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

Which means that he does have feelings, imperfections, and secrets—that I’ve been trying to unravel.

And to do that, I can’t be guided by emotions. Not only does he not react well to them, but the more I escalate, the deeper he escapes into his sadistic mind.

So the only way to bust down his sturdy walls is to willingly open my own and show him the vulnerable part of me.

“You know I’m on your side, right?”

His grip softens on my wrist. “You are?”

“Sure as hell. I’m your number one fan and currently sabotaging all the other fangirls and fanboys, namely Harry, so they’ll stop thirsting after you. I’ll bribe him with luxurious skincare products and let you know how it works.”

His lips twitch and that’s the nearest thing to a smile he offers, so I snatch it, lock in the corner of my heart with his name all over it, and press my body even closer. “Point is, since I’m on your side, I kind of need you to trust me, put your faith in me and tell me things. I swear to Tchaikovsky’s grave that I’ll keep it a secret.”

“Is that so?”

“Totally.”

“Okay.”

“R-really? Okay?”

“Yeah. In return, you’ll stop bringing up Tchaikovsky.”

I pause. “But why?”

“I don’t like it when you admire other men.”

“But he’s dead. He’s been dead for over a century.”

“Don’t care.”

I can’t help the snort that escapes me. “Are you perhaps…jealous of a dead old man?”

“Guess that means you’re not interested in this trade.” He releases me and goes to sit on a nearby rock.

I follow after and pull the hood of my sweatshirt away from my hair, letting it fly in the wind. I spend a few minutes observing my surroundings, searching for a creepy animal. When I see nothing suspicious, I wipe the ugly, dirty surface and I settle beside him. “Fine, fine. No more Tchaikovsky.”

Except in my head.

He gives me an approving glance, then focuses back on the ocean, remaining as silent as the night.

But his lack of words never undermine his imposing presence. He’s prone to turning into a lethal weapon if he chooses. No, it’s not a choice. He has destructive energy that needs a breathing outlet. He’s like the rock he’s sitting on, unmovable and solid. But the waves still slam against its hard surface, trying on and on to eventually reach its core with the sheer power of their persistence.

It's me. I’m waves. Waves is me.

I bump my shoulder against his. “This is where you keep your part of the deal.”

“You need to learn some patience.”

“Totally have been doing that since you dragged me out of the club like a caveman.”

His head tilts in my direction. “A caveman, huh?”

“Hello? Did you see the expression on your face?”

His gaze gets lost in the violent water again. “I always have this inexplicable need to protect you.”

“I can shoot a gun better than a pro, you know. Papa trained me from the time I was little, after a lunatic tried to kidnap me, so I have a perfect shooting score and never miss. And Jeremy often tells me to carry a gun. Point is, I can protect myself and kick some ass. Well, shoot some ass, but semantics. Besides, I wasn’t in a dangerous situation at the club.”

“I don’t like it when others touch what’s mine. Especially Eli.”

My heart jolts at that word. Mine. He said it earlier at the club, but I was more concerned with being kidnapped in front of all those onlookers whom Creighton was paying no attention to.

“Why especially Eli?”

“He’s an anarchist. The type who has no purpose other than to watch the world being flipped upside down. If he puts you in his sights, you’re done for.”

Oh. “I think he was just offended that you never mentioned him to me.”

“He’s clingy like that.”

“Eli? Clingy?”

“Yeah, he won’t leave me alone and it isn’t due to lack of effort on my part.”

“From what I’ve seen on his IG, he’s only like that with you. Otherwise, he’s more like Kill, absolutely detached while giving the exact opposite image.”

“And how do you know that?”

“We’re mutuals.”

“Mutuals?”

“Oh, right. I forgot you don’t do social media. Being mutuals means we follow each other.”

“You follow him?”

“Why not? The point of social media is to follow people.”

He narrows his eyes. “Unfollow him.”

“No.”

“Annika.” The sound of my name in his deep, rough voice is nothing short of a command.

“Stop being a tyrant. Besides, I’m following Remi, Bran, and even Landon. Not to mention Nikolai, Gareth, and Killian. Do I have to unfollow them, too?”

“Preferably.”

“Might as well tell me to delete my socials.”

“Preferably.”

I snort. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re so out there that it pisses me the fuck off.” In a flash, his fingers squeeze my jaw.

I can see the darkness creeping into his features. The air shifts with his earnest stare, and his not-so-subtle plan of laying me on his lap and extracting his punishments from my skin.