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

The more I see him, the deeper I’m trapped in his night-like aura. Ruthless, heartless, boundless.

“J-Jeremy…” I purse my lips at the stutter and my skin heats. It starts where he’s touching me and spreads through the rest of my body.

He doesn’t answer me, doesn’t acknowledge my existence as his sharp strides cut the distance through the night. The muscles in his back are rigid, rippling beneath his black leather jacket.

It’s a fact that Jeremy is a big man, probably the biggest I’ve seen, aside from Nikolai. But right now, he’s like a giant animal.

No, not an animal.

A hunter.

He’s been chasing me ever since the initiation, and I was insolent enough to run away once and stop him the second time.

And maybe that’s what led us to this predicament. Maybe that’s how I ended up being targeted by the most dangerous man I know.

The one whose name is whispered in university halls, fight clubs, and the streets. The one who comes with gruesome rumors attached to his name.

The most prominent of all is how he makes people disappear.

My body goes rigid at that reminder. Maybe it’s my turn now. Maybe he’s had fun tormenting me by following me around, and now, he’ll execute the next step that involves getting rid of me.

“Jeremy!” I call again, much louder this time.

He glances at me from the corner of his eye, looking no different than a monster in sophisticated clothes.

“So you do know my name, yet you chose to address me as a creep.”

I swallow. He’s not going to let that go, is he?

“I—”

“Don’t.”

“You didn’t even hear what I had to say.”

“I don’t need to. If you’re going to blurt it out without mulling it over in that head of yours beforehand, then it’ll only piss me off further.”

My mouth opens, but I force it closed.

So he is mad.

It’s hard to tell when he appears angry all the time.

He tugs me forward and I stumble, nearly dropping my books as we come to a halt in front of a huge bike.

The same bike I’ve caught glimpses of him riding a few times.

This thing is monstrous, and I resemble a stray mouse next to it. Jeremy, however, fits the vibe.

He looked to be in complete harmony the last time I saw him on it. He had one leg on the ground, helmet on, and his hands hung nonchalantly on the handlebars.

Jeremy finally releases my elbow and I resist the urge to massage the spot where his fingers assaulted my skin.

He plucks a helmet out of the saddlebag and leans toward me. It’s really bad for my self-esteem whenever he’s in my vicinity, because the only thing I can think about in this current situation is how to escape.

One of my legs steps behind the other and I jolt when my back hits the bike.

I jerk one hand up. “Stop it!”

He swats it away effortlessly, as if it’s nothing more than a cardboard prop, then shoves the helmet on my head.

I try to resist and grab his wrist to push it away.

He pauses and glares at me silently, so silently that it’s creepy.

How does he not want me to call him a creep when he scores a hundred for the vibe alone?

The moment he stops strapping the helmet in place, my struggle stops, too. Mostly due to his glare.

“If you want to touch me, all you have to do is ask. There’s no need to play hard to get for it.”

Heat flares in my cheeks when I realize I’m cradling his wrist, fingers stretching across his warm skin. Now that I’m not fighting him, it’s like I’m trying to grab his hand or something.

I release him with a jerk and he uses my flustered state to finish strapping on the helmet.

“Can you let me go?” I ask, softly this time, imploringly even.

For someone who obviously gets off on violence, countering it with the same medicine probably wouldn’t be as effective as trying the exact opposite.

“Not yet.” He grabs the top of my books and I hug them further to my chest, which causes his fingers to brush against my breasts.

A zip goes through me and my hold falters around the books. Jeremy all but yanks them out of my arms.

The man doesn’t have one gentle bone in his body.

He dunks them in the saddlebag. “Why are you confiscating my books?”

“You’ll get them back when we’re done.”

“Done with what?”

He casts me a glance, and I can’t help noticing the smudge of blood on his palm that he got from beating up those guys.

Then leaving them wailing and groaning in the middle of the street.

That’s the type of person Jeremy Volkov is. A man who solves problems with his fists and likes stealing other people’s identities just to teach me a lesson.

So how come I’m caught in his web?

“You’ll find out.” His tone is final, prohibiting any other questions.

He straddles his bike and revs the engine. I’m pretty sure he sees me flinching at the loud sound, and unless I’m imagining it, there’s a twitch of his lips, too.

I’ve always hated superbikes, sports cars, and anything with loud engines and crazy horsepower.

The sensory overload hurts my ears and makes me want to hide in the nearest nook.

I cast a glance at my surroundings. The lot he parked in is isolated, but there are two roads ahead. Surely, if I run, I’ll be able to find a passerby—