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

Her lips tremble, an ugly expression taking over her face. “Why her and not me? I came first, I had you first.”

“Beats me. Probably the face. Hers is better than yours, even when bruised. And the voice. Glyndon’s is the sweetest I’ve ever heard. You know what? Everything. She has the aura of a queen while you’ll always be a lowly peasant, Cherry. When I looked at you in the past, I used to feel indifference, but now, I have this urge to crush your fucking skull, so tell me what I want before I start acting on those feelings.”

It takes her a few moments of futile struggling before she lays the whole situation out. From how she got close to Gareth and connived to be accepted into the Heathens to how she helped her brother receive an invitation the second time around. Obviously, he’s the one who shot at me with that arrow, and she tried to stop him.

She also tells me about the threatening text messages he kept sending to Glyndon all this time to keep her on the edge.

Her word vomit goes on and on about how her brother used to control her and blah fucking blah.

Then she mentions the name that makes me see even more red than earlier. Devlin Starlight.

The supposedly dead Devlin. I knew that motherfucker wasn’t the type who would commit suicide. He had too much destructive energy to fit a self-harming concept such as finishing his life.

I’m not easily surprised—if ever—but I was when I heard the news of his death. Which is why I constantly visited that cliff just to see that death up close.

I met a fucking angel instead.

Now that I know of his actions, I assume that his plan all along was to get me interested in Glyndon. The way he talked about his ‘best friend' was filled with the right adjectives.

Innocent, sheltered, a princess.

Or the last thing he mentioned.

Sometimes she feels like someone who’s waiting to be ruined.

I’m going to fuck up his life, not only for thinking he could manipulate me but also for daring to put his filthy hands on what’s mine.





The plan is simple but brutal.

At nightfall, Jeremy, Nikolai, Gareth, and I put on our neon, stitched face masks with the added anti-gas option and sneak into the Serpents’ compound.

There’s a pest following us around wearing his gold mask, but I ignore him.

If it were months or even weeks ago, we wouldn’t dream of raiding their mansion. But Cherry played her part well, with some prodding from Gareth.

She’s trying to get on his good side so we won’t hand her back to her daddy on a silver platter. She’s a survivor through and through and isn’t above betraying her brother for it.

Needless to say, I made sure she was locked up with White as guard. She might be able to seduce any of our security guards, but never White. Once we’re done here, I’ll make sure her father’s men take her out of the mansion.

Have fun in rehab, bitch.

Now, it’s time to pay tribute to the other bitch, whose father’s men will escort him to his coffin.

The mansion they use as a base is similar to ours, only a bit more gothic and smaller, like their dicks.

And tonight happens to be the night they pick a leader—as Cherry told us. Gareth, Landon, and I watch the security monitor after Jeremy and Nikolai knock out the guards.

All five leaders of the Serpents wear skull masks similar to the one I found on Glyndon earlier. They’ve formed a circle on some satanic star and are murmuring like fucking witches.

“Which one’s Devlin?” Gareth asks.

“Their masks are similar, so I don’t know.” I shrug. “We’ll just have to take them all.”

“Yes, all.” Nikolai’s eyes gleam from behind his mask as he slaps his fist against his open palm. “I’ll fuck them all up.”

“All but Devlin,” I say. “His life is mine.”

“You mean mine,” Landon tells me and I flip him off.

“As much as I like that idea,” Jeremy intervenes, “that would be asking for war.”

I raise a brow. “Didn’t know war scared you.”

“Not in the least. But some of you might not be ready for it.”

“If you’re agree to this plan, raise your hand,” I say, then raise mine. Nikolai puts up both and Gareth follows. “Guess that concludes it.”

We leave Gareth in the control room for any unwanted intervention, and he keeps in communication with us through earpieces.

Then the four of us follow his instructions to reach their basement where they’re having their satanic rituals.

I pull up the plug on the metal canister and watch it roll toward them.

They all stare at it, then disperse in different directions when they figure out it’s tear gas.

One of them falls to the ground, coughing, removing his mask. Nikolai kicks him in the jaw, sending him flying. “Hi, guys, nice to see you again. I’ve missed bloodying your pussy-ass faces.”

He’s not Devlin.

Jeremy and Landon split up, catching the others, beating them up and taking off their masks, but there’s no sign of Devlin.

“Kill, behind you!” Gareth yells in my ear.

I swing around and raise my hand just in time for a baseball bat to fall on my arm.

A crack sounds in the air, crashing pain blinds my vision, and my arm falls limp.

Definitely broken.

The one wearing a skull gas mask laughs with the edge of a lunatic. “Hi there, Killian. You thought I wouldn’t anticipate this?”