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

I might get off on touch, but only on my terms and when I’m the one who controls every aspect of it.

And this asshole is digging his own grave.

I wonder if Aunt Rai will cry too hard if she loses her son in a mysterious disappearance incident.

The tricky thing is that she’s identical twins with my mother, and if she cries, Mom will definitely cry harder. At least Aunt Rai is part of the Russian mafia. Mom is a believer of everything sunshine and could—would—be hit harder by her nephew’s disappearance into nowhereland.

All in all, the whole ordeal isn’t worth letting my impulse loose.

Repress.

Repress.

Nikolai shakes my shoulder with the hand that’ll be in a cast if the motherfucker doesn’t read the atmosphere.

He’s about my age and has long dark hair that falls to his neck if it’s loose but is now held in a small ponytail. The whole look is finished with pierced ears—and dick—because he thought he suffered from trypophobia, and the genius figured the best way to get rid of that was to drill holes in his body.

Turns out, he doesn’t actually have it, and it was a phase. Like the tattoos, the hair, the style.

Sometimes, he goes all grunge, denim with jeans. Other times, he dresses in weird fashionable shit that gets him all the attention and more.

Mostly, he roams around half-naked—like tonight—allegedly allergic to shirts. His chest is a map of tattoos that could be spotted from Mars and frowned upon by aliens.

Still, his parents are leaders in the Russian mafia and he comes from a long legacy of the Bratva leaders. He’ll also assume a position there one day. So college is just a learning phase so that he knows the ropes of the business.

In fact, most students at The King’s U are associated with the mafia one way or another and our professors are close with the big guys.

“What’s the plan for tonight, Satan’s heir?” Nikolai blows smoke in the direction of a girl passing by and she gives a flirty look. “What will we do for the initiation?”

“Ask Jeremy.” I tilt my head in his direction. He’s lounging on a sofa, two girls fighting for his attention like vapid animals.

He doesn’t push them away, but he’s not focused on them either. He tilts his head on his closed fist, listening to Gareth speak about fuck knows what.

Probably something boring.

But Jeremy doesn’t appear bored—I’ll give him that. And that says something, considering he finds life more dull than I do.

“Let’s go!” Nikolai drags me to them, and this time, I wrench myself from his grip so hard, he nearly crashes to the ground.

My cousin doesn’t seem to care about that as he dives in between the two girls and they shriek with delight. Seeming to have realized Jeremy won’t be paying them any attention for the next century, they switch to Nikolai’s lap.

I stalk behind Gareth and lean over to whisper in his ear, “Hi, big bro. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re avoiding me.”

He stiffens, but his expression doesn’t change.

I guess living with me for nineteen years has taught him a thing or two. But I’m sure the two or so years he lived before I came along were probably the happiest of his entire life.

We might be siblings, but we couldn’t look any more different. He has lighter hair like our mom and his eyes are a carbon copy of Dad’s green ones.

Where I’m muscular, he’s leaner, built like your next door neighbor or the college professor girls—and boys—can’t stop simping for.

The good boy Gareth.

The golden member and the future of the Carson family Gareth.

Pathetic, neurotypical Gareth.

“You’d have to be important for me to go out of my way and try to avoid you,” he says low enough for me to hear, then turns to Jeremy. “As I was saying, if they start talking, you’ll be the first one to be roped into this.”

“Have you enjoyed your car’s new headlights enough?” I change the subject, then whisper, “Because they might disappear. With the whole car. While you sleep.”

“Cameras are your worst enemy, Kill,” he tells me with a masked smile.

“Maybe they can…” I make a ‘whoosh’ sound. “Vanish, too.”

“The files that are instantly uploaded to my cloud, that could accidentally find their way to Mom’s inbox, will not.”

“Oh no, Kill stole my toy, Mom,” I say, then drop the mocking tone. “What are you? Six years old?”

“Make it three years old, because those files might accidentally drop in Dad’s and Grandpa’s inboxes, too.”

“And you have it in your good little heart to shatter the image they formed about their exemplary Killian? You don’t want to lose sleep over it, do you? It’ll hurt at night.” I tap the side of his temple. “Over here. And we don’t want you to start beating yourself up over their mental state, now, do we?”

“Vandalize my car and we’ll see how far this will go.”

“Tell you what, big bro. How about I keep the vandalizing suggestion to myself for the time being? Now that I think about it, there are more critical parts than mere headlights that can be tampered with.”

He finally glares at me, his lips pursing, and I grin, slapping him on the shoulder. “Just kidding.” Then I whisper, “Or not. Don’t provoke me again.”