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

As if trying to feel alive.

The reason she drags me along every time is for a sense of safety, because she knows I have her back.

Also, she really believes I’m wasting away my youth by not taking part in all the parties and adrenaline-filled activities.

But no matter how many clubs she drags me to, I still can’t get used to the feeling of being swarmed by so many people and so much noise.

This club in particular is crowded with enough humans to populate a continent. Not really, but that’s how it feels.

Blue and violet lights cover the dome structure of the ceiling like laser beams as a trendy DJ plays one hit song after another.

Bodies wiggle, shake, and slither like snakes all over each other. The stench of strong perfumes, sweat, and musk mix together and suffocate my breathing.

Everything does. The loud music, the vibration of the floor beneath us, the shouting, hollering, dancing, and more dancing.

It’s an absolute sensory overload that makes me want to hide in a corner.

But I can’t, because Ava just had her third shot. I pull the fourth from her fingers and yell, “That’s enough!”

“Don’t be a killjoy!” She tries to fight me for her shot and I keep it out of reach.

But Ava is a bit taller than me, so she manages to grab hold of it. In a swift move, I snatch the shot back and down it, wincing at the strong burn, and she grins, then taps the counter for more.

“Ava!” I reprimand. “I can’t carry you on my own if you pass out from too much drinking.”

“Relax, I’m not going to reach that state—” she interrupts herself when the beat drops. “Woohoo! I love this song!”

Once the shots arrive, she sneakily throws one back and grabs my hand. “Let’s dance!”

“No!”

“Come on, Cecy. You look hot. May I have this dance?”

“No.”

She makes a face, but then she pushes through the crowd, swaying her hips and shaking in sync with the music.

I lean against the counter so I can have a clear view of her. My tight dress hunches up with the movement and I shove it back down so that it reaches my middle thigh.

Since Ava doesn’t get a lot of chances to play dress-up with me, she put me in this black dress with spaghetti straps that molds against my body.

Her first choice was a backless red one, but that was a hell no.

And heels. We can’t forget the heels that are currently murdering my feet.

But what makes me really uncomfortable is the fact that I’m wearing a dress. They used to be my preferred style when I was young since they made me feel like a princess.

But I almost never wear them ever since that night I was drugged in one and he ripped it off me so easily.

I slide sideways to get a better view of Ava, who’s dancing, shaking her arse, and attracting a group of guys.

As they start approaching her, I push through the crowd and wrap an arm around her waist.

“You came!” She grabs me by the shoulder and makes me twirl. “You’re dancing!”

“No, I’m not. Let’s get out of here.” I discreetly motion to the side. “Some wankers have been eyeing you.”

“Looking is free. Touching is not.” She puts both her hands on my waist and makes me sway to the music with her.

All my attention remains on those guys and some sleazy older man who’s watching us and licking his lips.

Gross.

My best friend is completely oblivious to them or the looks we get as she brings on her dancing A game.

“Relax, Cecy!” she tells me. “Can’t you turn off your brain for a second?”

I wish I could.

But I saw a bunch of people buying drugs in the corners. And that sleazy man just touched his junk while watching us.

There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to turn my brain off after witnessing some of these scenes. Even I realize that becoming overly suspicious and careful is a translation of my trauma.

The world isn’t a safe place.

And while I want to get out of here, I can’t just leave Ava alone. Those arseholes will probably pounce on her—not that they wouldn’t while I’m here, but I can at least try to save her.

The guys reach us first. All three are tall, well-dressed, and look like university kids. Probably a year older than me.

One of them, a curly-haired brunet, slides behind Ava, dancing to the same rhythm as her without touching her, and the two others, one a blond and the other with black hair, surround me.

My temperature rises to my throat, cheeks, and ears. I’m thinking about grabbing Ava’s hand and scramming the hell out of here, but she’s dancing with Curly Hair and wiggling her arse against him.

“Relax,” she mouths, probably seeing the doomsday reaction on my face.

Easy for her to say. I don’t know how the hell I’ll be able to even breathe properly in this atmosphere.

Curly Hair whispers something in her ear and she laughs and shouts back, “I’m Ava! That’s Cecily!”

“I love your name, Cecily,” the blond guy murmurs in my ear in an American accent, and my knee-jerk reaction is to elbow him in the side and run. “I’m Steven.”

“Larry,” the black-haired one supplies.

One of them, Steven, touches my arm. Goosebumps erupt all over my skin, but it’s respectful enough that I don’t feel threatening vibes.