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

A guard stands in front of the door, burly and big, and all but blocks the entire entrance.

“Please go back to the main house, miss,” he says in a Russian accent, not bothering to even look at me.

If it were any other time, I’d tuck my tail between my legs and do as I’m told. It’s all part of my sheltered upbringing and the harsh world that my father and brother tried their hardest to keep me away from.

Avoiding conflict and living in my pretty purple-colored bubble isn’t only good for my sake but also for everyone else’s.

But something changed tonight.

It happened sometime between the time when I could no longer hear Jeremy’s voice and when he passed out and couldn’t save himself.

I realized that neither Jeremy nor Papa will always be there. The time has come for me to regain control over my own life.

Usually, I don’t glare at people. Hell, I don’t even know how, but I manage to as I speak in a nonnegotiable tone. “Move.”

“I have orders to not allow anyone inside, miss.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “You’ll have no orders to obey if I tell Papa you failed to protect Jeremy and me. We are your priority, not whatever invalid orders you’re trying to follow. So unless you want to be kicked out of Papa’s close circle, I suggest you move out of my way right this instant.”

This time, the guard stares down at me, brows lifted as if he’s seeing me for the first time. Then he steps aside with the sluggishness of an opening gate.

I storm inside and head to where the voices are coming from.

Yes, Jeremy has made sure to keep me away from his club and whatever nefarious activities he does in the dark, but that doesn’t mean I’m clueless about what’s going on.

Papa has always said that knowledge is power, so I made sure to accumulate as much of it as possible and tucked that information into neat boxes at the back of my head in case I needed it someday.

That day is now.

My ability to gain comes naturally. The guards like it when I treat them to meals the cook has made—not mine, since apparently no one likes my cooking. As a reward for treating them, they tell me things.

Gareth freely divulges some information, too, when I probe a little—the right amount of little that won’t trigger his suspicion.

So I know a lot more than the Heathens would let out.

I arrive at the half-open metal door at the end of the hall. Ordinarily, they’d close it to dispel any unwanted attention, but they must’ve been in a hurry this time.

My steps are inaudible as I push the door open and step inside.

The scene I find freezes me in place.

The room is stark white from the walls to the floor and to the shelves on either side. It’s almost blinding.

And those shelves? They’re full of all types of knives, metal objects, canes, and baseball bats. And those are just the ones I recognize. There are other different tools I can’t begin to name that shine with bad mojo and the promise of torture.

My gaze flits to the reason I defied all rules and reason and came here.

Creighton.

Thick rope straps him to a metal chair as he sits there, unconscious, his head lolled forward at an awkward angle.

Nikolai picks up what looks like a cane and glides his fingers over it. “I vote for caning him and paying tribute to his Middle Age ancestors.”

Killian presses on a Taser, creating a spark that echoes in the silence. “This will be more effective in making him talk.”

At that, Nikolai swings the cane in the air and it makes a whooshing sound before he slaps it on his hand. “This will leave a mark and that’s more important in teaching the motherfucker a lesson.”

“Whatever you’re doing, get to it.” Gareth leans against the wall, arms and ankles crossed, appearing bored with the whole conversation between his brother, Killian, and his cousin.

“We can’t push violence, Gaz.” Nikolai breathes heavily. “There needs to be the right preparation.”

I take a few seconds to lock up the strong emotions roaring inside me. If I let them loose, I’ll only be emotional, and feelings don’t work on these guys.

If anything, they’ll use them against me.

After putting on my cool façade, I stroll inside, easing my previously clenched fists. “Whatever you’re thinking about doing, stop it.”

Three pairs of eyes slide in my direction, all dark and intimidating. Usually, that would give me immediate anxiety.

I can feel the pang of discomfort rushing through my chest and clogging my throat, but I squash it down.

“And what are you doing here?” Nikolai tilts his head in my direction, still stroking his weapon of choice. His state of half-nakedness coupled with all the tattoos and the deadly look in his eyes would’ve made me bolt not too long ago.

Not today.

“I know you’ll torture Creighton, and I’m here to tell you it’s not going to happen.”

“This is not the place for you, princess,” Killian says, voice becoming mocking at the princess part. “Go play with your dolls. That is, if they didn’t get burned in the fire.”

“The dolls can wait.” I match his mocking tone. “And I’m not leaving.”

Gareth pushes off the wall, walks to me, and takes his time to sound calm—human. “This is a lot more serious than you think, Annika. You shouldn’t concern yourself with it or waste your breath on it. How about you go check on Jeremy?”