Page 128 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

“His darkness has many layers.

Underneath it lies his soul and heart.

And I crave to possess them both.

But…

Then would his darkness claim me too?

For how can good and evil coexist?”

Penelope

Remi, 18 years old

Gripping the heavy soil bag, I lift it up and throw it on the table inside the greenhouse, making the pots around me rattle.

Adjusting them all better, I open it up and then grab a small shovel, distributing the soil in each one of them, as these rose pots will bloom beautifully in several months under the beaming sun in the living room. Aunt Rebecca loves the flowery scent wafting through the air in their mansion, so I make sure to prepare enough for her.

I’ve already watered the plants and cut the grass, so after this is done, I can go back and do the assignment the principal gave us.

A growl escapes me at the thought, and the pot crushes in my hand, making me curse. “For fuck’s sake.” I throw the broken pot into the garbage and make a mental note to buy a new one.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and after removing the glove with my teeth, I take it out and check the message from Tim, the owner of the club where all my illegal fights happen.

Fight. Tonight. $5000.

My brows shoot up at the amount; usually I get around two grand, depending on what commission Tim decides to take.

A smile curves my lips just remembering my last opponent lying on the ground after I knocked him down and broke his nose. The asshole beat his wife just before jumping in the ring, so I punched him extra hard and even dug my fingers into his gallbladder, making him gag several times, and covered his mouth so he’d swallow it all back down.

Yeah, in the fighting arena, I have no morals or limitations. My rage is directed at the world out in the open, which pays me great, since I haven’t lost in a while now.

Taking off the second glove, I quickly reply.

Five grand?

A new guy, bulkier and heavier than you. He wants to fight the Odysseus, so the stakes are higher.

Since my name is so closely associated with the rich dynasties, I decided to use my middle one as my sort-of stage name. Besides, I find the name so ridiculous; Judith must have been high when she was giving it to me. At least the dude she named me after was actually a great character, and I applaud his sheer will to get back home, no matter the obstacles.

Plus, the scholarship invitations are rolling in now, and no way in fuck would I have jeopardized my chances to get into a good university. I’ve worked my ass off to get them, studied late at night while working essentially three jobs, and saved as much as I could to finally rent an apartment once school is over.

Rage and order all have a place in my life, and I’ve learned to combine the two to reach the top.

The Cortezes would never kick me out, but once Roland has no ability to screw up applications for me, Uncle Lucian will kick him out for sure. A son of a widower who works as a gardener to provide for his son looks better on applications than an estranged son with a drunk father.

Everything in this world is about strategy, the image we present to others being one of them.

Anger washes over me, thinking about the drunk who now mostly stays home; he doesn’t even bother working, flaunting the fact that I’ll keep him around just so he can deliver information about my mother to me.

No matter what I’ve tried, he hasn’t confessed. According to him, his life would turn to shit anyway once I stop covering his ass, so why bother making anything easier for me?

I’ve used the limited resources I’ve had to search for any woman who lost a child early or reported a missing child who would be around my age.

Every hacker found through the underground by Tim came up blank, claiming the search terms were too broad. Thousands of cases fit my description, and they wanted more details. But I had none for them.

I just suspected they couldn’t be from Chicago, since we moved around so much, and the flashes in my head of the tortured boy must have been me.

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