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

As soon as they’re gone, Gareth pushes away from me as if I were the plague.

“Go easy on the disgust level, big bro. It makes you look weak.”

He flips me off and stalks back to his room.

I head to mine and check my phone. Countless unread texts and booty calls sit in my notifications. A few from annoying clingy pests who don’t know how to simply pick up their dignity and back off.

My feet come to a halt in the middle of the room as I scroll to the photos from tonight.

Plural.

The first was from afar when I first saw Glyndon with Annika and her friends. I watched her for exactly fifteen minutes before I told Jeremy about his sister’s presence and got my opening to approach her.

In the pictures I’ve taken, Glyndon is either listening or laughing about something they said. She’s not the talker in that group—or in her family—and it shows.

The other pictures were with the fireflies. I zoom in on her face, then trail my finger down to where her hand is clenched on her shorts.

I can almost smell raspberries and paint as I trace the contours of her cheeks, neck, lips.

My thumb taps on her face and I can finally see what Devlin loved about her, what he struggled with for her.

How he floundered and cried and begged on his fucking knees for her.

Still, he didn’t fuck her.

She didn’t want to, is what she said.

Motherfucker got friend-zoned to death. Literally.

I’d feel sorry for him if I knew how. But since I don’t, I’m completely fine with finishing what he couldn’t.





12





GLYNDON





“Where the hell have you been?”

I fidget at the entrance to the en-suite flat that I share with Cecily, Ava—and more recently, Annika.

She was supposed to stay in a secured solitary dorm that her family arranged for her, but since the three of us like her and we have a spare room, we invited her to stay with us. Apparently, her brother was against it, but she once again got approval directly from her father—with her mother’s help.

The other day, we talked to her mother over a video call and she was the sweetest, most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. Okay, maybe top five with Mum, Aunt Elsa, and my grandma.

Anyway, Annika’s mother didn’t look the part of being married into the mafia at all. But then again, Anni doesn’t look the part of a mafia princess either, so maybe it’s hereditary.

Our flat is cozy, with a spacious living area, four bedrooms, and a kitchen with black countertops.

The source of the question that was asked as soon as I walked in was Ava. She’s dressed in fluffy pajamas and a robe with black and pink feathers. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and a white mask covers her face.

Cecily peeks out from her room, black-framed glasses covering half her face, and she’s wearing a hoodie that says When I’m dead, bury me facedown so the world can kiss my ass. “You’re finally back. We were worried sick about you.”

I let my hand fall to my side and I rub my palm on my shorts. How am I supposed to tell them where I’ve been?

Well, guys, I’ve been kind of kidnapped by what I’m sure is a serial killer in the making, but I forgot about that as we sat and watched fireflies.

Oh, and he made me orgasm while speeding, in his damn car, and I liked it.

That sounds fucked up even in my head.

“I went for a ride to clear my mind,” I tell the girls, hoping they’ll buy it.

Ava narrows her eyes behind the mask and weighs me up and down. “Then why do you look all flushed and shit?”

“I took the stairs. You know, exercise.”

“Right.”

“Where’s Anni?” I attempt. “Is she okay?”

“She said she’s practicing, and you’re not changing the subject, Glyn,” Ava hikes a hand on her hip. “I’m waiting for a proper answer instead of some excuses.”

I chew on my bottom lip, then release it. Jeez. Even Cecily is watching me like a stern teacher which doesn’t mesh up with the pink bandana—definitely a gift from Ava—that holds her silver hair.

“I was really on a ride.” No lie there, so I definitely sound convincing.

“Really?” Ava circles me with the expression of a mama bear.

I nod, a bit too quickly.

“How could you leave right when Lan’s fight started? We almost crushed those King’s U wankers, but Nikolai won at the last second.” She sounds dejected like some fanatic fan.

I don’t say anything, because I simply couldn’t care less whether Lan lost or won. If I’d been there, I wouldn’t have stuck around for the fight anyway.

Seeing my brother in action is too nauseating for me to handle. I’m a coward like that.

“Even Bran came,” Ava continues. “Let me tell you, the crowd went wild. This year’s championship will draw a fortune in bets. I’m totally trying my hand at this one.”

“Wait. Go back.” My throat dries. “Bran came to the fighting ring?”

“Yeah.”

“While Lan was fighting?”

“Yup. He left during, though.”

My heart lunges at the thought of Bran witnessing all that violence—from Lan, no less.

I might not like violence, but Bran is downright squeamish about it.