four Dark Horsemen survive it though?

If I were Santiago, I would show them all a giant middle finger for hiding such a huge thing from me.

Right after killing Florian, of course.

“In any case, it won’t be like your situation.” Octavius sips his drink. “Little conversation and a promise of marriage won’t fix this shit. Lucian and Jacob would go for each other’s throats over their offsprings and that grandchild. And since they have equal power in this world, it will be both fascinating and frightening to watch.” On this rather grim note, he walks off to God knows where.

The dark four come and go as they please in the oddest ways, for real.

The classical music changes to jazz, and Remi whispers in my ear, “Let’s forget about everyone else, chérie.” This man’s voice should be forbidden, for it makes me crave things I shouldn’t and speaks to the desire living inside me while muting common sense and self-preservation. “Want to dance?” I shake my head. “No? Why not?” His fingers trail over my neck, leaving goose bumps in his wake, and the familiar fire spreads through my veins, which will soon turn into an inferno none of us can control.

How is it possible that with his touch alone he manages to block out everything else? It’s a gift and curse at the same time.

Maybe that’s why so many people get into arranged marriages; they end up being more passionate than a regular one.

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