God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2) by Rina Kent

“Uh, yeah. What’s up?”

“Don’t tell your papa what you just told me or he’ll be upset.”

“I will be upset about what?”

Mom’s face brightens with a wide grin as he comes up behind her, leans down, and kisses the top of her head.

Swoon.

I want a man like Papa. Yeah. He’s mean to everyone and you really don’t want to meet him in a dark alley—or even in broad daylight—but he’s always treated Mom like a queen.

The mecca of his world.

The person who makes his darkness go away.

He strokes her cheek. “I’ve been looking for you, Lenochka.”

“I was only gone for half an hour.”

“Still too much time.”

“Uh, hello? I’m right here, you guys. Thanks for noticing.”

Papa finally looks at the phone Mom is holding and smiles. Or as much as it could be called a smile for a badass mafia leader.

Don’t care what anyone says. Those suckers in the New York Bratva would all be done for if it weren’t for Papa’s strategic brain.

“Anoushka, isn’t it late there?”

“No, and you’re not dismissing me for alone time with Mom, Papa. Seriously, I’m wounded.”

“You’re being dramatic. You’ve been talking to her for half an hour.”

“But, Papa!”

“Night, Anoushka. We love you.”

He takes the phone from Mom’s hand and she laughs, then squeals as the line is cut off.

Great. Now, I know what my parents are doing for the night.

I flop against my bed and stare at the glittering purple objects hanging from the ceiling.

My mind fills with all sorts of thoughts. The first is that I need to find a way out of my fate.

Okay, maybe that’s not the first thing, because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Creighton’s words from yesterday.

Violent tendencies.

Deviant tastes.

I can still feel his deep voice against my ear and the furious shiver that overtook me right afterward.

That was definitely not what I expected someone like Creighton to say. He could’ve been lying, but he doesn’t have a reason to.

Besides, he’s direct to a fault.

I was so stunned that I only snapped out of it after he took the lunch I made and strolled out of the gazebo.

In truth, I’m still stunned.

That was obviously his warning to make me stay away, so why the hell am I even more intrigued with him now?

Just what does a twenty-year-old consider deviant and twisted?

I guess there’s only one way to find out.





4





CREIGHTON





There’s no such thing as being too young to remember.

I was three years old when my life was turned upside down. Blood splattered, monsters’ fangs showed, and I was caught between them, having the sole destiny to be crushed to death.

I was three years old, and I still remember every vicious word, every hateful stare and can still hear the gurgle of life leaving a body. I still have nightmares about a body hanging from the ceiling and looking at me with unblinking, bulging eyes.

I haven’t been the same since.

Yes, I was adopted by a loving yet unconventional family and have the best parents alive, but that never managed to make me forget the past.

Thing is, some images just can’t be erased.

Some images bleed into my subconscious and devour me from the inside out. Every night.

Every day.

Every second.

It’s not just a distant memory; it’s part of who I am.

I’ve ignored it all my life, tried to cope with it, to come to terms with the past, and to blend myself into my current life.

I’ve truly tried. My honest attempts have included doing everything by the book, following the therapist's coping mechanisms, and learning to lead a normal life.

But I’m not normal.

And coping is never enough. And neither is convincing myself that time will make it better.

Seventeen years later and the images are still as vivid as back then, with their gruesome details and those bulging fucking eyes.

I learned to stop asking my parents about the past—not only do they avoid the subject like the plague, but Mum also gets this sad look in her eyes. The one where it feels as if I’m ripping her chest open and punching her fragile heart.

Luckily, I’m old enough now to pull the strings on my own.

Even if it means abandoning everything I’ve known for the seventeen years since the massacre.

That’s what I’ve always called it in my head, even though only two people died. Make that three—including the three-year-old version of me.

He suffered the most, despite the fact that death chose to exempt him.

The time has come to finally do something about those hideous memories.

In the past, I couldn’t be proactive due to living under my parents’ roof and being under their constant scrutiny.

However, I’m at university now and I have enough freedom to seek the truth. The only barrier is the personification of my parents’ hawk eyes—my annoying older brother, Eli.

As circumstances would have it, I know exactly the information to feed him so he’ll remain preoccupied and leave me the fuck alone.

Because something changed recently.

I got a piece of information that flipped my perspective upside down.