God of Fury (Legacy of Gods, #5)

by Rina Kent

it’s impossible for me to understand some people due to how drastically different my personality is compared to the rest of my peers. 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.

“More like, I don’t appreciate being touched, especially if the hands are filthy.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

Also, it might have to do with how unbothered I am by any request. Once, a girl was like, “Choke me, Daddy,” and I nearly killed her. In my defense, she didn’t specify how hard I should choke her, so I went with the flow—the flow being maximum violence.

My dick doesn’t understand insults, since he has the moral compass of a used condom, and remains standing at attention like an eager kid in class.

I prefer queers who are comfortable in their own sexuality, like myself, thank you very much.

On a scale of straighter-than-straight Jer to fluid-as-lube Kill to confused-as-shit Gareth, I wonder where Brandon King falls.

I didn’t beat these people up because a cunt happened to grab Brandon by his shirt or attempt to punch him. Hurt him. Right in front of me. Yeah, so I did drive my fist in Brandon’s face the last time I saw him, but only I get to do that.

Lotus flower is such a cock-fucking-tease, but I’ll make him come around. Even if it’s the last thing I do. Am I too obsessed? I don’t think I am. This is pretty much a good amount, in my humble opinion. Now, I’ve never played this type of intense push-and-pull game before, but that’s what makes this a lot more thrilling.

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” he mutters, his throat working beneath my fingers. “Your nightmare.” “I hate you.” “I don’t.” “You’re fucking crazy.” “About you,” I whisper against his lips and claim them with a guttural moan.

“Off you go. Don’t show your face around my brother again or I’ll cut it to pieces.”

Eli, Lan, and even Creigh are firm believers of the King name supremacy and consider an offense against one of its members as a declaration of war. It’s not that I don’t share the sentiment. More like, I never felt worthy of the superior last name.

“Aww.” Eli wraps an arm around my other shoulder and squeezes me. “The help dared hurt my precious Bran? Why didn’t you mention that before so I could’ve gouged her eyes out and fed them to the dogs?”

“Since we’re done with that stupidity. It’s time for my condition.” He wraps his fingers around my neck. “Don’t run away from me again. If you do, I’ll flip the world upside down to find you. You’re mine now, baby.”

So why the fuck do I feel any other way about Bran? Maybe it’s the fact that you call him that and a few other nicknames, not to mention the fact that you got this fucking place just so he’d feel safe away from everyone else?

Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. Should I come to the morning run tomorrow or stop altogether? Why are you asking me about what you should do? Answer me. Do you want me there? Yes or no.

Yes.

By the way, I noticed you had no food in your place, so I ordered you some Italian pastries for breakfast. I grin. He loves me. I just know he does. Okay, he doesn’t, but he cares, and that’s a good start.

I enjoy every spark of pain, every push and fucking pull.

Whenever he touches me, kisses me, fucks me. I pretend my outer skin doesn’t exist. I’m not Brandon King. I’m not the broken entity who sees black ink instead of his reflection in the mirror. Not the weak man who’s more often than not swallowed by disgusting nausea and the terrifying notion of nothingness. I’m just me. His lotus flower. His Prince Charming. His baby.

His hands land on my hips, tugging me against him as he kisses me with the same ferocity, digging himself into that nook in my chest even I have no access to. But I don’t care. As long as I can feel his heartbeat thundering against my chest, as long as I can hear his growls of pleasure, as long as I can smell his intoxicating scent, I can flounder in self-hatred afterward. I can take on those vicious voices. I can pretend I’m not an entity of emptiness with no sense of identity whatsoever. I can take anything as long as I have him. Because Nikolai is the only one who kisses the pain out of me, even if temporarily.

“Mmm. Talk dirty to me.” “I need your cock inside me.” “More.” “I want you to pound me until I’m screaming.” “Fucking more.” “Fuck me until you fill me with your cum.” “Oh fuck. Where did you learn to talk like that?” “From you.”

“I love that I’m the only one who sees you like this, all hot and bothered and fucking mine.” I sink my fingers in his silky strands and tug his head back so that I’m looking down on him. “You’re mine, not the other way around.”

He doesn’t smile back as he fists my hair in a painful grip. “You belong to me, Nikolai. I do not share, are we clear?”

“By the way, I googled the meaning of Brandon, and it literally means prince or king. Don’t I get brownie points for calling you Prince Charming?” “More like stalkerish tendencies points. Who googles the meaning of other people’s names?” “I do because it’s you. I’m curious about everything that concerns you.”

“You’re mine, Brandon. Fucking mine. If you think there’s another option out there for you other than me, I have a news flash for you.” I bite the shell of his ear and he moans, the sound muffled by my hand. “You fucking don’t. Just know that I’ll slaughter anyone you let near you and fuck you in their blood.”

“Dad? Are you…okay with it?” “Your sexuality? Naturally. This guy, however, I’m not sure yet. What’s his name? Age? Parents’ names?” “Uh…so…remember Killian?” His lips part. “Please don’t tell me you’re with your sister’s boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend?” “What? No. Of course not, Dad.” “Ew, Levi.” Mum smacks his hand. “Fine, okay.” He releases a breath. “It can’t be worse than that.” “He’s his cousin.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Dad’s face literally pales and I kind of feel bad for him. He’s been dealing with Lan his whole life, then he had Kill, who’s also a diagnosed psychopath, and I don’t think he’s even processed that. “Please tell me he’s the levelheaded cousin who keeps him in check.” “To be honest, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Killian is definitely the one who keeps Nikolai in check.” “Fuck my life.” He exhales. “Astrid, Princess. I think I’m having a heart attack.”

Dear fucking God, I know you’re out there somewhere and I beg you, take this arsehole and give my son a normal lover. Just once, I want fucking normal. First I get a psycho son. Okay, fine. Love that. Best challenge of my life and pretty sure I passed it. I didn’t need to have my daughter with a psycho boyfriend. And now, it’s the psycho’s psycho fucking cousin. What the fuck have I done to deserve that? Was I a mass murderer in a past life or something?

Is he consoling him right now? Dear God, please blind my fucking eyes.

He’s in love with him. It’s not a crush, mere admiration, or a fling. My son is fully, truly, and irrevocably in love with the gangster. God rest my soul in fucking pieces.

Never giving that painting up. Will probably have to put a request in my will to bury it with me so that when I meet Satan, I can tell him all about my lotus flower.