God of Fury (Legacy of Gods, #5)

by Rina Kent

I’ve just never been good with choices. Don’t appreciate them. Don’t care for them. Would rather not be presented with one.

Don’t get me wrong. I get along with almost everyone and I’m often described as extremely polite and a good sport, but my close friends are only a few. The only reason we’re tight is because we grew up together and I spent several years familiarizing myself with their personalities. Maybe my inability to form close connections after my childhood is due to being completely detached from most people’s source of happiness. A glaring example is my complete bafflement at these people’s sense of a thrill. They talk about the Heathens as if they’re the personification of everything they aspire to be.

Yellow Mask can only be Nikolai Sokolov. Another Russian mafia prince, Killian and Gareth’s cousin, and the craziest twat who ever walked the earth.

Nikolai looked at me with a manic expression while wearing my brother’s blood on his bandaged hands.

I had this inherent need to get the hell out of there. And I did—after dragging my brother along, of course.

I’ve never gotten that feeling from someone younger than me, and Nikolai is way younger. Nineteen, I think. A kid right out of second...

A door beside the big gate opens, and about a dozen or less people exit. I contemplate joining them and putting an end to this madness, but I’d never, in good conscience, abandon my brother. Never.

Yellow Mask clenches and unclenches his fists at a rhythmic pace as if he’s performing a ritual. That guy needs to be locked up instead of being allowed to be part of this nonsensical initiation.

bros already a little too obsessed

deep, rumbling voice whispers in my ear, “Why aren’t you running?”

I stare up, my eyes clashing with the yellow-stitch mask that’s marred with splashes of dark red. Blood. It’s everywhere—clinging to his mask, staining his dark shirt, forming rivulets on his neck, covering the tattoos on the backs of his hands like gloves, and sticking to strands of his jet-black hair that falls in waves to his shoulder blades.

What’s worse is that I can’t breathe.

I’ve never been good with direct confrontations and prefer not to engage in them. Besides, if what I’ve heard of his infamous reputation is true, I could never take on Nikolai Sokolov, even if I were reincarnated a few times in the spirit of a warrior. He’s notorious for his savage behavior, unhinged tendencies, and penchant for breathing violence instead of oxygen. The evidence is splattered in red all over his person. Definitely the last person I’d want to get in a disagreement with.

real (also they’ll defiantly bring taking each other on 😉)

Although he’s crouching, his height and broadness are unmistakable. At six-foot-three, I’m not short by any stretch of the imagination, but Nikolai has an inch or two on me, and he’s ridiculously pumped with more muscles than anyone needs. But then again, he seems like the archetype of a sadist who gets off on inflicting pain. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case right now.

The flood of violence that he exuded in threatening waves a few seconds ago has been replaced by something a lot more morbid. Amusement. No, curiosity? Interest?

His finger falls from the mask, but before I can release a breath, he suddenly wraps his hand around my nape, nea...

moment his rough skin touches mine, a flood of what I assume is nausea threatens to spill from my gut. Only, it’s not nausea. It’s— Nikolai barks out laughter that echoes around us in a swell of burgundy and hot red-orange. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you, eighty-nine.”

AHH

“The answer is yes, preppy boy. I should know who you are, shouldn’t I?” A wave of rage tightens my muscles and I let it wash over me as I fall into it. Rage is better than nausea.

But you don’t. Without your papa’s last name, you’re nothing.

“You’ll get used to it.”

AHH

Get used to what? Is this freak high or something? I wouldn’t be surprised if he snorted coke like a nineties rock star and smoked more weed than Bob Marley’s fan club before this damned initiation.

lmao😭

An appreciative hum falls from somewhere in his throat. “Bossy. I like it. But you know what I like more? Your posh little accent. Question. Does it sound the same when you say crude things?”

DAMN

“Why?” He strokes his fingers near my hairline and that wave of something that’s not nausea courses through my veins in flashes of bright yellow. “I rather like it here.”

“I don’t.” I tighten my muscles against the morbid unease flooding my bloodstream. “You disgust me.” “Yeah?” His eyes, the color of midnight-blue sky, twinkle with pure sadism as he leans closer and murmurs, “Even better.”

glance behind me and my eyes clash with Nikolai’s darker ones. They’re more unhinged than a witch during a pagan funeral, bloodshot and filled with a promise of drawing blood. My blood.

