Page 134 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

“Octavius is usually very reserved. That’s so unlike him,” Briseis says, grinning at Isla. “You must’ve unsettled him.”

“He wants to kill me with his bare hands. I wouldn’t call that unsettled,” she grumbles, and Jimena laughs at this. Isla glances at me. “Thanks for saving me. You didn’t have to.”

“I think you need to stop stalking him.”

Jimena shakes her head, bursting out another laugh. “Oh, please continue. Didn’t you hear how protective he is of her despite being angry?” She pats Isla on the shoulder. “I grew up with these men. He doesn’t want to kill you. Fuck you? Absolutely.”

Our private investigator turns red as a tomato. “I wouldn’t have stalked him if he just listened to me and agreed to help me.” She runs her fingers over her simple black dress that does little for her beauty. The material seems cheap, and she stands out—not in a good way—among the crowd. “Why is it so hard for him?”

“Well, these men are difficult,” Jimena states the obvious. “Let’s go to the terrace? It has a nice view and a small gazebo where we can talk while all this madness is happening.” She swirls her finger in the air. “And maybe you can share your little problem with us. We are pretty powerful too, you know.” She winks at Isla, who relaxes a little.

“Sounds like a plan. I miss talking to someone. My best friend got married and lives in Houston.” Longing echoes in her tone, and she elaborates. “You probably met her husband. Callum.”

My eyes almost bulge out of their sockets at this.

Her friend married a psycho too?

At this point, I think we should all form a therapy group or a club.

“So I could use new friends.” Then she corrects herself quickly. “Not that I expect you to be my friends. I’ll just shut up now.”

Everyone laughs, and Jimena hooks her arm through her elbow, bringing herself closer to her. “Let’s start with a talk.” She pulls her in the opposite direction of the ballroom to a narrow hallway. “We should drink some tea too.” She grabs Briseis with her other arm.

“Whatever you say, sister-in-law.”

As I follow them, something on the wall snags my attention, and I change directions, coming closer to the magnificent masterpiece displaying a boat rocking in a storm as some mythical being tries to attack it.

Whoever painted it must have been a genius, as the oil colors are so precise and realistic it almost seems as if it’s happening in real life and you can watch this fascinating and frightening event live.

Running my fingers over the golden frame, I read the description.

Odysseus on the way to Ithaca.

Oh, he and his men faced a lot of storms, which served as one of the reasons for the goddess to catch him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I blink at the woman standing next to me wearing a brown, silky dress falling to her feet while her dark, thick braid hangs over her shoulder. Her brown eyes smile up at me, although it seems as if permanent sorrow resides in them. “Shows in all its glory how powerless we are against nature.” Despite probably being older than me by twenty years, her tan skin is flawless, and such warmth comes from her I instantly ease in her company.

“Yes. Whoever painted it has a natural-born talent.” I study the piece once again, focusing on how much attention the artist paid to details. “He perfectly captured their terror.”

“And determination to survive on Odysseus’s face,” she concludes, playing with the sapphire neckless around her neck. “He chose a perfect character for it too. Nothing would have stopped this man from returning home.” Wistfulness rings in this statement, and I look at her. “That’s why he was always my favorite when it came to Homer’s heroes.”

I groan. “Really? I think I’m the only one who doesn’t find their love story romantic.”

The corner of her mouth twitches while amusement flicks in her eyes. “Sometimes, we end up in such impossible and difficult circumstances we have no choice but to go even against ourselves to survive. Some might even say judgment is the privilege of those who never had to choose between two evils.”

Is this what Remi had to go through while growing up?

Choosing between two evils and becoming a villain who kills all these people for whatever reason kept him semi-sane?

And my judgment of his actions without asking what truly happened to him in the past—is it my privilege because I knew love?

When you never had love in your life, what becomes of you?

I shift my focus back on the painting, seeing Odysseus in a new light although still finding the love story lame. However, the myth does show that sometimes, no matter how much you want something, fate just doesn’t give it to you and throws battles and obstacles your way one after another, as if testing your true desire for the goal.

Those who give up don’t get the rewards of those who hang on till their hands bleed.

Or is this also a myth?

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