Page 19 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

Play with the victim for hours and begin with basic things to build their terror. After each torture session, they expect rescue, and when it doesn’t come and they face more agony, then they truly learn regret about their past deeds.

Not that it matters.

Because I never forgive or forget.

Especially someone who stole me thirty-one years ago.

Even if I wanted to, my photographic memory would never let me.

“We’re underground on land that belongs to me. You can beg for help,” I say, reaching for the knife. Liquid slowly slides to the handle and smears my gloved fingers. “But don’t expect anyone to show up and free you.”

Spinning around, I stroll to him as his eyes widen, and he sways back, wanting to avoid my presence.

I chuckle.

All these years and all these cowards still manage to surprise me with how much they want to live despite their life circumstances.

Robert here has been in exile for the last twenty-seven years, barely making ends meet, hiding in the woods in a small cabin built by his great-grandfather, and all his children refuse to have anything to do with him. Not to mention the men the boss sends his way yearly to beat him up and remind him to keep his mouth shut or else the consequences might be severe.

Yet he begs for forgiveness all the same, wishing to prolong his stay on this earth and in his misery.

I guess even the pieces of shit have strange attachments to this world.

“I was following orders. He said it was for the good of the family,” the man speaks up, breathing heavily as my boots thud loudly on the floor. Each thud creates a nervous friction in him, judging by how he winces and his shoulders hunch. Only for him to stand up straight again as the collar pulls too tightly around his throat and he coughs again. He continues to spit his excuses as if anyone gives a shit about them. “You presented danger to the clan and union.” A beat passes. “You were a mistake that needed to be fixed, according to him. A child who could ruin his daughter.”

Fury slides through my veins, awakening the beast inside me, hungry for blood and pain, wanting to cut his throat and watch him choke as he struggles for breath. The life would slowly leave his body, and I’d enjoy every fucking second of it, doing my best to forget his words that still affect me after all these years.

A mistake.

It could be my middle name for all the times I’ve heard it thrown my way while growing up.

Reining in the anger polluting my mind and pushing back the little boy still existing within me who craves revenge right now for all the injustice done, I widen my mouth in a bigger smile.

Displaying true emotions was a privilege I could never afford among those who ruled the world with their iron fists.

When you grow up among poverty and claw your way to the top, you learn a lot of stuff.

Mainly how to listen to the information without anyone knowing what you truly think. And how to bite your tongue when you are treated worse than others in order to achieve what you want.

Sometimes, to win a war, one must lose several battles.

“Ah, Robert. Let’s not play the victim here, shall we?” I put the tip of the knife to his cheek, pressing it hard until it pierces through the skin, and his scream fills the air. “We both know you’d do anything for a bottle. Even sell your own child to the devil.”

Except he didn’t follow the plan when it comes to me.

Instead, he kept me with junkies for the first four years and then made a deal with two desperate people who had begged God for a child.

Only to screw him up beyond measure, as the child had a specific purpose for them.

One that did not include being loved or cherished.

“Remi, you don’t know him. He is… cruel. Ruthless. He would have killed me!” He licks away the blood from his lips and steps back, whimpering when the glass cuts deeper into his feet and the knife pierces farther in his cheek, probably burning him from the inside out.

This poison has a very specific purpose. I acquired it on the black market several years ago while traveling the world, dedicating my time to finding the rarest liquids designed to make one lose his mind, tremble in endless agony, and bring so much pain the victim never finds rest before his death.

Knives and weapons are of little interest to me, although blood is nice to look at, especially when the victim soaks in it, but poison appeals to my soul, sneaking up on the person unexpectedly. He never sees it coming and still has this all-consuming hope flashing in his eyes.

That’s why I love snakes and got one for myself.

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