God of Wrath (Legacy of Gods, #3)

by Rina Kent

Red Mask’s fingers circle a baseball bat that’s resting nonchalantly on his shoulder. Green Mask is holding a bow and has arrows with rubber points in a quiver that’s slung over his back. White Mask strokes a huge chain that’s draped around his hands like a snake. Orange Mask’s gloved hand rests on top of a metal golf club that’s propped on the ground. Yellow Mask has no weapon at all, but his fists are balled.

“Fuck me first,” I whisper, my voice so low that I barely hear it. His entire being pauses, like when I slapped his hand earlier. “Fuck you first?” he repeats slowly, almost as if he’s tasting the words on his tongue. I nod. He releases my hair, hand snaking down to the pulse point in my throat, leaving shivers in its wake before he cups a breast through my shirt. His touch is savage, almost punishing as he digs his fingers into the skin. “Why?” It takes everything in me to remain collected despite the throbbing and the dull ache in the sensitive flesh of my breast. “I don’t want to die a virgin.”

A part of me thought Orange Mask would follow me to finish what he started. He’d trap me against the nearest wall and tell me in that deep voice of his that running away was only the beginning, not the end.

“So this is how good girls like you get off. Does being used in the middle of the night like a worthless fuckable hole turn you on, Lisichka?”

That dull, maybe not so dull, person has gotten herself the worst type of attention. Mine.

I planned to end the night as usual—watch from afar and gather clues, but then she stuck earbuds in her ears and some assholes thought it was a good idea to follow her. Only I am allowed to do that.

But what I hate the most is wondering about why he left and never came back. It’s not that I want him back.

Yes you do you hoe🫶🏻

“No wonder you like to be chased when you touch yourself this gently. How about I show you how it’s properly done, Lisichka?”

“You look so innocent, but that head of yours is a fucked-up place, Lisichka. My fucked-up place.”

There’s something about corrupting a good girl, delving beneath her skin and ripping out her deepest, darkest parts. I want to cut it open with my knife and flounder in its blood. I want her blood. Calm the fuck down.

“Because your darkness calls to mine. I want to unleash that repressed part of you and toy with it, with you, like when I smeared your innocence all over my cock. I want to own you, Cecily, every part of you, what you show and what you hide beneath self-imposed shackles. I won’t stop until you’re fully, thoroughly, and undeniably mine.”

My beast demands that I strip her bare, let her run, then fuck her. It doesn’t matter that I have her every night and more than once. The moment I’m done, I want more. There’s this constant need to be inside her and never allow her out of my sight.

“I’m not your property, Jeremy. I’m a person.” “My person,” he nearly growls the words. “Next time you let anyone touch you, I’ll fuck you in their blood and make you come all over their corpse.”

“You don’t seem to understand this, so let me clarify it for you. Any dick that comes near you will be cut off and you’ll bathe in its blood. I might have given you space, but I still own your ass. And cunt. And mouth. Everything about you belongs to me. You belong to me. But if you’re in the mood to test that, by all means, do. I will maim as many motherfuckers in front of you as you wish until you have your fill.”

Though I do stalk her, as she likes to call it, that’s not enough. Nothing is enough when it comes to Cecily fucking Knight.

There’s no way I’ll ever let Cecily go. No matter what she does, no matter what my demons say. No matter how the fuck it goes from then on. I’ll simply abduct her, keep her, and make her a part of me so that she’s unable to leave.

because I was a rigid dick who only ever saw the world in black and white. Cecily is neither. She’s the gray. She’s the colors. She’s every rainbow I never thought to stop and watch.

Fuck. She feels so good. Better than good. She feels custom-made for me.

“I’m not a nice man, Cecily. I won’t pretend otherwise, or I’d be doing you and myself a disservice. What I am, however, is someone who’ll slaughter your demons one by one until you’re finally free of them. I’ll touch your scars until you normalize them and can live with them, because they’re part of what makes you who you are.”

“What if…what if…we’d never met?” “We would’ve sooner or later.” “How do you know?” “You were always meant to be mine, Cecily.”

Cecily stares at me with an expression of both pleading and simmering anger. I resist the urge to stroke the freckles beneath her eyes. The one hundred fifty-three of them. And yes, I counted them.

Omg🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

We can’t be full of love and understanding all our lives.” “Cecily told me that. She also told me not to blame Mom, because if she’d had the choice, she wouldn’t have become a ghost. And she loved us enough to fight her demons and return to us.” Huh. I think I like this girl.

“You’re the fire to my icy heart, and while I loathed that at the beginning, I soon came to the realization that I can’t survive without that fire. My feelings for you are nowhere near conventional. They’re neither proportional nor measurable, and that heart you melted and the emotions you provoked belong to you. I’d rather be smashed and broken to pieces with you than be whole without you. I’d rather remain a beast for you than become a man who has to survive without you.”