God of Fury (Legacy of Gods, #5)

by Rina Kent

To the ones who scream in silence

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

“There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you, eighty-nine.”

“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.”

People should be thankful I wear pants. Fucking prude society could use a chill pill. I have a beautiful body and I would rather show it off instead of keeping it tucked away.

I’m usually hella proud of Kolya’s size and porn star-level performance, but today is not it.

“Oh no.” I glare down at my pants. “Fuck no, you fucking fuck.”

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.

“Fuck you right the fuck off, motherfucker,” I mutter.

“Niko, please tell me you weren’t talking to invisible people just now.” “Of course not. I was having a very frustrating conversation with my dick.” “That’s even worse.”

On a scale of straighter-than-straight Jer to fluid-as-lube Kill to confused-as-shit Gareth, I wonder where Brandon King falls. Not that I’m tempted to find out. That would be crazy. * * * Just kidding. I am crazy.

Nikolai isn’t only a hurdle. He’s a fucking wall that I can’t seem to shove out of the way. He doesn’t notice the clusterfuck he’s brought on with his mere presence and stands there grinning like an idiot.

“Oh cool, you remember! Nice to officially meet you, Brandon. Or, hold on! I actually found you a perfect nickname. Lotus flower. You know, because you managed to bloom so beautifully while surrounded by the muddy swamp that is Landon. Isn’t that so fucking poetic?”

“Let go,” I mutter from between clenched teeth. “But why?” He appears genuinely puzzled. “You’re the one who offered to shake hands. I forgive you for pretending not to remember my unforgettable presence.” “You need to check your ego.” He looks down at himself and then smirks. “Perfectly awesome, thanks for asking.”

“You’re wasting your time. I’m straight.” “That’s the third time you’ve told me that. Someone is trying to prove a point.” He slaps my shoulder. “But, hey, whatever lets you sleep at night, lotus flower.”

Who the fuck are you, Clara, and what’s your favorite way to die?

He’s straight. Insert rolling of eyes here.

I have to physically force myself to turn away, because if I don’t, I might go over there and punch Clara. Or accidentally kill her. And we don’t want a dead bimbo on our hands. Besides, I might have a more adequate plan for Clara. Prince Charming better watch his fucking back.

So I realized that I need to chill the fuck out. Brandon who? The guy who will take my cock between his lips and thank me for it, that’s who. No. Jesus Christ. Chill, Kolya. Just chill for one fucking second, dude. Though it’s impossible to convince him of that when I’ve been spiraling for over twenty-four hours. Ever since I saw that atrocious scene with Clara.

Fuck that right the fuck off.

So I might have been messaging Brandon on IG. You know, because I’m a goddamn pest like that. He didn’t answer them. For three days. My text were along the lines of: It’s me ;) Nikolai, in case the handle didn’t give me away. Wanna hang out? Like friends? Ok, that was a lie. Being friends wouldn’t work since you’re such a delight to be around. All standoffish and grumpy and shit. The exact opposite of fun. We could have a drink? *GIF of a bored kid tapping the table* We can do this all day, Prince Charming. Love talking to your inbox. What a fucking thrill. Why do you always use the same hashtag? Is there a meaning behind that? Why do you play lacrosse? Can you send me your playlists that you listen to all the time? Not really into rock, but I love discovering new music. Also, isn’t rock too extreme for your prim-and-proper image? Not that I’m judging. I actually dig the contradiction. Kinda makes it fun to try and figure you out. Why did you want to become an artist? Aren’t you too uptight to be into something that requires people to let go of their creativity? Or are you different when painting? Please tell me you do that half naked. It’s blasphemous to hide beautiful bodies, you know. Want to exchange numbers? Here’s mine XXXXXXXX. Hello, lotus flower’s inbox, lovely to see you again this evening. You looked hot today. Not that I’m hitting on you or anything since you’re sooo straight. Let’s consider this my hopeless one-sided crush on a straight guy. You don’t have to ...

Killian’s lying in his bed like a Sleeping Beauty, sans the beauty, and his new girlfriend, Glyn, and Gareth are by his side. But that’s not what makes me stop. It’s Glyn’s beautiful specimen of an older brother. Also known as the asshole Brandon. In my house. I walk inside, deliberately slowly, keeping my attention on him. For a second, his eyes widen, as if he didn’t want to see me in my own fucking place. Happy to crush your hopes, lotus flower.

