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

“One, your relationship with my brother. Two, your relationship with your brother. Three, how it’ll be a bad idea if you one day have to choose and you pick your brother and leave my brother behind. I’ll take it personally and do everything in my power to destroy both of you.”

My spine jerks at the amicable way in which he issues threats. His voice sounded suave, absolutely eloquent, as if he were a BBC News anchor.

“I won’t hurt Creighton,” I manage to reply calmly, assertively. “And Jeremy isn’t the monster you make him out to be. He won’t brutalize Creighton just because I’m with him.”

“Do all these delusional thoughts help you sleep better at night? We both know your dear Jeremy is capable of more than that. So how about you take the easy way out before the shit hits the fan?”

“With all due respect, you have no right to intervene between Creigh and me. And I’m not leaving.”

I realize that Creighton and I have a long way to go and that the brutal fucking from last night after he revealed a bit of himself is only the beginning, but I don’t mind.

I like myself with Creighton, I like the way I’m more outspoken and less of a people pleaser. And I want him to like himself when he’s with me, too.

For that, I’m willing to do anything.

Eli watches me for a beat, his gray eyes looking almost black. And while I want to run and hide, I force myself to maintain eye contact, to meet his stare with one of my own.

“Very well.” He pushes off the wall. “I’ll keep my eye on you.”

“I’ll keep my eye on you, too.”

“Oh?” He smiles like a wolf, head cocked to the side. “What for?”

“For whenever you think it’s a good idea to intervene.”

His smile widens. “No wonder Creigh chose you when he never had interest in anyone before.”

Fire erupts in my belly, but it’s the good type, the type that warms me from the inside out.

I flip my hair back and can’t help but grin. “I’m special like that.”

“Arrogant, too. I see why you’re friends with her.”

“Who’s her?”

“Never mind.”

He’s about to leave, but I step in his way. “Can I ask you something?”

“I only take questions on Sundays. Like the church.”

“Today is Sunday.”

“Lucky you,” he says with that permanent smirk and I pause, thinking maybe I’m missing something, but then I promptly let it go.

I inch closer to him. “Do you know when Creigh got his spider tattoo?”

This is my attempt to frame the time he realized he was still haunted by his childhood memories, despite having a family. No matter how much he denies it, I know what happened in his childhood has an effect on him one way or another. I didn’t get the chance to ask him due to all the fucking that he must’ve used to shut me up, but I can fish for information from Eli.

“In secondary school. High school to you Americans. It’s a memento to the younger version of him.”

“You…knew.”

“That he’s adopted? Of course. Everyone knows.”

Oh. How come no one told me? Maybe it’s a close-circle thing and I don’t belong there. Although I’m slightly hurt, I decide to focus on a much more pressing issue.

“Do you also know of his…past?”

“There’s nothing I can tell you about it aside from what he divulged.”

“I just want to know if he became the way he is due to that.”

“The way he is?”

“I’m sure you know he’s a…sadist.”

He grins. “Proud of him.”

Of course he is. Now, I’m starting to understand why Ava calls him He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

Eli is an anomaly.

But maybe he’s the type of brother Creighton needed while growing up with that sort of baggage.

“So?” I press. “Is he that way because of his past?”

“Maybe. Probably.”

It dawns on me then. Creighton once said that he eats too much because he was starving at a point in his life. And he probably sleeps whenever possible because of how he felt when suffocated by the gas.

When he was dizzy and crawled and crawled.

Goosebumps erupt on my skin with creepy speed, like when he was telling me the story last night.

To think that someone so young went through that makes me want to cry.

But I don’t want him to take it as pity. I really do not pity him. I just want to be there for him.

I’m apparently shit at expressing that, though, because he was offended by my words last night and took it out on my poor body.

“My turn to ask questions.” Eli’s voice brings me back to the present. “How did you coerce him to talk?”

“I didn’t.”

“Try again. He went through intensive therapy when he was a kid and has long since gotten past that phase of his life. He wouldn’t talk about it unless he was poked. So tell me, Annika. What type of poking method have you used?”

“I really didn’t. I just asked about his tattoo.”

He narrows his eyes for a beat, then schools his expression. “Huh.”

We remain silent for a moment before I murmur, “Do you know where he is?”