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

Now, I can see how Eli and Creighton became who they are. It’s a given with a father like this man.

He appears elegant and has the poshest British accent, but deep down, he’s cutthroat and utterly scary. A little like my father and all the other members of the Bratva.

Only, he isn’t a mafia man, which makes his personality downright scary.

“You have the nerve to show your face here after what you’ve done?”

I shake my head, try but fail to keep my posture upright. “He stabbed my brother and I thought he was going to kill him, so I…couldn’t… I just couldn’t watch without doing something.”

“All I hear are excuses.” He glares down his nose at me. “You could’ve done any number of things instead of shooting, such as physically stopping him or asking Landon and Remington, who were both present, to subdue him, but you chose to take away his life. You chose the easiest and bloodiest option.”

“No…” My lips tremble and moisture stings my eyes. “I didn’t have time. Jeremy could’ve died.”

“And what’s so important about your brother? Does his life have more value than my son’s?”

“I didn’t say that…”

“You obviously thought it when you pulled that trigger.” His voice becomes blank, so emotionless that I shudder. “Is it not enough that your parents traumatized him as a child? Are you picking up where they left off and ending the life he fought so hard for?”

“Please…stop…” My voice chokes. “Please…”

“Why should I? So you’ll feel better about what you’ve done? So you’ll get rid of the guilt and live your life as if my son never existed?”

I release a long breath and let my lips pull in a bitter smile. “I could never feel better about all of this or forget Creighton. You might not believe this, but that bullet killed a part of me as well. The part who thought Creighton was meant for me and that we were destined to be together. I learned the hard way that he isn’t, and I haven’t been able to live with myself since.”

He narrows his eyes, watching me closely as if he’s peeling off my skin and inspecting what lurks beneath it.

Determining if what I’m saying is the truth or just a mash of half-truths and well-crafted lies.

When he speaks, the timbre of his voice has turned eerily calm, the deceptive, haunting type. “Know this, Annika. If my son dies, I’ll haunt the fuck out of you and your family.”

A chill splashes down my spine, but it’s not due to his words.

It’s because of the shadow that appears behind Aiden and clicks a gun to the back of his head.

“Step the fuck away from my daughter before I spill your brains on the floor.”

Aiden’s posture and expression remain the same, absolutely unfazed by the threat Papa not-so-subtly poses.

As if that’s not enough, he turns around, letting Papa hold the gun to his forehead. “Go ahead, shoot. This is the only chance you’ll have to get me in a position like this. Use it well.”

Shit.

Shit.

Is he crazy? How can he provoke my father like that when he’s holding a literal gun to his head?

He must know the type of man Papa is. He must’ve heard about it if he’s already aware of his implication in Creighton’s life, so why the hell isn’t he backing off as any sane person would?

Is he that fearless?

Because I have no doubt that Papa would pull the trigger and make good on his promise.

Before he can actually do that, I jump to his side, “Papa, no.”

My father’s face could compete with a statue—cold and unmoving. This is the type of person he turns into when he feels any of us is in danger.

When the great Adrian Volkov personally steps in and chooses to inflict violence.

“This man thinks it’s a good idea to threaten my daughter and I’m here to prove him wrong. Step back, Anoushka.”

“No! He’s in pain because his son is hurt.” I touch his arm, grabbing onto it for dear life. “Papa, please. Take it as if I’m begging you.”

I think he’ll shoot him anyway since he doesn’t take anyone threatening his family lightly.

He takes it seriously, mercilessly, and remorselessly.

But after a beat, he lets his hand with the gun drop to his side. However, instead of tucking away his weapon, he leaves it there, as a form of both intimidation and threat.

Both men stare at each other, or more like glare, in a war of unbound power.

“Talk to my daughter in that manner again and you’ll disappear as if you never existed.”

“Papa!” I shake my head at him. “I’m the one in the wrong, I’m the one who did this.”

“If there’s anyone who started this, it’s me,” he speaks to Aiden. “I killed Creighton’s father because he dared to touch my wife. I slaughtered him like a pig while he wailed and begged. I stabbed that scum and watched as blood poured out of his orifices, then I did it again and again, long after his body turned lifeless. And I would do it again in a heartbeat, with more stabs this time to make his face unrecognizable. I would bring him out of the grave he’s rotting in and display his head on a stick so the world would realize that my wife and my children are off-fucking-limits. I never wished for things to come this far, but I will not, under any fucking circumstances, apologize for protecting my family.”