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

“More like a little rabbit. She runs fast.” Instead of mockery, there’s a hint of…pride in his tone. But before I can comment on that, he slides his palm from my elbow so he can wrap it around my waist. Possessively. “The door is to your left, and so are the dicks you can suck.”

“You’re still mad about that? We weren’t exclusive, Killer.”

“I’d have to care to be mad.”

Cherry waltzes in our direction until she’s glued to Killian’s other side. “Do you honestly think you’ll be able to replace me with this…boring lamb? She’s looks as ordinary as a grandma from fairy tales and doesn’t have what it takes to keep your mind and body stimulated. She’ll never understand you like I do, give you the thrill that I do. So don’t waste your precious time on some neurotypical human who’s not worthy of your attention. And you”—she directs her malicious glare at me—“stop running after him. You’re not on his level.”

“Who told you I’m the one running after him?” I’m surprised my voice remains calm. “In fact, he’s the one bugging me, even though I’ve told him countless times to leave me alone.” I dig my elbow into his side and try to pull away from him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, this neurotypical human is leaving.”

Hot breaths tickle my ear and send shivers through my body. I stiffen as Killian whispers, “If you leave, I’ll fuck her.”

“I don’t care! You can go to hell and it would mean shit to me,” I all but yell, then with superhuman strength—that’s probably a result of the adrenaline—I push him away and storm in the direction of the house.

My fingers twitch and I rub my hand against my shorts as I barge into the hall.

I pause when I find two of the neon purge masks inside.

Green Mask stands by the corner, watching the scene outside, apparently. The yellow mask, however, sits on a sofa with a participant on his lap.

No kidding. The one with the number eighty-nine is using Yellow Mask as a chair.

Judging by his form, he’s most definitely a man and…he looks a bit familiar. I try to meet his eyes, but he lowers his head, remaining still.

Yellow Mask—who’s been watching him the whole time—jerks his attention to me. I swallow a scream at the sight of blood on his mask and his hands that he’s using to grab eighty-nine’s waist.

“Lost?”

I startle at the sound coming from behind me and stare back to find Green Mask staring down at me.

“Uh, yeah. Can you tell me where the exit is?”

“Follow me.”

He walks in front and I hesitate for a beat, but at the yellow mask’s glare, I slowly follow the green one.

The Heathens are a complete freak show and no one will be able to convince me otherwise. A shiver slashes through me at the thought of what they might do in the dark.

As I leave the hall, I can’t help feeling bad for eighty-nine. He’ll be okay, right?

Maybe that’s what Devlin felt at the hands of these guys before he decided to drive straight off that cliff.

He’s not antagonistic, and if they made him indulge in violence or mind games, it might have shattered him.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

I jerk out of my thoughts to focus on Green Mask who’s leading me down a barely lit hallway with gothic-like red wallpaper.

For some reason, I’m waiting for a creepy hand to shoot out and drag me into one of the rooms, horror film style.

Green Mask is tall but lean, and he has a calming presence, definitely not threatening like the yellow one.

“Why not?” I ask.

“You were eliminated and this place is exclusive to members.”

Eighty-nine is a member? It can’t be. The yellow mask looked like he could’ve easily eliminated him.

“I didn’t know that and I just want to leave now,” I say, hoping he’ll drop it.

I’m trying, and probably failing, to not think about the scene I left behind.

Green Mask stops near a closet, opens it, then looks at my wrist. I remain still as he rummages through it, then produces my phone. It’s wrapped in a plastic bag with the number ‘69’ on it.

“Thanks,” I murmur, tucking it in my pocket.

Green Mask only nods, then continues his silent march. We arrive at the double doors that lead to a patio with stairs. A short distance away sits a black gate—smaller than the front one, probably a back entrance.

He stops in front of me and slowly removes his mask, letting it fall around his neck.

The man behind it is none other than Gareth.

As in, Killian’s older brother Gareth.

Where Killian has dark hair, expression, and everything, Gareth is more blond, with light green eyes and a less sharp presence.

There are still a few traits that makes him look like Killian’s sibling. Only, he seems more trustworthy—probably due to his calm appearance.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“You should stay away from Kill. He’s bad news.”

“So everyone keeps telling me, but he’s the one who won’t leave me alone.”

His expression softens and he releases a long sigh. “Then my condolences.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants, and what he wants isn’t often known.”