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

Every time I’ve tried to push him out of my head, he barges into my subconscious with the persistent lethality of poison.

Which is why I hope now is one of those moments where I’m being paranoid for no reason. That I just need to take a pill and go to sleep.

But when I turn around, my eyes clash with those monstrous ones. He’s standing beside a man who’s about his height, has thick dark brows, and is wearing a closed-off expression, as if he’s offended with the world itself.

It must be Jeremy.

Despite his infamous reputation of maiming people for sport, it’s not him that I can’t stop staring at.

It’s the arsehole by his side in his black shirt and black trousers and trainers. He’s dressed so casually but still reeks of corruption, like a power-hungry politician or a bloodthirsty warlord.

He still looks tenfold worse than his charming appearance.

Or maybe it’s because, unlike all the people present, I’m well aware of what this devil is capable of.

I automatically take a step back and his lips tilt in a small smirk.

That’s the thing.

The freaking psycho enjoys driving me to the edge.

Hell, he gets off on it.

“Oh, hi, Jer,” Annika stumbles over her words. “I didn’t really mean to come here. I was just taking a tour with my new friends.”

“Taking a tour in a place you’re not supposed to be?” Jeremy speaks with effortless power, accentuated by a raised brow.

“I was just—”

“Leaving,” he finishes for her. “Now.”

“Hey.” Cecily steps in front of her. “She can decide whether to leave or stay on her own because oh, I think we’re at an age where women don’t get told what to do.”

Jeremy stares down at her blankly, as if he’s contemplating whether or not he should crush her with a hand or two.

I love Cecily’s bravery—I do—but some people are just not worth risking your life to oppose. Jeremy is at the top of that list.

Annika seems to know that, too, because she subtly pushes Cecily away. “It’s okay. I’ll go back.”

My friend, who obviously has multiple death wishes, shoos her with a hand. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to, really.” Annika shakes her head and whispers, “It’s not worth it.”

“Walk in front of me, Anoushka.”

Annika bows her head and murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

Then she follows her brother’s command. They’re not two steps away before Cecily fumes, “That bloody misogynistic pig is simply not going to dictate Anni’s life.”

And then my crazy friend follows them.

“I swear to fuck, she’s suicidal,” Ava whispers, then yells, “Wait for me, Ces!”

No, no…

I don’t spare a glance at who I’m left with and attempt to follow after them—girls standing up for girls and all that. Truth is, I’d rather face Jeremy than his psychotic friend.

My head crashes into a wall of muscles and I step backward in shock.

A hand wraps around my elbow, seemingly gentle yet anything but. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I try to pull my elbow free, but he only tightens his hold as a warning.

My gaze strays sideways, hoping to catch the attention of someone familiar, but all the faces have turned blurry, featureless, even.

“It’s useless to find refuge in anyone but me, baby.”

“Screw you. I’m not your baby.”

His free hand reaches out for me and I freeze, thinking he’ll choke me again.

Images of him sneaking into my nightmare, strangling me, then doing unspeakable things to me come crashing down. I don’t want to think about my state when I woke up or where my hand was.

It’s like the time I stroked my neck as I stared at that damn painting I somehow couldn’t vandalize.

However, his fingers seep into my hair gently, lovingly. “Did I mention that your fight is adorable? The way your beautiful eyes war with both fear and determination is a turn-on. I wonder if this is the look I’ll see when you’re writhing underneath me as I stuff your cunt with my cock.”

My lips tremble. I’m still not used to the way he speaks so dirty so casually, but I say, “The only thing you’ll see is your blood as I stab you to death.”

“I don’t mind. Red happens to be my favorite color.” He tips his chin at the red patterns on my shirt. “Your style is cute.”

I don’t want to be cute to this bastard. I don’t want to be anything to him, because his attention?

It’s suffocating.

The only thing I breathe, see, or feel is him. The intoxicating scent, the intimidating physique, and the haunting presence.

“I’ve been thinking,” he muses, still stroking his fingers in my hair with no warmth whatsoever. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’ve been thinking about?”

“Not interested.”

“See, that’s where you do things wrong, Glyndon. If you continue antagonizing me for sport, you’ll only get yourself cut.” His tone holds no threat, not an obvious one, anyway. “As I was saying, I’ve been thinking about the best way to have your lips around my cock again. Are you game?”

“To bite your dick off for real this time? Sure.”