Page 5 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

Settling on the metal one, I grab it and spin around to face James again. “Act like a man.” Before he can say anything else, I pull my arm back and then hit him with the implement across his face. Cracking sounds fill the air, and I chuckle. “Don’t cry like a little bitch.” His scream envelops me from head to toe, the sound inspiring such profound pleasure I wonder if I should hit him again, but sadly his nose is already broken, pouring blood all over him, and he chokes a little, spitting again.

Throwing the cane up, I catch it in the middle and then slam it into his collarbone with its razor-sharp end. Whimpers and groans followed by hollow shouts shower me. The red smears his skin so much he starts to remind me of a fascinating painting on display in a gallery for everyone to admire.

In a very dark and twisted way, all monsters are painters and sculptors, mastering their craft with each victim and creating more and more despicable pieces that society would never accept, so they stay hidden underground.

And in a way, that’s a blessing in disguise, as most of these people are so rotten they should never have been born in the first place.

“Remi,” he utters my name for the first time, wincing as I rest my arm on the cane stuck to him and rub my chin while he blinks several times before continuing. “Please. I’m so sorry.”

“You are?” He nods vigorously, and my brows furrow. “What exactly are you sorry for, James? Do tell.” My elbow pushes harder on the stick, which results in the sharp end piercing deeper, and he cries out. “Don’t leave me hanging, James. Patience was never one of my virtues.”

Instead of answering my question, he decides to give me a useless explanation that means absolutely nothing to the monster controlling my every movement. “We were so young. And broke. We needed cash, and he offered it in abundance.” He exhales heavily, wincing as his tongue grazes his lips. “We just wanted a better life. Please, Remi.”

I cock my head to the side. “Sorry you got caught?”

“It was a mistake. A onetime thing. We were high constantly and barely understood our actions.”

Swirling rage glides over my skin, sinking into my bones while enveloping me in a red haze, ready to snap his neck with one flick of my wrist and end his good-for-nothing life.

So he’d finally shut up and stop faking the remorse he never felt.

James, though, has no sense of self-preservation. He speaks up again, his teeth chattering as fear must pollute his every cell, thinking only about survival. “You should be angry with them! They offered us the money. They shouldn’t have done it. Go after them, Remi!”

Sadly, preys are so similar in their nature, boring me to death with the constant pleadings or attempts at reverse psychology, trying to play it cool when most of them piss themselves the minute I raise my voice.

If the monster trapped you in his hell… he has no intention of letting you go.

Unless playing with your psyche is part of the game, but rotten fuckers like James hardly inspire an interest in me, although the idea of seeing him choking on his blood while chains attached to his limbs pull him in different directions and tear away his flesh does sound appealing.

Too bad there is no time to waste.

“You think that’s what I should do?” I ask him casually, gripping the cane and twirling it again, earning myself a hurt-filled groan as more blood pours from his wound. “And I suppose you are finally ready to tell me who the so-called they are?” My tone stays even, although madness slowly consumes me, blocking away the common sense ordering me to play this game and get my satisfaction from the process while I still can.

Because once the victim is dead, I no longer have an outlet on the rage filling my heart every single day, letting me live long enough to fulfill a vow I made to myself at the age of eighteen.

James’s head lolls to the side. Breathing through his nose, he replies, “Yes. The folder in my office has all the information you might need. Spare my life, and you can punish everyone involved. The true villains in this story.” Excitement sparks in his eyes, happiness blanketing his face, and even his fucking voice grows stronger in anticipation of his freedom.

Pulling out the stick, my mouth curves at the sight of blood sliding down his form, although the wound never touched an important artery; it just sent unpleasant sensations to his nervous system, allowing fear to be a primary emotion, which only fuels the pain in his body.

You don’t become a skilled monster without studying human anatomy well.

“Thank you,” he whispers, wiggling in the ropes and leaning on the metal pole, sweat soaking his hair. “You won’t regret it.”

Dropping the cane on the floor, I say, “There is only one tiny problem with this plan.”

He blinks in surprise. “What?”

“They’re already dead. All of them.”

When a hunter wants to destroy a den or a pride… he has to kill all the weak links first in order to get to the alpha of the pack. Because the alpha’s true power lies in his subjects, who guard his back from the coming danger. Although he might be stronger than the rest, his strength depends on the unity within his circle.

And when that circle is destroyed?

He becomes too vulnerable to survive in the wild and ends up someone’s meal.

“Remi, listen—” He whimpers in despair when I place my hand on his neck, pressing my fingers into his glands, welcoming his panic, transforming him back into the coward he has always been.

No matter how much perfume you spray over trash, it doesn’t stop reeking.

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