God of Wrath (Legacy of Gods, #3)

by Rina Kent

Moth To A Flame – The Weekend

I know because I counted. That’s what I do when my nerves are about to slice open my veins and spill my blood onto the ground. I count.

This place wasn’t designed with an escape route in mind. Once you’re in, you’re doomed. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

But I have a superpower. Invisibility.

The reason everyone wears a mask is because you are all the same in the eyes of the club’s founders. The price of becoming a Heathen is handing over your life. In a literal sense of the word.

The price of becoming a Heathen is handing over your life. In a literal sense of the word. If you aren’t willing to pay that, please exit through the small door to your left. Once you leave, you’ll lose any chance to join us again.”

“Congratulations again, ladies and gentlemen. We shall now begin our initiation.”

True power isn’t shouting or issuing orders. It isn’t flexing muscles or showcasing weapons. It’s standing with utter confidence, like these guys, and knowing precisely that they have everyone here by the throat.

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.

three losers idgaf

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.

nikojer im eating yall alive rn

They watch the scattering of participants without a change in demeanor. No reaction. Not even a flicker of excitement. These are people who were taught to always stay calm—to bide their time, wait for opportunities, and never show their eagerness.

IS VAUGHN A TWINK OMG

Five, who’s at the front, comes to a halt and the others follow suit, their fists clenched at their sides. Through the branches and leaves, I make out the dragging of a golf club on the ground before Orange Mask comes into view. Six goes to punch him, and Orange Mask not only ducks, but he also hits him across the face with the club.

His movements are sure, oozing with a frightening amount of control. And power. There’s so much power in every motion. Every action. Every sliver of a decision he makes.

Something tells me he chose to run after Seven for a reason, and curiosity gnaws at my insides to find out what that reason is.

How can they be so…monstrous at such a young age? But then again, they’ve probably been this way since they were born, considering the world they belong to.

I’ve never liked these types of people, those who hurt just because they have the power to. Those who ruin entire families just because they can. Morally corrupt people.

Orange Mask rises to his impressive height that nearly eats up the horizon, then slowly, too slowly, his head tilts in my direction. The neon stitches glow in the near darkness as eerie silence stakes its claim. My spine jerks when his rough, deep voice echoes in the air. “I know you’re hiding. Come out and I promise not to hurt you. Much.”

Come out and I promise not to hurt you. Much

“Come out while I’m giving you the chance. If I have to pull you out, the scene won’t look pretty.” It won’t look pretty either way, psycho.

The closer he comes, the faster I run and run, and run. But no matter how hard I do, I don’t lose him.

If I keep going like this, I’ll be no different from a mouse that’s being played with by a suburban cat.

“Is there a reason why you’re always hiding?” The ripple of his deep voice carries in the air and vibrates against my skin. It’s less robotic now, as if he’s deemed me worthy enough to be acquainted with the less apathetic version of him.

His voice makes me pause, though. I’m sure I’ve heard that commanding American accent before.

Or Jeremy Volkov. Please don’t let it be Jeremy. A sane person would wish for anyone aside from the psycho Killian Carson or the crazy Nikolai Sokolov, but in my eyes, Jeremy has always been the worst of the Heathens.

“Being accepted into the club can only be achieved through running, not hiding,” he continues in that less-robotic yet freezing-cold tone. I open my mouth, then slam it back shut. Blimey.

“Let’s see the face behind the mask.” He reaches his gloved hand in my direction, black and dark and straight out of my worst nightmares. “How did someone as incompetent as you get invited to the initiation⁠—”

He’s placed the length of the golf club against my trachea. He’s not pushing, but the threat that he can do so and choke me to death is there. His grip on my scalp is also merciless so my back is glued to the hardness of his chest.

“You’re nothing but a fragile little thing that I could and would smash with a snap of my fingers. You know that, I know that, and your few functioning brain cells should know that, too, if they don’t convince you to start telling me how the fuck you got here.”

I shake my head, for the first time tilting it back so that I’m staring straight at his eyes. That’s my second mistake for today—the first is being here. Orange Mask’s eyes are a manifestation of his thirst for violence.

You never know if there will be a downpour or a disastrous storm with these types of somber clouds. Though one thing’s for certain. It’s going to be dangerous. Better take shelter and hide until they pass. But how does one hide from eyes such as these? Eyes so dark they’re almost black. Eyes so lifeless, one would think they’re dead. Or maybe whoever is staring at them is supposed to be dead.

But how does one hide from eyes such as these? Eyes so dark they’re almost black. Eyes so lifeless, one would think they’re dead. Or maybe whoever i...

“Is this what you want?” He strangles me with the club. “Do it properly if that’s the case.”

You can’t hurt me. Much.

“I see.” His gravelly voice assaults my ear. “You think I’ll stop after some breath play and a warning. That I’ll hit you, knock you out like I did the others, and continue on my path to torture some other poor soul. You feel slightly bad for them, but at the same time, you’re glad it’s not you, right?”

“I would’ve done that. I should’ve done that.” He tugs on my hair, making me wince. “But you had the audacity to get on my nerves, so now I’m tempted to just…steal your last breath.”

youre dragging it im bored

“Though we do have that rule about not killing anyone during the initiation…intentionally.”

“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.”

WHY WOULD SHE SAY THAT LMFAOAOAOAOAOAOOO

“I don’t fuck virgins. They aren’t a good fuck. No offense.”

same old same old like shut up

Then he releases my breast, but only so he can reach beneath my shirt, shove the top of my bra down, and pinch my nipple. The leather of the glove is so harsh that I whimper, but he takes that as an invitation and rolls it between his gloved fingers in a disturbing, calm rhythm, then squeezes brutally.

The only exception is him. The one I’m doing a favor for and because of whom I’m in this predicament. Being groped and touched by a stranger in a mask after I brazenly told him to fuck me and freely divulged that I’m a virgin, when everyone has thought I wasn’t since secondary school.

“I asked a question. Where’s your answer?” I glare at him and his eyes light up again. “Stop looking at me like that, or I might fuck you, after all, just to see those eyes fill with tears.” Sick bastard.

Most importantly, why are my thighs clenching, throbbing, and demanding I go back to that merciless stranger?

wow bruh wow

yeah i believe this

I lift my other hand, wrap it around my throat, and squeeze. Like the length of the golf club that crushed my trachea. I tighten my grip and hold, but no amount of pressure from my dainty fingers is enough to recreate the same feeling.

Landon You alive, love? My heart skips a beat and butterflies erupt in my stomach.

uh oh!

Sometimes, I forget how much of a genius Landon actually is. He’s attuned to every single detail and nothing escapes his notice.

for someone who’s been labeled a nerd, how are you this dumb omg 😭😭😭 rina kent please do not try and make cecily naive like the other girls shes too good for that

CECILY GET IT TOGETHER OMG NO

girl omfg