Santiago's Conquest : A Standalone Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by V. F. Mason

  One of the reasons we permanently moved to Chicago from New York more than thirty years ago, instead of living between two towns, so my past would never follow us.

  Oh, how wrong we’ve been.

  All my victims committed hideous crimes; they didn't deserve to live, and I just did this world a favor killing the pieces of shit.

  But there was one more person who didn't deserve my kindness, a friend who became my companion in the nightmare we both lived, someone I trusted, because I never expected him to cross to the dark side.

  Not after what was done to us.

  I should have cut his oxygen supply too; however, by the time I got to know about his crimes, it was too late.

  He fooled me enough to make me think he was dead, and that was my second mistake.

  A mistake I paid for dearly every single day, seeing the horrors of my past reflected back at me in my son’s eyes.

  Every time I taught him how to use a knife in this very room, how to torture all those fuckers, and how to distinguish between different kinds of poisons.

  Not even in my wildest nightmares could I have imagined teaching my son that, yet I couldn't not have done it, because he needed this information. I preferred him to be safe rather than lose his head and start killing everyone around him.

  My baby boy. My firstborn. My heir.

  I held him in my arms minutes after he was born, bringing him closer to the window where night lights illuminated Chicago, and promised him a world at his feet where he would be loved so much, where no one would ever hurt him.

  Where his Dad would always be with him.

  I failed all my promises, because I forgot who I was.

  A hunter cannot stop being a hunter; his instincts are what keeps him and his loved ones alive.

  When you step on the dark path, you are stuck to it for life, because there will always be enemies waiting to destroy you or take away what you love most.

  The monster residing in me believed in happily ever after when a magnificent woman fell in love with him.

  He shouldn't have.

  A whimper echoes through the space followed by a pained moan, and a smile shapes my mouth when I’m pulled back into the present, ignoring my regrets and instead focusing on my present, where I can finally do what I should have done thirty-five years ago.

  I address the man pinned to the metal wall, chains wrapped around him and tugging him in different directions, leaving his chest open for any assault. “Andreas, just a few hours inside my torture chamber and you already moan like a little bitch.” His eyes focus on me as blood drips through the crown with sharp edges I placed on his head, his hair soaked in sweat while his naked body holds various injuries inflicted with my sword when we fought at the mansion.

  Andreas became cocky and forgot everything life taught us, and he probably never expected to encounter me.

  That’s why he always stabbed me in the back instead of facing me like a true man when, in his opinion, I betrayed him.

  A man who is born a coward dies a coward too.

  I should have never considered him a wolf in my pack; instead, he was a snake who I warmed on my chest only for it to inject venom inside me that almost killed my family.

  His eyes pop open, his head lolls to the side, and he rolls his lips. “Kill me, Lucian,” he whispers, a slight smirk playing on his mouth as he continues. “I tortured him every day. He suffered and suffered. Kill me, Lucian. Avenge your son.”

  Every sentence boils anger inside me along with the unbearable pain that slams into me wave after wave. It threatens to send me to my knees just imagining what my son experienced, knowing firsthand what it’s like to be at the mercy of greedy, despicable men. He laughs when I step closer to him, snagging a silver blade from the weapon table nearby.

  “Your heir became nothing but a dog on a leash. Because I made him one. Come on, Lucian. Stab that dagger in my heart and—”

  I punch him in the face, knocking his head back where it slams against the wall, and his nose cracks and several of his teeth fall out.

  He cries out in pain, blood filling his mouth, and I deliver another hit, knocking out some more teeth before catching his tongue between my fingers as he thrashes in my hold.

  “You cannot put a wolf on a leash, Andreas.” I bring the blade to his tongue, and his eye widen. He shakes his head, trying to close his remaining teeth around me, but it’s useless with his tongue out. “But a piece of shit like you will never understand this concept.” I slowly slide the blade through his flesh back and forth, cutting off his tongue as the blood pours between us, and he whimpers, his eyes wet from tears.

  His tongue drops to the floor, and I step on it, twisting my foot while he chokes on the blood, but that’s not enough for me.

  I stab my blade into his dick, his screams reverberating off the walls, and now a grin curves my mouth. Ah, finally.

  The true beauty in torture lies in the great agony of those who fucking deserve it.

  His dick joins the tongue on the floor while blood pours from different vessels, and I go to my weapon table, scanning all the devices on it and wondering what my next pick will be.

  After all, I’m just starting.

  Picking up a bottle, I turn around to face him again as his eyes plead for me to finally off him, so he won’t experience my wrath, and I almost laugh at this.

  God, when he lost his head, he must have forgotten everything about me.

  I don’t forget.

  I don’t forgive.

  I don’t give second chances.

  But more importantly?

  I show no mercy.

  My rage and agony at what he has done to my son will never go away.

