by V. F. Mason
The afternoon sunlight casts a soft glow in my room, showcasing the white, oak bed with countless pillows on it covered by a yellow blanket to match the color scheme. Small lamps occupy the bedside tables.
In the middle of the room, in front of a velvet couch, stands a small, round table covered with several books I snagged from our home library. A bowl of candies is within easy reach.
The room also has a built-in wardrobe holding all my dresses and shoes, serving as a smaller room where I used to hide whenever I wanted to lick my wounds after some teasing at school about my red hair. Octavius always found me there and brought me another piece of jewelry.
A small fortune is hidden behind the glassed shelves.
My room has always been a sanctuary, a soft bubble nothing could burst, because the dragon, aka my brother, guarded the territory with his fire.
But for the first time ever, it doesn’t bring me relief or a sense of peace; instead, it creates more restlessness within me, as if I no longer belong here.
And if I don’t belong at home… then where do I belong?
Antonio’s voice pulls me back from my despair, giving a temporary reprieve to my exhausted mind. “We hadn’t expected you until Saturday, Estella. We barely had time to prepare your room. We thought you might want fresh air.”
Despite everything, a chuckle slips past my lips, and Antonio grins at me while concern still flashes in his gaze as he extends the tray to me, silently asking me to take the cup.
As far back as I can remember, his go-to action to fix all our problems has been to prepare jasmine tea and hope for the best.
Forcing a reassuring smile on my face, because chaos sinks into my every cell and makes me question everything in this little world of mine, I reply, “Thank you.” Wrapping my hand around the cup, I give him a little kiss on his cheek as he blushes. “And I love fresh air.” I lift the cup to my mouth, taking a sip, and wince as the hot liquid burns my tongue. “Is my brother home yet?”
He puts the tray under his armpit and clasps his glove-covered hands. “You showed up here all alone without Henderson… wearing a man’s shirt. I was very concerned. I had to call him.” I never doubted he would.
Antonio loves us both equally, but his loyalty belongs to Octavius and not me. He could never keep a secret from him, even if I asked.
And I did.
A year ago, after my disastrous date that resulted in me losing my virginity on the backseat of a car, only to discover the guy did it on a bet. The only reason I even slept with the guy was because everyone else did it. That’s when I decided to spend a year in Greece rather than go to college right away. Well, that and the fact that he told the entire school, so I was too humiliated to stay in Chicago.
Antonio knew and then apparently told Octavius, because shortly after that, all the universities declined the guy’s college applications, and his rich family had to send him abroad for the scandal to die down.
And here I am one year later, none the wiser. Ryder didn’t bet on me, but he still used me for his own agenda with the only difference being that this time around, my heart was involved, and it hurts so much it’s hard to breathe.
I should write a book on the biggest screwup of the century.
“Great. Can’t wait to see him.” And this much is true.
The sooner he knows, the better I’ll feel without this heavy weight of guilt looming over me.
Antonio beams at me. “Dinner will be ready soon. Would you like to go downstairs?” I grab the cookie and munch on it, moaning at the sweet taste while he continues. “Although you’ll have to eat in the kitchen. The renovations make it impossible to walk anywhere without breaking your neck.” He frowns, the wrinkles around his cheeks and eyes deepening. “If your brother paid better attention to all my notes, we’d be done by now.”
I swirl my finger in the air. “Our mansion is enormous, so I highly doubt it.” Considering Octavius has barely resisted destroying the house completely and building something new altogether, he has kept only the foundation and is renovating the entire thing so no traces of the past mar the walls.
Most of the time, he stays at his penthouse in the city and travels around the world on his favorite yacht, exploring different locations and learning about their culture—mainly medicine, since he finished med school—so he doesn’t devote much time to the renovations.
As a result, for the last five years, the house has been one giant hazard where countless people come in and out, changing rooms and décor, only for Octavius to veto at least one of the choices, and it starts all over.
Honestly, someday, I think he will bulldoze the house and sell the property to the highest bidder, despite the land belonging to our family since the nineteenth century.
Because his hatred for it rivals what he feels toward my parents.
Antonio opens his mouth to protest—he never agrees with my statements—when a deep and powerful voice reverberates through the space, transforming the energy around us into powerful and demanding, making us both straighten up.
“Estella!”
Octavius is home.
Practically shoving the mug and cookie at Antonio, I race to the hallway where empty, freshly painted walls greet me. Black marble glistens under the bright sunlight streaming from the glassed ceiling and showing the way to four different wings, each having three individual rooms.
Families can live here and never cross paths; that’s how much space our childhood home has.
Rushing to the massive stairs, the slapping of my bare feet alerts anyone nearby of my arrival as I descend the stairs to where a similar picture greets me, except some paintings depicting bloody gore about the greediness of human nature occupy the walls here.
At least, that’s what I was told; the images are too disturbing for me to study them on my own.
The massive double oak doors are wide open, allowing the wind inside. A shiver runs through me as my bare toes curl against the marble, and I look around for my brother.
