Page 149 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

“So you chose violence?”

He half turns, resting his arm on the window as he looks through it wistfully. “Among other things. I had no right to express my emotions, because I was nobody. My outburst might have cost me my future. Simply put, I had no such privilege.”

“You hated everyone.”

“No. I mean, the kids who made fun of me, yes. I wished to punish them, so fighting started. However, there was a certain sense of acceptance, because I went to school with princesses and heirs while my parents were who they were.”

No matter how pragmatic you are, people’s shitty behavior affects us all the same. He didn’t deserve their cruelty.

“Then we helped our friend cover up Octavius’s stepfather’s death, and everything changed. We became criminals.” I barely manage to cover my surprise, but honestly, good riddance. “And we discovered that punishing those who hurt the likes of us brought us pleasure and purpose, just like it had the actual riders. So that’s how we became the Four Dark Horsemen.”

While I appreciate this… “It doesn’t answer my question.”

“It does. Listen carefully. I’m a rider who thrives in darkness and will never, ever stop his deeds, because as bad as what I do is… the monster in me allows innocent children sleep. Because I eliminate those who wish to hurt them or hurt them in the past.” He glances at me, and resolve crosses his face. “It doesn't excuse what we do or make us better than anyone. The true strength of a person lies in moving on from bad experiences and never becoming like those who tortured you. Because as long as you hunt and kill them, you are just like them.”

“No,” I whisper, seeing the warped logic in this, and somehow this lets me breathe easier, because knowing who he punishes seems almost acceptable.

“Yes. We are standing on different sides; however, our weapons are all the same. Soaked in blood and pain and torture of those we get our hands on.”

I don’t condone killing, but is it such a bad thing to destroy those who hurt the innocent? In an ideal world, our past would have no hold on us, and we would be able to move on no matter what.

When in reality some of us never heal from our experiences. Either way, the only people who truly accomplish such tasks are those who lived through hell, got help and therapy, and live their best life to give a giant middle finger to their abusers until they no longer care about them.

Freedom costs a lot and requires work and a constant desire to do better. Remi and his friends though don’t need it.

They don’t seek validation. They are who they are and make no apologies for it.

“Why don’t you just torture them and then bring them to the police?” Wouldn't it be better for his peace of mind? “We have laws to protect us and serve justice.”

His bitter laughter fills the space. “Ma chérie. You have no idea how powerful some of these people are. They have connections everywhere, and any scandal can be covered up with the right amount of money and strategy.” He gulps some more of the whiskey before putting the bottle away. “You’d be surprised how many perfect saints with the most perfect families and images presented to everyone are so rotten inside you’d think a demon claimed them.”

Gripping the bedsheets, I ponder on this and silently agree with him on the matter, yet it paints everything around us in a rather depressing light.

“Monsters have different breeds too?” I tease, but he shakes his head.

“No, we’re the same. Darkness consumes us. We just all channel it differently. Remember what I told you back in our club? Good and evil lie in the eye of the beholder.” A beat passes. “We have our moral code. If you hurt the innocent, we will kill you or punish you, depending on your crime.”

“A life for a life?” I ask just to make it clear, and he smirks.

“No. You think I give a fuck if they kill someone? Hurting is enough. Once the monster has tasted blood and sin, he won’t ever stop hunting.”

Licking my dry lips, I finally ask the question that will probably ignite all his fury. “You want to destroy everything he built, not just punish him. Are you sure it’s fair to your mom, though?”

His face becomes even more closed off if it’s possible, and he crosses his arms while thunder echoes in the sky followed by the lightning flashing. It’s quite fitting weather for the storm going on inside this room right now.

I’ve just stepped on the beast’s wound, and who knows how he will react to it.

Time ticks by with him staying silent, and I think he won’t answer at all, when he finally replies, “I don’t have a mother. You see, my birth one forgot about me, and the adoptive one treated me like shit.” He spins around, and the air in my throat hitches when he points at his scars again, more profound under the harsh light, showcasing lines upon lines on his flesh with belt buckle imprints along with cigarette burns. “Do I look like a child who had a mother?”

He turns back to face me. “Maybe it’s not fair to Sofia, but my life was trash until I met the dark four, and even after that, I suffered. All because I dared to live when absolutely everyone wished I never had been born.” I cover my mouth with my palm, tears filling my eyes at the agony he no longer hides in his voice. “So forgive me if I do not feel remorse. I want justice for once in my life. I cannot kill him.” He glances down, pulling at his hair before looking back at me. “I convinced myself I wanted his shame, and that’s true. But I also don’t have it in me to kill my own grandfather.”

“No,” I whisper, “because you’re nothing like him.” And although he probably refuses to admit it, he doesn’t want to hurt his mother.

“Are you sure?” More thunder booms through the sky. “You’ve seen what I’m capable of, and I will never change. Where is your desire to run away, my beautiful wife?”

The rage possessing him will never truly go away, because he learned to use it to his advantage, and if I choose to live with him, I’d have to accept it, among other things.

However, my man was and is always honest, right?

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