  “Did you really think you telling me all this would have swayed me to off you sooner?” He blinks in confusion, breathing heavier as I slowly go back to him, my boots thumping on the floor alerting him of my every step as he stills, gauging my next move. “Andreas, you will suffer until the day I die. I will torture you, and then the doctors will patch you back together, only for me to torture you again. Your life will be an endless nightmare filled with gore and pain where salvation doesn’t come or exist.” He shakes his head, mumbling something and coughing. Only to mumble again, pulling at his restraints as if it can help him. “And I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

  With this, I toss poison on him as he cries out so hard he probably tears his throat, while I watch his skin slowly get destroyed, sadistic pleasure spreading through my veins.

  This will never wipe away the pain he inflicted on my son or countless other children.

  However, his suffering will amuse me to no end and finally let me extract true revenge on what he has done.

  After all, life is cruel.

  And so are we.

  Epilogue

  “Mi amor…I will love you till the day I die.”

  Santiago

  Chicago, Illinois

  10 years later

  Santiago

  I enter my mother’s gallery, where instantly the hum of various voices greets me along with classical music playing in the background.

  Mierda.

  I have three more hours of this torture before I can whisk my wife away.

  I navigate between the bodies, spotting my father, who admires the collections of sketches displayed on a wall. “Hola, Papá.” He turns to me, smiling before enveloping me in a hug, and I no longer tense in his arms or want to run away.

  No, I welcome the embrace and hug him right back.

  Although it took us time to get here, our hug in the hospital served as a stepping-stone to mending our relationship, yet we still acted awkward around each other.

  We had to learn how to talk to one another, discuss our past and present without being afraid to be judged by the other.

  As we slowly aligned all the bricks in our relationship that got destroyed into a new, solid structure that can withstand anything, the bond finally formed without us expecting the other to break it. T
hat in turn allowed me to spend some time at the family mansion and even stay the night a couple times a month when Mom planned all these family breakfasts. The family home became a safe harbor once again, where laughter existed and ghosts disappeared.

  Dad grins, sipping his coffee. “Her sketches are always amazing. She’s brilliant at showing all these myths in a unique manner.” He glances at the description next to it. “Trojan War. A love story. Interesting.” He points at the sketch showing a golden-haired warrior looking at the woman who gazes back at him with hate in her eyes. “Achilles has your eyes.” He chuckles. “I guess I don't have to wonder where she got her inspiration from, huh?”

  “What can I say? I’ve got the looks to inspire artists.” I give him a crooked smile, and he laughs while my eyes search for a beautiful dark-haired woman and growl under my breath when I don't find her.

  Where the fuck is she?

  Briseis built herself a name after her first gallery showing with the four riders, earning her name recognition and interest in her work. She specialized in depicting ancient myths with twists, giving them modern touches, and that attracted her peers and buyers alike, establishing her in the field. We travel several times per year to her different showings, and on most days, she spends time in her studio either in the city or at home creating.

  Dad traps my chin between his fingers and moves my head to the right. And sure enough, there she is, throwing her head back, her melodic laughter enveloping me in a warm cocoon as she listens to something my mother says while they stand by some huge-ass statues.

  “Gracias, Papá. See you later.” I prowl toward my woman, admiring her graceful neck and how that fucking red dress hugs her tightly, putting all her gorgeous body on display.

  Mi mujer.

  Mine and only mine.

  Thankfully, a ring on her finger serves as a reminder to everyone around her, leaving no doubt who she belongs to.

  I was right all those years ago; I’m my father’s son.

  I love obsessively, needing her constantly, and I’m possessive to the point of insanity.

  Everything about her and every part of her belongs to me, my saving grace and salvation in the dark.

  And no one basks in her light but me.

  My mother tears her gaze away from Briseis and, winking at me, murmurs something in her ear, making my woman smile before Mom starts to walk away. She stops when she passes me though. “Hola, Mamá.” I kiss her on the cheek, rubbing her arm, and her eyes soften as always.

  However, her voice is colder than steel when she orders, “Do not take her anywhere. We have her work presentation in thirty minutes.”

  Hissing through my teeth and sighing in displeasure, I earn myself a slap on the chest and a grin. “Fine.”

  “Good!” Someone calls her name, and she waves at them, already going in their direction.

  I wrap my arms around my wife’s waist, dragging her toward me, pressing her back against my chest tightly, her flowery scent filling my lungs, calming the primitive beast raging inside me whenever I’m around her.

  She gasps and then places her hands above mine, resting her head on my shoulder, and tilts her head to meet my gaze. “Mr. Cortez. What a surprise, seeing you here.” She laughs when I bite her on the neck. “I thought you considered art shows a waste of your time.”

  “You must have heard me wrong. I said I consider it a waste of my time, because I could fuck you hard in your studio instead. I fucking love art.”

  “Oh my God.” She spins around and covers my mouth with her palm, looking around as if I give a fuck whether anyone heard me or not. “Stop it.” A smile slips onto her lips when her hand cups my cheek though, her thumb trailing over a new scar on my neck.

  She’ll ask all about it later on tonight, and I will tell her, not hiding my life from her. She accepted my dark side but never wanted to be in the dark regarding it. No, my wife wanted to know all the details and why the punishment was dished out on my victims.

  She let me know seven years ago that if I ever lose my head and become an uncontrollable monster who needs blood and killings to survive daily, she will leave my ass using all the weapons in her arsenal.

