God of Malice (Legacy of Gods #1) by Rina Kent

I rub my hand on my shorts, then pause, recalling that I’m trying to get rid of the nasty habit. “I’m just…lost, I guess. Have you ever trusted someone and they murdered that trust?”

“Not really, but I might have to check the morgue for any traitors I may have forgotten existed.”

I snort. “Well, I did. And I know I should be angry, and I am, but I’m more heartbroken. I’m more…mad about being blindsided. See, I knew he wasn’t normal from the beginning, and Lan even gave me a way out, but I didn’t take it. I was headstrong and high on dopamine and the power of having my own choice, but it eventually hurt me, Grandpa. I eventually found out that Lan was right and he’s always right.” My voice chokes. “And now, I’m so broken that I don’t know which pieces to pick up. That is, if there are any pieces left.”

“Come here.” He gathers me in his arms, and this time, I let the tears cascade down my cheeks.

“It hurts, Grandpa.”

“Being stabbed in the back does that.” He strokes my hair. “But remember, Glyndon, they’re not the only ones who can do the stabbing.”

I pull back, sniffling. “W-what do you mean?”

“You’re a King. We don’t stay down to take the jab. We hit right back.”

“I can’t. He’s…much stronger.”

“No one is stronger than a King.” He fishes out his phone and enters a number, then puts it on speaker.

My eyes widen when I see Levi on the screen.

“Why are you calling my dad?” I whisper-yell.

Grandpa puts a finger to his lips as my father picks up, sounding groggy. “Uncle? Why are you calling this late? Are you dead?”

“Obviously not,” Grandpa says in his signature hard voice. I learned early on that it only ever softens around Grandma and me.

“Then call me back in the morning. And next time you’re having late evening episodes, call that fucker Aiden.”

“There’s an emergency about your daughter.”

My eyes widen and Dad pauses before he sobers up. “What happened? She was texting me just fine yesterday.”

“Someone broke her heart and we need to break his legs.”

“Grandpa!” I try to hang up, but he keeps the phone out of reach.

“I see.” Dad sounds contemplative.

“Be here in twenty minutes.”

“On my way. Let me scold the hell out of my boys first for failing to protect their sister.”

“Dad, don’t!”

“We’ll talk in a few, Glyn.” Beep. Beep. Beep.

I groan. “Grandpa, why did you do that?”

“You said you can’t hit this tool yourself, so we’ll happily do you the favor.”

It dawns on me then. Grandpa was trying to teach me a lesson, to tell me that I had to do this for it to work.

“If you hit him for me, I’ll always feel helpless.”

He raises a brow. “Maybe.”

“But if I do it myself, I’ll get closure.”

“Who knows?”

I reach out and kiss him. “Thanks, Grandpa! Can you have Moses drive me back to campus?”

“I’ll do you one better and send you on my private jet. That is, if you can handle flying?”

“No, no flying three times in two days. And can you please call Dad and tell him the plan is off?”

“Who said it’s off?” He smirks. “We can always hit him after you’re done with him. No one messes with a King and lives to talk about it.”





By the time I get to campus, I’m boiling with the destructive energy Grandpa has fueled me with.

Because he’s right.

Why should I be heartbroken, crying, and feeling miserable when the bastard doesn’t feel any of those emotions and never will?

The least I can do is hit him where it hurts to prove he has no hold on me.

And where it hurts is his mountain-sized ego. At first, I think of rubbing another man in his face, because I know how much he hates the mere thought of any man breathing near me.

But then I recall that he could and would kill them and I’m not ready to have that on my conscience. So the best way is to make him believe that without putting a specific person at risk.

After Moses, Grandpa’s trusted driver and bodyguard, drives me, I ask him if I can have a picture of me holding his hand on the armrest of the car and he says, “Whatever you need to get back at the loser.”

So I take the picture and upload it on Instagram with the caption:

I finally found my type. Older men, yum.

Before I can start backpedaling and thinking of the consequences, I hit Post.

Then I walk to my car in front of the dorm, slide inside, and drum my fingers against the steering wheel.

One minute passes.

My phone lights up with the thousandth call from Killian that I ignore like the rest.

So he switches to texts.

Who is that and does he know he’ll die as soon as I find you?

I know you’re provoking me on purpose and it’s fucking working. My promise to have you bounce on my cock in his blood is also still in working motion.

Delete that and talk to me before I start showing my devil side, Glyndon.

I told you that if you leave me on Read again, things will take a turn for the worse.