God of Ruin (Legacy of Gods, #4)

by Rina Kent

He says he’ll ruin me. Little does he know that ruination goes both ways.

All my plans come to a halt when my gaze clashes with dark-blue eyes. Familiar eyes. The eyes of my enemy and the target of my revenge. Landon fucking King.

I’m standing in front of none other than the Landon King. A charming god, a genius sculptor, and, most importantly, an insufferable bastard.

One distinctive feature gives him away. The eyes. They’re a dark, shiny blue, like an ocean that’s twinkling under the silver moonlight. Deep, mysterious, and…deadly.

I’m ninety percent sure he’s emotionally checked out and has no link whatsoever with the human side of himself. And while I don’t give two fucks about his relationship with his feelings, it makes it tricky to deal with him.

My cousin Killian is in the same category and possesses the emotional IQ of a goldfish, but at least he likes me,

Some monsters get off on your reaction to pain more than the fact that they’re inflicting it, so never put yourself in a position where you’re someone’s source of entertainment.

Landon is a tall man, at least six-foot-four, with a lean, muscled body and a perfectly straight posture. To make things worse, those superior physical traits are topped by his natural charisma.

His face is logically gorgeous, model-like in its symmetry. He has a high, straight nose, defined cheekbones, and a jaw so sharp, it could cut through stone.

I chance one last look behind me just to see the asshole looking like a fool, but he’s already removed the mask and his eyes meet mine. A wide grin lifts his lips, looking even more terrifying when he’s covered in all the blood. He does the universal ‘I’m watching you’ sign, and I don’t know why I run the fastest I ever have.

“So you’re telling me you and Lotus…” he trails off and clears his throat. “And Brandon are friends.”

his lotus flowerrrrrrr 🪷❤️❤️❤️💛💛💛

type and show him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did we meet? When? In your dreams, maybe?” “My dreams?” “Wow. I was really in your dreams? I know I’m pretty, but you can stop drooling.” His lips twitch. “Someone is certainly drooling here, but it’s not me. And no, we didn’t meet in my dreams. I’d have to give a fuck about you to allow you access to my subconscious, and I’m not known to do that.

One difference, though—her eyes. They tell a different story from her posture. The muted blue is worlds apart from mine, nearly explosive in its color. Fierce, too, like a volcano that’s buried in the depths of the ocean. While it might remain dormant for years, it’ll bring on a deadly tsunami the moment it erupts. Or maybe they’re the color of deep-blue wildflowers. Crushed by harsh nature but defiant. Proud and pretty yet temporary.

A goth Barbie without the pretentious makeup.

A height that can comfortably fit in a casket. Crikey. I’ve done it again. Imagining people dead. If I get to witness her funeral, I vote for her eyes to be kept open. So what if it creeps everyone else out? As long as I get to enjoy it, the world can piss off.

“I gather from your expression that you’re not happy about the sharp turn of events. I’ll find the capacity to empathize when I find some fucks to give.”

“I’m curious.” She types, “About how to be a better person? I can help with pointers.” “Don’t be ridiculous. No one is curious about something that dull, and you’re far from being the person to provide any pointers.”

“Better close your windows at night. You never know what might crawl through them.”

“Unless she’s a lesbian, I’m everyone’s type.”

“Surprised I speak ASL?” He grins. “I figured it’d be better than scribbling on your phone whenever you’re about to burst with curses. Now, I understand all the curses, not just the fuck-you ones.”

He releases me, then removes the hoodie and his sunglasses. I often forget how illegally attractive he is, even in casual wear. He has a regal presence. Toned body, broad shoulders, lean waist, and the right height. Everything is perfection—from his tousled hair to the slight stubble on his strong jaw. Even his only imperfection, the mole on the corner of his right eye, adds more to his penetrating charm. An illusionary charm that he wears like a permanent mask.

As much as I hate the asshole, he is illegally good-looking and has the charisma of a model in anything he wears. Even earlier in a hoodie and sunglasses, many stared at him, whispering to each other as if he were a celebrity. Of course, the bastard basked in every second of the attention he got, despite trying not to get on my brother's and cousins’ radar.

“Can’t you tell me to walk without touching me?” “But you feel so perfect in my hand. It’s a waste not to touch you.”

I’ve never cared for the smell of cigarettes or smokers in general, but Landon makes it look hotter than it should be. It’s the blasé attitude and the confidence of a god that drips from his every movement.

nikolai_sokolov: The scary guy in the pic who looks ready to snap some necks is me. Think about that before touching my baby sisters.

“You really shouldn’t have caught my interest. Now, I’ll have to swallow you alive, little muse.”

