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

You also didn’t feel threatening vibes with that scum.

I lift my head to look at Ava and she’s full-on dancing with the curly-haired one, both of them showing their moves. She slides her fingers through her hair and tips her head back in rhythm to the music.

I can’t help scanning our surroundings for Eli’s presence. If he has eyes here—and he has eyes everywhere—then she’s in deep trouble.

“Donovan and I are going to get some drinks!” she shouts and then disappears with the guy before I can stop her.

And I’m left with these two.

Larry remains behind me, dancing slowly to match my awkward rhythm while Steven comes in front of me and grabs my arm.

He picked up that I’m peeved out about being touched, so he’s been keeping his respectful distance, and I appreciate that. At least, I don’t feel the need to retch all over his designer shoes.

But I still want to remove myself from this situation.

Clubs are really not my scene.

And neither is peopling.

Where the hell is Ava?

“I haven’t seen you around,” Steven shouts over the music as he and his friend basically sandwich me in the middle.

“I don’t usually do this,” I say with enough awkwardness to feel embarrassed.

“Figured! You’re too beautiful to be hidden away.”

My spine jerks upright and I stare at him with wide eyes.

You’re too beautiful to be hidden away, Cecily.

Those exact words stumble in my brain, crashing and clawing until I’m unable to breathe.

He said them to me when we first started dating.

No, this can’t be.

I’m imagining things, right?

Steven looks nothing like him, but maybe he knows him?

His hand slides from my arm to my waist, getting bolder and rougher.

I hyperventilate, but instead of breathing harshly, my body goes into a state of shock. It’s hardening and turning into stone.

No, no. I need to get out of here first.

Shit, shit.

I attempt to elbow him, but I’m not moving.

I can’t move.

Larry’s clutching my hip now, his touch burning the material of my dress and branding itself on my skin.

I don’t want him to touch me, but I can’t stop him.

Hell, I can’t even breathe properly.

The state of helplessness rushes to the surface, bubbling with nausea and terrorizing fear.

Just when I think I’m going to be sick, a large hand grips Steven’s shoulder. A masculine, veiny, very familiar hand.

In a flash, Steven is wrenched back so powerfully that he nearly knocks out a few other people with him.

I swear my heart flutters when I see exactly who’s in front of me.

My eyes slide over Jeremy’s impressive build, the jeans and leather jacket that hug his muscles, before they finally lock on his cold, blank face.

While this isn’t particularly different from his usual expression, there’s something unusual now.

An emotion so potent, it lingers in the air and strikes me in my bones.

Wrath.

It drips off Jeremy in a deranged manner as he clutches Steven with apparent nonchalance but hidden rage.

The type that simmers beneath the surface and has dire consequences.

“Fuck off.” He throws Steven away as if he were no different than a useless rag.

Larry, who was behind me, goes to his friend’s side and casts a fearful look in our direction, probably recognizing Jeremy.

And while he’s not prone to violence in public, except for when it’s in the fighting ring, anyone on the island knows he’s not one to be messed with.

Even I know that.

And I still went to his mansion that first time. Sometimes, I hate and admire that version of me in equal measure.

Slowly, the stiffness unlocks from my muscles, but I remain frozen in place, for a completely different reason.

The fact that Jeremy is here. In public. Not attempting to hide our acquaintance.

Steven starts in our direction again, brushing off Larry who’s trying to hold him back.

“We were here first,” he snarls in Jeremy’s face, obviously not reading the atmosphere, and probably not recognizing him.

Jeremy drives his fist into Steven’s face so hard that the people surrounding us gasp.

He falls to the floor, clutching his bleeding nose and wailing.

“I said.” Jeremy towers over him. “Fuck. Off. Touch her again and a bleeding nose will be the least of your worries.”

Larry tries to help his friend up as he screams over the music, “Security! Security!”

Suddenly, a muscular blond guy appears behind them. The guard whom Annika said is called Ilya and acts as Jeremy’s senior guard.

He shares a look with Jeremy, then he singlehandedly drags both Steven and Larry out by a grip on the collars of their shirts.

And just like that, I’m left all alone with a beast of a man who’s staring at me as if he wants to throttle me.

Yes, there are people around us, lots of them, but they might as well be invisible under the invading scrutiny of his gaze.

He steps forward, killing the distance between us and crushing his chest against my breasts. My heart hammers as my nose fills with his scent.

It’s impossible to be unaffected when I’m overwhelmed by his warmth, presence, and that enchanting look in his ash eyes.

Silence hangs between us for a few intense seconds, and I resist the urge to blurt something incoherent. Then all of a sudden, he grabs hold of my elbow and basically shoves his way off of the dance floor, dragging me behind him. I have to jog to keep up with his long strides, and that just puts more pressure on my assaulted feet.