God of Wrath (Legacy of Gods #3) by Rina Kent

I splutter and choke, but he keeps pouring and pouring, until I swallow half of it, and the other half drenches my face and neck

My hand falls to the floor, unable to move no matter how much I try to lift it.

Every molecule in my body grows lethargic. My limbs go slack, and my breathing slows to a frightening rhythm. As if I’m falling asleep.

But I’m not.

This is way worse.

The body of a demon mounts me like in my sleep paralysis, and I groan, tears gathering in my eyes.

I scream, but no sound comes out.

I thrash, but my arms and legs don’t move.

No.

No…

“Shh.” He strokes my cheek. “Be good, Cecily, and I won’t hurt you. Much. Don’t you hate how we have unfinished business? Jonah should’ve stayed and done what we agreed on that day, but he was repulsed by some vomit and let you go. I would’ve gone through with the plan, but somehow, you got out of the room first and were seen by a few people, so I was a gentleman and even stopped a taxi for you in front of the hotel.”

That was him?

His hand is hot and heavy as he slides the strap of my dress off my shoulder. Or maybe I’m the one who’s hot and drowsy.

“Jonah should’ve left you to me once he was finished. That’s what we always did. He was the charmer, and I was the one with the plans to trap the girls. Most of the time, they didn’t even remember what had happened to them come morning. Like magic, it’d be poof, gone,” he muses, stroking his hand over my shoulder. “But you, Cecily, are the only one who got away. Left a sour fucking taste in my mouth. So I stayed close, waiting for a chance to have you properly this time. But you became too careful and even got yourself a stalker who’s been hindering my plans. See, I’m a perfectionist. I couldn’t just rush and do a sloppy job. I waited and waited, and waited, until I could finally have you without his interference. Aren’t I a good sport? I’m better than Jonah, too. That fool doesn’t know how to plan, and he got locked up for it. Me? You’ll probably forget about me in the morning. Except for, well, the pain. I suppose that’ll be there to stay.”

Unintelligible sounds leave my lips as I try to move, fight, lift my head, hand, leg—anything. It’s like my body has given up on me.

But I haven’t.

I might not have full access to my brain, but I know if I don’t try to stop this, if I don’t at least attempt to, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

“Shh. Don’t bother. I put in more drugs than usual. Special treatment for a special girl.” He pulls the other strap down. “Let’s see if your cunt is special. Actually, since you’re facedown, I’ll start with your arse.”

Tears cascade down my cheeks, hot and heavy. I might not be able to move, but I feel every touch of his hand over my back. I feel the repulsion mounting in my throat, threatening to explode in my mouth.

I’m going to throw up.

I’m going to—

Hot liquid spills on my back, and the sounds of gurgles echo in the air. At first, I think they’re mine. I think I’m choking on my spit or vomit, but then the weight disappears from my back.

It falls to the floor in front of me with a thud. I catch a glimpse of a convulsing body, a pool of blood beneath him, and those god-awful haunting gurgles keep filling my ears.

A large shadow blocks the view and then I’m turned and fully cocooned against the familiar warmth. The warmth I thought I would never feel again.

The scent of his cologne envelops me like a second hug—leather, pine, and warmth.

“Cecily…fuck. Cecily! Can you hear me?”

A broken moan leaves my throat the moment I see his face, all hard, dark, and murderous. I try to open my lips to say something, but they won’t move.

And neither do my hands or limbs.

I’m still paralyzed, at someone else’s mercy, but I don’t feel threatened.

If anything, I’m finally safe.

I’ve never felt as safe in my life as I do in these arms.

Slowly, too slowly, I close my eyes, letting a tear escape down the side of my face.

Safe.

“Cecily!”

Safe.

I. Am. Safe.





I wake up in the hospital a day later.

Lethargic. Tired. Sad.

I cry when I open my eyes and Mum hugs me, then Papa, then Ava.

But I don’t stop crying. There’s this ache in my chest that won’t go away no matter how much I cry. As if I’m back to when I was roaming the streets before I found myself at that shelter.

Everyone fawns over me, including Remi, who says he won’t annoy me for a month and that if I dare getting hurt again, he’ll kick my arse.

The girls, Ava, Glyn, and Anni, remain by my side the most, bringing snacks behind the nurse’s back and staying around so we can watch films together.

This time I made a report to the police, both for the recent incident and two years ago. It was hard, and the more I talked about the events, the more nauseated I got, but I had my parents’ and friends’ support. Papa let me cry against his chest the first night, told me he was sorry he didn’t know and that he’d make sure Jonah pays.

Zayn, too, when they catch him.

But they won’t.

I might have been drugged, but I know what that gurgling sound I heard meant and that the liquid that covered my back was blood.