His expression doesn’t change, imitating a perfect robot, but then he lifts his hand to the back of his neck and pulls. Hard. As if he has a beef with his own hair.

her gaze falling on Killian, who’s slumbering away without a worry in the world. Thank you for your services, cousin. If it weren’t for him, Glyn’s brother wouldn’t be here. Maybe Kill should get hurt more in the future, work on strengthening his immune system and shit.

“If you wanted to see me, you should’ve told me and I would’ve given you a tour.” “Get over yourself.” He’s looking ahead like a fucking robot. “I’m here for my sister and her boyfriend.” “Tomayto, tomahto. Wanna have that tour anyway?” “No.” “How about dinner?” “No.” “A drink?” “No.” “Do you have another word in your monosyllabic asshole vocabulary tonight?” “No,” he says, almost on autopilot, and I jump in front of him.

He steps back faster than I can blink. Even though he’s a couple of inches shorter, he manages to look down on me with that condescension he wears like armor. “Are you allergic to shirts or something? Why are you always half naked?” “Because I look fucking awesome and it’s a pity to hide it. Also, does this mean you were checking me out?” “Nonsense. It’s impossible to miss your constant state of nudity.” “Constant state of nudity. Jesus. Chill, my dude. You sound like a judge in court.”

“Listen to me, you thick fucker. I’ve been tolerating your nonsense for far too long, but enough is enough. You’re not my peer, friend, or anything in between. So crawl back into your hole and stop being in my fucking space or I will crush you.” “Talk dirty to me, baby.”

Lan strolls in, completely unruffled, comfortable in his own skin. Despite him being a bastard with not a humane bone in his body, a distant sense of comfort washes over me whenever we’re in the same room. The sad truth is that seeing Lan’s face is the only way I can see my face looking peaceful.

“What are you doing here?” He pushes his cousin in front of him. “Nikolai was bored, so I took him out for a stroll.” “Eat shit, motherfucker. I’m not a dog. Also, he was the one who was so bored that he started vandalizing shit,” Nikolai says, then speaks to Glyn, “I was dragged out against my will because he refuses to admit he misses you.” “Semantics,” Killian says.

He is crazy. And yet as I stand here, the only feeling that goes through me is resounding relief. He didn’t leave. He came back.

This is definitely not what it looks like. I didn’t hang out around the area of the pub, chain-smoking and contemplating how to pick a fight and punch some motherfuckers. Okay, I did. But the next part is definitely not what it looks like. 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.

Anyway, this bunch of assholes ended up being victims of my sour mood because they happened to be here. Not because I followed Brandon like a creepy stalker or anything equally stupid. Okay, maybe I did, but it was only for two blocks. Maybe three. Fine. Five. But none of that matters. The fact that I get to decorate my hand with their deplorable blood does. Fucker who caught Brandon by the shirt is now spluttering blood on the ground, half conscious, while I humble his friends.

I’m so over him and his perfectly pressed pants, tucked-in shirts, and leather shoes. I’m over the way he looks to be in control but still appears hopelessly clueless at times. Like right now.

I see him, and I’m burning. The harder I’ve tried to stay away, the wilder my obsession with him has grown. I just can’t fucking help it.

“Might want to stop staring or I’ll think you have a crush on me or something equally crazy.”

Something pulls on my T-shirt and I frown. If one of those sorry fucks came back for round two… My thoughts trail off when I see two long fingers curled in the material so firmly, it stretches beneath the pressure. I stare up at Brandon, and the way he looks at me does shit I definitely do not approve of. He’s like a kicked fucking puppy, which is miles apart from his usual condescending asshole image. “Thank you,” he whispers softly, almost airily.

“Just tell me…did you have a thing with Annika?” “What the fuck? She’s like a fetus.” I narrow my eyes. “Why are you asking? You better not involve her in your stupid games or I’ll personally help Jeremy annihilate you.” My blood roars at the mere thought of that. I still haven’t even forgotten about Clara, and now he wants Annika. Nah, hell no. Fuck that. I’ll strangle the fuck out of him. “No, no,” he says in a bit of a rush. “She’s too young and I don’t… I don’t like anyone who’s barely legal.” His eyes shine brightly and I get closer, trying to read him. “You know I’m going to be twenty soon, right?” That smile nearly makes another breakthrough and I catch myself sucking in my breath to see it, but he suppresses it in a typical asshole move. “You’re still way younger than me.” “Way? It’s only three years.” “And a half.” “And a half. Jesus. We’re still in the same damn generation. You need to chill for a bit, my dude.” He frowns, his lips pushing forward—fucking adorable. “I’m not your dude.”

“Do you prefer lotus flower? My dude? Oh, Prince Charming?” “None,” he says slowly, his eyes light and hooded as he stares up at me. “Oh, right.” I stand toe-to-toe with him and line my lips with the shell of his ear. “You like being called baby.”