  I told her she could try, but I would never let her take two steps before trapping her once again; surviving without her is not an option. She might have fallen in love with me, but it doesn't change that I blackmailed her into this union.

  And because I love her, truly love her, and cannot breathe if she doesn't exist in my world, I won’t ever lose my head.

  Especially not after she gave me them.

  I catch her hand, raising it to my mouth, and give it a gentle kiss. “Just a nick.”

  She studies me for several seconds before her arms circle my neck, and she steps closer, leaving no space between us.

  Holding her with one hand and removing a lock of hair from her face with the other, I whisper, “We don’t live in a myth.”

  “Achilles had a weakness.”

  “I do too. It’s you.”

  She exhales heavily, and I slam my mouth onto hers, nipping on her lips. Her gasp lets me probe my tongue deep, searching for hers, and then brush them together, roaming inside her mouth, giving her a deep kiss.

  She moans into my mouth, pushing herself closer against me, and goose bumps break on her skin while my hand fists her hair, tilting her head back so I can deepen it, the kiss turning more passionate each second.

  Finally, the music tears through the haze that settled on us and reminds me we aren't alone, and no one gets to see my woman on the edge.

  Snatching my mouth away, I rub her swollen lips, and tell her, “You’re mine once the presentation is over.”

  A loud crash reverberating off the walls followed by several horrified gasps interrupts our moment, and I groan, already knowing in advance this disaster will bite me in the ass.

  Should have probably expected that.

  We dart toward the white marble spread in tiny pieces all over the parquet—what used to be a small statue while the guilty people responsible for this destruction stand near it.

  All four of them.

  Javier, Miguel, Amai, and Carina.

  My seven-year-old quadruplets are always in the epicenter of trouble, and at this point, I should open a bank account dedicated to all their fuckups.

  “Oops,” Amai mutters, flicking her dark hair back as her blue eyes become round. “It really broke.” She turns to Javier. “You were right. We shouldn't have run around it. The floor is too slippery.” She takes out a chocolate bar from her pocket and gives it to him, my son’s dark eyes sparkling in victory.

  He even puffs his chest—fucking puffs his chest—while everyone is staring at them, and grins. “Told you.”

  Carina offers, “Let’s bet on something else. I want my chocolate back.”

  Miguel wiggles his fingers. “No. You're a sore loser, hermana.”

  “Santiago,” Briseis whispers, mortification lacing her tone as people keep staring and murmuring to each other.

  I give her a light squeeze, hoping it will ease her embarrassment. She should be used to it by now though. The kids were born hellions, and no amount of parenting can fix it.

  God knows everyone has tried, down to my serial killer friends who always wished me good luck after spending time with them.

  Callum still gives me the finger for how they destroyed his favorite orchids.

  I still remember how horrified I was when the doctor told us how many babies Briseis was carrying. How was I supposed to protect all these tiny humans relying on me from the darkness lurking in every corner? That was until I heard a heartbeat though, and then all my fiercely possessive and protective instincts kicked in.

  I would give them anything they ever wanted, so they would know only imaginary monsters.

  Because Daddy would slay all the others.

  We ended up with identical twin girls and twin boys, and the pregnancy was difficult, but we wouldn't change a thing. Holding them for
the first time broke my heart in more ways than one, because they were so fragile, but I already loved them with everything in me.

  That’s when I fully forgave my father, understanding his pain.

  Carina points an accusing finger at him. “Only because one of you pushed me!”

  Miguel motions for them to shut up as they finally notice our presence, gasping before standing in line in front of us, their hands locked behind their backs, meeting our stares head-on. “Hola, Papá.” They greet me in unison just as a man runs toward us, pulling at his hair.

  He exclaims, “My statue!” He bends down to pick up a piece, running his finger over it, and a single tear rolls down his eyes. “Destroyed!”

  “Oh.” Carina snags a handkerchief from her dress pocket and extends it to him. “Lo siento, señor.”

  He accepts the handkerchief, and Amai says, “It was very pretty.” All of them nod, and Elton straightens a little, some of his sorrow gone. “You’re very talented.”

  “Ah, thank you, sweetie.” He pats her head yet still glares at us.

  Wincing, I apologize to him. “Lo siento, Elton. We’ll pay for the statue, twice the price.”

  “It’s not about the money.” Although his mood is improving rapidly for a man who is not concerned about the money.

  Briseis goes to him. “We know it’s no compensation for all the hard work, but almost all your pieces sold out today, so we will be happy to feature your next work.”

  At this point, Elton grins, clearly happy about all this, and on cue, my mother pops next to us and drags him away, probably ready to talk his ear off while Dad laughs several feet away.

  Everything his grandkids do, he finds amusing.

  People slowly move away too while the cleaning crew comes to sweep away the mess.

  “Are we in trouble?” Carina asks, and Briseis nods, placing her hands on her hips.

  “Big trouble. You broke someone’s work. He spent months creating it. I told you to be careful and not run.”

  Javier tries to defend them. “We didn’t do it on purpose! It was an accident!”