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

Hopelessly pathetic.

I’ve gone out of my way to warn her about Landon ever since we were in secondary school. But the chances of her actually listening are slim to zero.

Due to the fact that I only speak when it’s absolutely necessary and after I allow my brain to mull over my words, I notice things. Patterns, lingering gazes, and unresolved obsessions.

It’s how I knew Glyn was into Killian long before he staked a public claim on her. Hell, long before she admitted it to herself.

Despite her reserved nature, Cecily actually yearns for Ava’s openness and what Glyn has with the Heathens’ psychopath.

She just went the wrong way about it. She still is.

In spite of my warnings.

Cecily is one of the purest souls to ever exist with enough heart to fit the globe. When we were young, she defended me every time someone made fun of me. Not that I cared, but I won’t forget how she told me ‘I’ll protect you, Creigh. That’s what friends are for.’

I tried to protect her, too, from the monster on my right, to no avail.

This is why I make it my mission not to get involved in anything that doesn’t concern me. People call it heartless; I call it preserving my time.

“See.” Landon grins at his brother. “I have a friend, so I’m staying for Cecily’s beautiful eyes.”

She blushes. I fix her with my signature blank look and she lowers her head.

“If you’re not leaving, I will,” the nicer of the twins says.

“Bran, don’t.” Glyn leaves her plate and goes to her brother’s side, then strokes his arm. “Come on, it’s so rare for us to get together.”

“You heard our little princess.” Landon pats his sister’s head.

She makes a face at him and he grins back.

Bran is half convinced but keeps throwing daggers at a terribly amused Lan.

The more they show disgust or any sort of hostility, the more he enjoys tormenting the hell out of them. Just because he can.

Chaos ensues, more talking, more dramatics, more fucking noise.

My gaze fixates on the reason behind my sour mood and the darkness that’s been slowly but surely occupying my every waking and sleeping moment.

Annika nibbles on some chips as she sits elegantly on the sofa, both legs bent to the side. She’s wearing a fluffy pajama set that has a cat on it.

Her hair is gathered in a ponytail with a matching purple band.

A ponytail that I’ve been imagining all the ways I can grab onto it as I throw her down on the nearest surface and mark that flawless skin with red welts. They’d look striking against her dewy pale skin.

She’d look at me with that tangible fear and maybe tears.

She’d be so scared, she’d cry and beg me to stop, but I’d do everything except for stopping.

I’ve had these depraved fantasies for the opposite sex ever since I hit puberty, but they were never about a specific woman.

Any female would do as long as she was ready to take the lash of my whips and submit to my chains.

This is the first time I’ve had a face for all those fantasies. And a body I’ve imagined in all positions as my cock pounded and pounded, and fucking pounded until she screamed.

Annika isn’t supposed to be the face of my twisted fantasies. I meant it when I tried to scare her away.

She’s an innocent girl who’s not fit for my taste of fucked up.

But then she had the fucking audacity to say that she’ll take a boyfriend. A fake one—not that it mattered—and will be playing Hollywood with him in front of her brother.

And the little fucking minx also dared to exclude me from her unorthodox arrangement.

She was the one who roamed around me with the perseverance of a bee for weeks on end, suffocating me with her violet scent and blinding me with all the purple. And now, she pretends I’m not even on the menu?

Not on my watch.

And yes, the change of attitude might have started when I imagined another man touching her and my vision became red. The need for violence scratched and clawed at the surface of my sanity, demanding retribution. And no, it didn’t matter that the ones I would’ve been committing murder against were Remi and Bran.

As if feeling my gaze on her, Annika lifts her head and her glittering blue-gray eyes clash with mine. They’re so innocent, so full of life, and it shouldn’t be right that I want to fill them with tears. Pleasure tears. Fear tears. I don’t give a fuck at this point.

Her pouty lips fall open, probably at seeing whatever emotion slipped to my face, and it takes all my control not to stuff them with my fingers and watch as they quiver.

She swiftly cuts off eye contact and takes over Glyn’s mediating position in the never-ending cat and mouse game Remi, Ava, and Cecily like to play.

“Come on, spawn, help me with these crazy cougars,” Remi calls for me for the thousandth time tonight.

I ignore him. Again.

“I swear on my lordship’s name that I’m revoking parental rights. Go look for someone else to translate your thoughts without you having to speak.”

“Hmph. I can do that just fine.” Cecily lifts her nose into the air. “Creigh and I volunteer at the same shelter and I always talk to the other staff on his behalf.”

What started as a decision on the spur of the moment has become part of my schedule now.

At first, I only went to that shelter to learn more about the doll-like girl who’s actually a mafia princess but has not one criminal trait in her bones.