Fucking fucker of all motherfucking fucks.

He can surround himself with walls and I’ll demolish them one at a time.

Am I too obsessed? I don’t think I am. This is pretty much a good amount, in my humble opinion.

“Shush, Jer. I’m concentrating.” “You wouldn’t do that even if you were paid.” “I would, too,” I say, and he raises a brow. “Fine, I wouldn’t. This is different.” “How different, because I’m about to punch some Karens.” “Different enough that even I won’t punch anyone.” “Damn. Who are you and what have you done to my friend?” I snicker. “Just stay there as my backup.” “Backup?” “If anyone asks, you brought me here, not the other way around. Can’t look too fucking desperate.” “Who would ask? And why are you desperate?” He tilts his head to the side, studying me closely. “You’re never desperate. You get laid more than the three of us combined.” “Used to, Jer. Used to. Kolya is playing the grouchy dick role to perfection. He must’ve caught the disease from a certain uptight presence.” He grimaces. “I still can’t believe you named your dick Kolya. Seriously, Uncle Kolya is Dad’s right arm. That’s gross.” “Don’t care. Ask him to change his name.” “Pretty sure it should be the other way around since you’re younger.” He shakes his head. “Are you going to tell me why we’re watching fucking lacrosse? It’s boring.” “I know, right? Why do you think he’s doing it?” A woman with a wrinkled upper lip glares back at us with that patronizing look Brits have when they don’t want to speak their displeasure. I learned it from lotus flower since he flashes me that all the time. “Want a picture, ma’am?” I ask and she gasps in pure horror, then turns back to her kid, who’s smiling at me. I wink...

“Have you heard a word I’ve said? I want nothing to do with you, damn it.” “Say that again and mean it.” My mouth gets so close to his, I can smell the notes of musk and mint rushing from his lips in fractured breaths. “Unless…you can’t?” He glares down at me, and there’s so much heat beneath that coral blue of his eyes, but he doesn’t push me. Not even once.

“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,”

“You taste like my new favorite addiction, baby.”

This was supposed to be a little game, but I don’t think I’m playing anymore. The worst part is that I feel like I’m already losing.

“We’re done.” She storms back inside, but she’s pulled out again by a handful of her hair and tossed aside like a sack of potatoes. My brother glares down his nose at her. “You heard him. He said you’re done, so take the hint and escort your cheap presence off our property.” My oldest cousin, Eli, who followed Lan—probably after they were plotting some chaos in my brother’s room—looks her up and down. “Pretty sure I’ve seen you before, but where?” “I’ve been literally coming here for the past two years!” she screams, her high-pitched voice grating on my last nerve. “Oh, right! You’re the help!” “I’m not!” He looks at Lan. “She’s not?” “Of course not.” My brother makes a mock gasp. “The help has more grace than this cheap rug.” “Okay, that’s enough,” I say, exasperated. “Just leave, Clara.” “I don’t agree with the breakup. We’re still together.” She cowers under my brother’s and cousin’s menacing attention. “I’ll text you later, babe.” “Don’t call me that,” I mutter, a migraine starting at the back of my head. “What?” she asks, seeming lost. “Don’t call me babe. I’m not your babe,” I say, clearer this time, and her eyes widen. She starts to say something else, but Lan stands in front of me and pushes her away as if she’s a prop. “Off you go. Don’t show your face around my brother again or I’ll cut it to pieces.” I want to reprimand him, but I’m glad his words finally propel her to move. She quickens her steps down the hall, tension rolling off her in waves. “I’ll let you kn...

“Congrats on kicking the bitch to the curb. For the love of Satan, don’t get back together with her. She’s not for you.”

“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?” “Maybe that’s why I didn’t,” I mutter. “I’m just going to sleep.” “Hell no. We need to get you drunk to celebrate.” He clears his throat. “Rems!! Get the pints out!” A few things are knocked over down the hall before a door is flung open and Remi peeks out, a Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face. “Did someone say pints?” “Yeah, as much as you can find.” Eli squeezes me. “We’re giving Bran a Congrats for Dodging the Help’s Bullet party.” “No clue what that is, but I’m in!” He jumps to the opposite room, wearing nothing but boxers, and kicks Creigh’s door open. “Wake up, spawn! We have a partaayyy.”

I never gave two flying fucks about Clara. Zilch. Nada. What’s driving me to the edge of myself isn’t her. It’s her touching Nikolai. It’s not about her. It’s about him. Bloody fucking hell.