A distressed maid coming from the kitchen passes me with four glasses of whiskey and heads straight ahead to what once was a common room that could host up to three hundred people. Based on the scents floating around, the cook is preparing dinner. Now, it has covered furniture scattered around. On the walls, the staff have hung guns and weapons my brother loves to collect from all over the world, as if mocking the notion of ever hosting a party here again.
The dining table on the right must not have been used at all since the chairs lie on top of it with dust covering the wooden surface.
The terrace doors in here are destroyed, making it one of the coldest rooms in the entire mansion considering our current weather, and somehow it’s Octavius’s favorite place, as he loves to spend his time here freezing.
Many brown boxes are stacked around the room, making one wonder how anyone walks in here without breaking their neck, and judging by the silver glistening through their small openings, more weapons will be joining the collection.
And finally around all this mess, I spot four men outside leaning on the banister that leads to the garden, twirling the glasses the maid brought them. The minute they hear me approaching them, their heads swing in unison in my direction, the powerful wave crashing into me at once from their presence.
I might have grown up with them, but that doesn’t make me immune to their majestic presence, which can be felt in the air wherever they go.
My head moves from right to left as I study the men I haven’t seen in a while, men who had such a big impact on my life. They’ve been Octavius’s best friends since they were little and never gave up on him no matter what happened and sometimes even pulled him out from the pits of hell.
My brother wouldn’t be where he is today if it wasn’t for their support, and who could wish for better friends, right?
Because no enemy would dare to come near while these men have your back.
“Hello, Estella.”
The man’s brown hair falls below h
is ears, his dark eyes subtly studying everything around him, yet you wouldn’t guess it, if you didn’t pay close attention to him. His muscled body fits perfectly in his jeans and leather jacket. He has on heavy boots, and his calloused hands, used to hard work, remind everyone he came from rags, and whatever he has, he got it with blood and sweat. Compared to all others, he didn’t come from status and wealth, but I know someday soon he’ll have all those things and then some.
Remi Reyes.
I wave at him, which earns me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and my attention shifts to the man standing next to him, his best friend who gave him his first million and helped get a patent on his project that promises to change the scope of business in the future.
His dark hair accentuates his tan skin and emphasizes the high cheekbones that only bring attention to the perfect symmetry of his face. His full lips are permanently curved in a smile that’s sinful and deadly by nature, hinting at his cruel tendencies, because a man can smile and torture you in ways you never thought possible.
His crystal-clear blue eyes are akin to the ocean pulling you down the bottomless abyss, making you lost in them while they scan you for weaknesses in order to strike where it hurts the most.
A ruthless, stunning man who once upon a time woke up in a nightmare and emerged from it alive and stronger than ever, although the harshness of his experience can be seen in each breath he takes and every decision he makes.
If you’re looking for compassion, you’ll never find it with him.
Santiago Cortez.
“Hola, Estella. Como estás?” His smooth voice calms some of my nerves.
His question makes the man standing several feet away from him chuckle as he winks at me, his soft gaze saved just for me, because most of the time his indifferent, cold stare sends fear down people’s spines as his mood swings are unpredictable.
And so is trying to figure out his true character or on whose side he stands.
Arguably the most handsome among them all, his blond hair glistens under the light, and his bright-green eyes make me think of freshly cut grass. Compared to most of them, he’s on the leaner side; the three-piece suit he’s wearing fits him like a glove, while the wicked smile on his mouth can charm any willing woman out of her panties in record time.
He uses his charm shamelessly and is the only one among them who can truly be called a manwhore; last time I heard, two best friends stopped talking to each other, because he slept with them both.
And while he might share his body with countless women, his heart is another story, as no one has ever managed to capture that or the promise of his commitment.
Not that the males in his family are known for fidelity or long-lasting marriages.
He might cover it better than the rest of them, but behind the mask he displays to the world hides a cruel, cruel man who has no mercy for those who have wronged him or has done an unforgivable crime in his eyes.
Belonging to the exclusive jewelry makers dynasty whose pieces are displayed all over the world and cost a fortune, he is considered one of the rare ones who got his great-grandfather’s talent.
Florian Price.
Octavius’s best friend who always has a kind word for me and who brought us to his home where we could sleep peacefully because he wouldn’t let anyone hurt us.
“I’m okay,” I reply to Santiago, snapping from my stupor, and muster up a smile for Florian. “Nice to see you again.”
His brow furrows, and he opens his mouth to say something, when my brother’s voice interrupts him as he repeats my name again. “Estella.”
I turn to the side, my whole focus on Octavius, who stands out among all their clean by our society’s standards appearances with half his head shaved, and the rest of his hair falls over the scarred side of his face, hiding the hideous long, red, puckered skin on his cheek. He sports a beard on his chin, and everyone calls him a barbarian who doesn’t belong in business meetings, his ripped body barely contained by the suits he wears.
I exhale in relief.
Because he’s finally here, and he will fix the mess I’ve gotten myself into.
Along with relief crashing down on me though comes fear, and all the memories and pain from my earlier discovery transforms me back into a little girl who stubbed her toe and all of them gathered around to cheer me up while Octavius tended to my wound.