“Not interested in you? On what planet have you been living, Cecily? The guy stalks you like a creep and actually smiles while he does it—honest to fucking God thought he didn’t know how. He’s also developed some bizarre fetish about removing anyone who poses an obstacle to you. That teacher who was giving preferential treatment to his friend’s kid? Jeremy was the reason he asked to transfer. Those American football players who stole and slashed your textbooks? Jeremy eliminated them. Those guys at the club who danced with you? Jeremy beat them the fuck up and put one in a coma. Oh, and news fucking flash, he tortured Jonah to near death by waterboarding him and threatened to kill his parents, brothers, sisters, and everyone he cared about. Then he proceeded to tell his family about all the scandals he could get them into by airing some of their dirty laundry. That’s the only reason Jonah turned himself in. He still gets beaten up in prison every day because Jeremy and his whole fucked-up entourage have the ability to pay off people who can do it. Inside England’s prisons, which should be far away from their territory, but isn’t. You still think that’s not called interest?”

“Go to hell, you fucking bastard.” “Only if you come along. I’d appreciate the company.”

while I love my Mercedes SUV, it doesn’t compare to the power of a sports McLaren.

“You won’t touch anyone but me.” Not a question, but a demand. And yet he answers, “I won’t.” Simply. Without any of his infuriating conditions, bets, or ultimatums. “You won’t touch anyone but me either, or we’ll have a very serious, very bloody problem.” “Stop being so psychotic.” “Stop being so cute.”

Mia speaks two words in her sleep and I’m ready to impregnate her with my fucking child so she’ll have no way out.

Someone stole not only her voice—her beautiful, melodic voice—but also her peace of mind. Someone who took the major risk of attacking a mafia princess, not caring about the consequences, is of a different caliber.

I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing. For the first time in my life, I’m prioritizing someone else over my own schemes.

I’m going to kill this bastard. How dare he look at Bran—my fucking twin brother—like he’s his next bitch? My. Fucking. Brother. The Landon King’s identical twin.

“This is your first and last warning. Keep your fucking eyes off my brother or I will claw them the fuck out.”

“Fuck you.” “Fortunately, you’re not my type.” Your sister is.

“Go,” he whispers with that smirk still in place. “Run, muse. Try to hide. If you let me catch you again, I’ll fuck up your barely put-together life.”

Killian, who just finished kissing Glyn—or more like eating her face in front of her brother—releases

I didn’t realize how much I missed her until I listened to the recording of her voice on a loop. And I didn’t know I was capable of missing someone.

Jeremy, the waste of space bulk of a man, tightens his grip on Cecily and sharpens his entire body for an attack. In fact, all of them do, including my own siblings. They don’t have a loyal bone in their bodies. The only one who’s subtle about their need to maim me is Killian, but he does hold Glyn close, as if he needs to protect her from me—her own flesh and blood.

I don’t manage to take my second step before Nikolai slams his fist square into my beautiful face.

“He’s not worth it, Niko.” That’s what she signs—with a straight face, I might add. Did she just say I’m not worth it? Me? Landon fucking King?

Killian subtly pulls Glyn from the middle of the action so that she’s once again in his overrated protective cocoon.

“You fucking—” He pushes into me and I’m about to let him pummel me to the ground for Mia’s difficult sake, but Bran moves in front of me and takes the punch. My brother staggers back and falls against my chest.

I’ve become categorically obsessed with Mia Sokolov. My mind has filtered the whole world out and all I see is her defiant face. In every corner. On every statue. Every-fucking-where. And now that I’ve seen her again, the last thing I want to do is leave.

“Kill is different.” “In what sense? You’ve managed to understand him because he’s similar to me, so why, suddenly, is he the love of your life while I’m the forever devil?” “Because you’ve never made an effort to love us, Lan!” she screams. “I know you’re wired differently and no one can change your nature. I understand that. What I don’t understand is why you expect us to behave according to the lines you trace, and when we act out, you squash us until we fall back to where you want us to be. You protect us because of your sense of possessiveness and the fact that we make you look good. Bran and I protected you just now because, despite everything, you’re our brother and we care about you. We don’t calculate in our relationship with you and we certainly don’t use you just because we’re bored. All we want is for you to make an effort and stop following your narcissistic instincts when dealing with your own brother and sister.”

“Bran feels too much and I feel too little, which is why we balance each other out.”

Kayden removes his jacket, revealing a muscular build that doesn’t fit a stereotypical professor. He sits opposite me, wearing an easy but entirely disingenuous expression.

“You’d be surprised,” Kayden deadpans. “How close are you with this cousin of yours?” “Very. We were brought up together, so he’s like a brother.” “I see.” For a fraction of a second, I think I see a smirk, but I must be imagining things since it quickly disappears.

If you’re mine, that’s what you’ll always be. Fucking. Mine.”