“Look, I caught a stray cat.” Nikolai’s rough voice sounds like the trigger for nightmares. “He just wouldn’t stop running, you know, and has a temper. Threw a whole fucking branch at my face and nearly knocked me out. Gotta love the motherfucking feisty ones. They’re so fun to break into pieces.”

heavy weight lands on my back, and I flinch as a strong arm wraps around my neck and nearly crushes my windpipe. I can’t breathe. I can’t⁠— Survival instinct kicks in and I elbow Nikolai with every ounce of energy I have left. He might as well be a wall because not only does he not release me, but he also tightens his grip.

Nikolai slams another hand on my mouth, digging the mask against my lips. “Shhh. I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up.”

My words come in mumbled, haunted sounds, like in those creepy horror movies where the nerd dies first. That’s me. I’m the nerd.

A massive weight slams against my back, and Nikolai is on top of me like a brick wall.

“A fucking fighter. Jackpot.” His voice echoes like the dark ink from my fucked-up nightmares. “Fight me more. Do it harder. Stronger. Faster. I want the fight!”

“No fight?” He sounds disappointed. “Fine, guess you can’t if you’re being choked. If I release you, will you behave?” My short nails scratch the long sleeves of his shirt, and he hums. “Though I’m fine with the status quo. I rather like this position.”

the lack of oxygen. His chest covers my back and his knee is jammed between my thighs. His entire weight spreads over me and he’s so damn heavy.

“Anyone ever tell you how fucking hot you feel when struggling for control? I could swallow you alive and leave no crumbs.”

The last sentence is whispered against my earlobe and I nearly retch. Out of my skin. Out of my fucked-up brain. I don’t know where I get the strength, but I elbow him and crawl from beneath him faster than he can blink.

My eyes widen behind the mask. “Are you the one who sent me the invitation?” “And you didn’t disappoint. Brother love for the win.”

My grip doesn’t loosen on his collar. I don’t care if he’s crazy or downright insane. If he messes with my loved ones, I’ll be his worst enemy.

“Why? What will happen if you repeat yourself? I’m kinda curious, and by kinda, I mean I have to know. Now.” “You—” I cut myself off because his mask scrapes against mine. His breath bathes the plastic and my lips. “Hmm? What? What am I?” he asks with an edge of lunacy, like a child ghost in a haunted castle who keeps repeating himself in a distorted voice.

“Back off.” “Ah, fuck. I want to defrost that layer of control you’re wrapped in and see what lurks inside the preppy boy.”

You have issues. Lots of them. You don’t want to be a disappointment.

“What you gonna do with that? Punch me? Just so you know, you might get disgusting blood on your pretty hands.”

“No? Bummer.” As fast as they sparkled, his eyes become muted again, turning into two orbs of black. Black on black. Black on⁠— I briefly close my eyes to chase away the clouded thoughts. When I open them, I catch a glimpse of Nikolai stalking into

Nikolai grabs me by the wrist and hauls me over so fast, I land on him, my chest crashing against his and our masks bumping. The assault on my senses is much more prominent this time as that stupid glint rushes to his previously muted eyes. “Well, hello there. Lovely of you to finally join the party.”

Brutish hands land on my hips and I stifle whatever noise that’s trying to escape. A curse. It was definitely another curse.

And it doesn’t matter that I actually don’t curse. Nikolai drags me down and my arse meets a hard surface. His thighs. What the⁠— Panic dashes in my veins and I start to get up, but he pushes with enough force to knock my bones against his.

“Stay fucking still unless you’re in the mood to take care of the bon...

I try again, needing to escape the wanker. But before I can move, he wraps his arm around my waist and spreads his palm over my stomach. “Someone has nice abs.”

“Stop touching me and throwing out sexual innuendos,” I hiss under my breath, sinking my fingers into his arm and pushing. “I’m straight and have no interest in your weird nonsense.”

straight my ass

The situation I’m in registers quickly and heat rushes to my head. I’m sitting on a random guy’s lap. Me. Brandon fucking King.

release a puff of air, but it gets stuck in my throat when Nikolai strokes his hand on my stomach. It’s over my shirt, but it’s like he’s scratching at the surface of my skin, nearly peeling it off the muscles. A burn erupts at the pit of my belly and rushes to the rest of my limbs.

“Such a responsible brother. First, you came here because I made up a story about Landon, and now, you’re worried about your sister. We have something in common. I like it.”