Without uttering another word, he opens his muscled arms wide, and with a sob, I run into them, tears streaming down my cheeks while he hugs me close. Locking his hands on my back, he creates a protective cocoon around me, letting me share my pain with him.
“Shhh,” my brother whispers, which only makes me cry silently harder, soaking his shirt. “Did a man… hurt you?”
A prolonged pause before his question lets me know what he implies, and I shake my head.
His body relaxes a bit next to mine, and I realize he must have been scared and began with the worst option. “Is this about a man though?” I nod at this. “Does it involve me somehow?”
I nod again, while Remi mutters, “Fuck.”
Yeah, I think no other word describes my situation this accurately.
Another hand touches my head, gently running it through my hair while I feel the presence of everyone else behind me, surrounding me with their support, and Florian speaks up. “Whoever hurt you will pay for it.” Promise laced with steel coats his softly spoken words, leaving no doubt they would.
Because when you insulted or hurt one of them, you might as well have hurt all of them.
What is their motto again they came up with a few years back that the press loves to quote?
Only in unity we survive, because in chaos do we thrive.
They even tattooed the second part of it on their collarbones.
The Four Dark Horsemen.
* * *
Ryder
Pouring myself a glass of whiskey, I shake it a little as my eyes stay glued to the TV hanging on the wall, showing a live feed from Octavius’s home, where Estella finds solace in his arms. It sends fury so strong through me I can taste it on my tongue.
With a roar, I throw the glass at the wall, and it shatters into tiny little pieces. Everything in me screams to go to them and snatch my woman, mine, from there, because no one else should be the source of her comfort but me.
Only me.
And while I can deal with her brother touching her, fucking Florian Price putting his hands on her makes me clench my fists and imagine different ways in which I can cut his body open.
Slowly, Octavius pulls Estella inside the house, and grabbing the remote, I move to the camera installed in the kitchen, as this is where they appear to be headed.
A wise man never leaves anything to chance, and I always plan for various moves in advance, Estella running from me being one of them, and of course she would go to her home.
Installing all these devices wasn’t really a problem. The staff was clueless when I arrived on the pretense of fixing their damned AC, wearing a cap and a face mask. Octavius never spends the night there anyway, and he would be the only one who would see through my bullshit.
However, watching Estella right now brings me little comfort, although I cannot go after her.
Not yet anyway.
Picking up the phone on the table, I dial Jaxon’s number. He picks up on the second ring and says, “Ryder. What a sur—”
“I’m going to kill Cillian next time I see him,” I say, anger coating my tone, because my fucking younger sibling fucked up things for me when he opened his stupid mouth on that machine. If it wasn’t for him and his stupid-ass assumption, my woman would be with me, drowning in the passion I taught her.
“His intentions were in the right place,” Jaxon says carefully, as if I give a shit about his defense.
Cillian has been fucking up things for a while now, and everyone pussy foots around him, because a girl broke his heart and married his enemy.
Big fucking deal.
He ne
eds to man up instead of moping and taking his anger out on everyone around him; it’s gonna slowly lead him to his downfall.
“He’s a dead man walking.” Before Jaxon can say anything else, I announce, “Since he made my situation more difficult, I will no longer play nice.”
“Oh fuck,” he mutters in resignation.
“I’ll go against them, because I’m not spending the night without Estella. If you are concerned about my safety—” I laugh, because the concept is damned hilarious. “—come to Chicago.”
“Right now?” he exclaims. “Listen, Ryder, I’m already having a shit-ton of problems here after Cillian decided to play a hero and saved someone he shouldn’t have. I can’t just leave now.”
“Then don’t.” My hold on the phone tightens when I see Florian pinching Estella’s nose, and she laughs while Remi gives her a tissue.
Santiago stays unbothered by it all, not that I’m surprised.
My past is shit, but his is way worse.
“I’m the head of the Irish mafia, Ryder. If I leave, I might as well wave a red cloth in front of the bull. They would see it as disrespect and attack Cillian. Please understand.”
My father slaps me hard, my head swinging to the side, and blood fills my mouth as pain assaults my senses and makes it hard to breathe. “I’m the head of the Irish mafia, Ryder. Do you understand?” He fists my hair, pulling it so hard I’m afraid he might rip it from my scalp, and tilts my head until my scared gaze clashes with his mad one. “You’re a bastard who should know his place.” He pushes me away, and I land on the floor, coughing hard as he grips Jaxon by the throat and brings him closer to me. My heart gallops in my chest so much I’m afraid it will break. “And he is my heir. Don’t ever ask why he is allowed to say he is a MacAlister while out in public, and you can’t. Because you’re nothing but my biggest regret.”
He kicks me so hard in the stomach I see stars while Jaxon screams, “No.” Our father pushes him to the side though into his mother’s open arms. “Dad, no!”
The hurt becomes so strong my head gets dizzy, and more blood fills my mouth while I wonder if dying is really so bad. “A bastard does not have privileges in this family. Never forget it.”