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

My lips purse, but I nod.

“I need you to promise me that you won’t seek him out. In return, I’ll let you study ballet, give you the freedom you’ve always yearned for, and I will fight the entire brotherhood so you won’t be shoved into an arranged marriage.”

I can’t believe my ears.

That’s what I always wanted from my family—freedom to decide my own destiny.

I just never thought I would get them at this price.

“Promise me, Anoushka.”

“I promise,” I murmur.

Deep inside, I pray.

I promise to let everything between me and Creighton come to an end, but only if he wakes up.

Only if I’m sure he’s all right.

After that, I don’t care about my life.

“Good.” Papa nods. “Now, let’s go home. Your mother is worried about you.”

I nod soundlessly. There are no other words spoken as we board the private jet.

It’s not out of awkwardness or anything. Papa isn’t talkative by nature, and he’s probably giving me the space he thinks I need.

He and Kolya sit opposite me, discussing business.

A tear rolls down my cheek when I catch my very last glimpse of the island.

I’ve only been here for a few months, but I had friends, a nail-biting experience, and a man who gave me the world.

Right before I ruined everything.

Maybe it’s better that I leave, after all.

This island might have made me feel alive for the first time since I was born, but it also ripped my heart to shreds.

Papa’s and Kolya’s voices filter in the background as I force myself to drift to sleep.

As soon as we land, I’m ready to go home and cry into Mom’s chest. I’m ready to let her console me, even if I blame her and Papa a little for this.

I don’t blame Papa for protecting her, but maybe I blame them for giving birth to me, for letting me be in this world where the only person I wanted with my heart and soul is impossible to have.

And is fighting for his life because of me.

Once we’re in the car, I check my messages and choke on my sobs when I read a text I got while I was on the flight.

Remington: I thought you should know that Creighton woke up. He’s disoriented, but the doctors said he’ll get better with time :)





32





CREIGHTON





It’s been two weeks since I woke up from the coma.

The first week was spent in the hospital and passed in a blur of tests, rehab, and a lot of fucking noise.

It was filled with pitiful looks from the friends I grew up with all my life and with meaningless, needless sympathy.

There was a jumble of motion, words, and sensations. I barely remember anything aside from Mum’s tears and the innate need to put a stop to them.

She was both happy and sad, and I still have no clue why she was sad.

Was it the fact that I was hurt or did she see the look in my eyes?

Did she peek beneath the surface and uncover the façade I used as camouflage?

I didn’t get to ask that question after I was discharged a few days ago. My parents brought me home with them and I didn’t protest. At least this way, I can escape the faces dripping with pity.

I can stay away from their mine-filled conversations that always somehow lead back to how I got shot.

Or more like the person who shot me.

Her.

My nemesis and my damnation.

I’ve successfully avoided the subject by pretending to be tired or sleepy. A privilege I’ll soon lose since my wound is healing—the stitches have almost all dissolved into my skin, leaving a hole near my upper chest.

“A few centimeters to the right and the bullet would’ve gotten his heart,” is what I heard the doctor tell my father.

And I’m left here wondering why those centimeters didn’t happen.

I wanted to die.

I should’ve fucking died, so how come I’m still breathing?

That question has been living in my head rent-free ever since I woke up and I still can’t find an answer.

Which is why I’m ‘recuperating.’ Though I’m not sure that’s the right word with the world war atmosphere I find myself in.

As the rain hammers down outside, I sit in the playroom downstairs, my fingers patting a surprisingly docile Tiger. I brought him with me from the island, despite Brandon’s protests.

He FaceTimes me every day and I just show him the cat because that’s what he’s interested in.

It’s mind-boggling how Tiger remains soundlessly asleep in the current situation.

My grandparents from my mother's and father's sides have come to visit. At the same time.

And to make things worse, Grandpa Jonathan, Dad’s father, thought it was a marvelous idea to play a game of chess against Grandpa Ethan, Mum’s father.

They’re supposed to be friends, or were some sort of friends, but that’s not the current atmosphere. Probably because Grandpa Agnus, Grandpa Ethan’s husband, can’t and won’t stand Grandpa Jonathan. A known fact since I was a kid.

I sit across from them, sipping some herbal drink Mum gave me and choosing to be engrossed in the scene in front of me instead of getting lost in my fucked-up head.

Grandpa Jonathan pushes his rook a few rows forward. He’s an older version of Dad and Eli with his black hair that’s streaked with white and his merciless gray eyes. “You were never able to win against me, Ethan. Give it up.”