Page 144 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

My… mother.

The word tastes bitter on my tongue, and I scoop some water into my palm and drink it, wishing to wash it away, yet the taste stays with me.

I’ve never spoken to this woman in my life; however, I’ve seen her during countless functions and in newspapers and magazines, memorizing her every feature and desperately trying to see our resemblance while despising her happiness.

Not once was it mentioned she had a baby, and in a way, I was so grateful for that, because it allowed the room for all my revenge with little regard to her.

If she didn’t want me, then she didn’t deserve mercy, right? Besides, not being wanted was nothing new.

My adoptive mother wished for me to never be born, while my biological one got the wish fulfilled. Her father, aka my grandfather, freed her from the burden of raising a bastard.

Funnily enough though, my biological father came from a powerful dynasty, so only royal blood runs through my veins, but that’s not enough.

You have to be born a prince to be considered worthy in this society; otherwise, you bring shame.

Shame pushed me into hell that stripped all my rights away, so my vengeance was never misplaced.

Why should they live happily, when I suffered?

However, tonight, I heard her, the trembling in her voice, the pain in her eyes when she spoke about her son, and it…

Angered me beyond belief, for she has no right to feel this way.

She adores her father. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be playing by his rules, so how dare she mourn the son he ordered to kill?

And I rage at myself for still caring despite knowing better.

Even if I told her the truth and she welcomed me with open arms, I would never come to her.

Love cannot cure it all, especially not a soul who has suffered for thirty-one years.

Maybe that’s just nature.

We cannot help but be attached to our mothers on some level, even though that only leads to downfalls.

Some relationships are just toxic and destroy you, so it’s better to stay away or never know them.

Or that’s the excuse I give myself to shut up the voices screaming in my head to go to her and shake her so hard until she answers why she didn’t fight hard enough.

Why did she believe her baby died?

Why did she fucking give up so easily and never mourn me?

Why, Sofia?

The doors burst open, snapping me out of my thoughts, and I meet Tim’s gaze in the refection as he plays with his mustache. “Fight time.”

He still owns and runs this small club on the outskirts of the city, making money with fights, and despite us being miles away socially and economically, I visit him from time to time to pay respect to a man who in a sense helped me as a teenager.

Although, this place is a complete ditch filled with filth and greed.

I push back, rolling my shoulders, and crack my neck from side to side, blocking away anything besides the pumping of my blood and the adrenaline sliding into my veins, fueling it with rage over and over again.

“You haven’t done this in a while. The club is packed.” He sounds pleased, not that I give a fuck.

Spinning around, I give him a crooked smile. “Then you’re lucky, right? You’ll earn some cash.” He frowns but steps back when I step out to the roaring of the crowd as the smell of sweat and alcohol permeates the air.

Closing my eyes for a second, I drink it all in and allow the darkness to envelop me whole, soaking up the energy around me.

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