God of Fury (Legacy of Gods #5) by Rina Kent

And that’s saying something since everyone always thinks I have a loose screw and can’t be labeled sane by any stretch of the imagination.

It’s different this time.

I knew it was disastrously different when I didn’t want to talk to my dad. If I did, even he would be insisting on the pills.

A part of me is insisting on the fucking pills.

I hate the fact that I’m even thinking about that possibility. But there’s no other way to kill this state of chaos. I haven’t been sleeping, eating, fucking breathing, and have been surviving on violence, cigarettes, and alcohol.

The alternative to the pills is being stuck in the middle of a black rage for the foreseeable future.

Rage that can’t be doused by any fighting, riding, or any extended fucking sight of blood. If anything, it’s been mounting, intensifying until it’s the only form of oxygen I suck into my lungs day in and day out.

The only time I can breathe properly is when I stare at Bran’s texts and stalk his social media like a stage-five creep. I hate that I can’t hug him to sleep or kiss him. I hate that I can’t look at him and cling to him like an annoying octopus. After he poured his heart out to me in the tub, the last thing I wanted was to leave him, but I had to.

I still have to.

My current state doesn’t allow for me to see him. I don’t trust myself not to hurt him. I really, really fucking don’t.

Even now, I’m battling the urge to grab him by the fucking throat and bruise his lips in front of the whole world. He’d hate me for good this time, but who fucking cares.

The only thing that puts a halt to my plan is the presence of his less pleasant eyesore twin.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” Jeremy asks on everyone’s behalf.

Everyone, and I mean every single fucking person present, is alarmed by the asshole.

Everyone but his precious brother, who looks pained on Landon’s behalf.

He’s never looked at me like that. Has never shown me an ounce of the concern he unconditionally has for his brother.

It’s an illogical thought, but I can’t shove it out of my broken mind. My muscles tighten and a flood of rage douses me in one fucking go.

“I thought this was a birthday and everyone was invited.” Landon speaks with a nonchalance that scratches my wavering resolve like nails on a chalkboard.

“You’re not,” Kill replies.

“Seems that I am now.” The motherfucker has the nerve to walk to my sister. My fucking sister. “Happy Birthday. Aside from the gift of my attendance, I have something else for you, but I’d rather give it to you in private—”

My body moves on autopilot as I slam my fist in the cunt’s face. He staggers back and blood explodes on his lip.

“Lan.” Glyn leaves Kill and rushes to him. “Just…go.”

“I didn’t go through all the trouble of bribing incompetent security guards just to leave,” he continues talking in that casual tone that will get him killed. Preferably tonight.

I step forward to finish the job and lose his brother for fucking good, because I’m suicidal like that, but Mia clutches my arm and then signs, “He’s not worth it, Niko.”

I’m going to kill him.

I’m going to fucking kill him.

Kill—

“Time out.” He lifts a hand. “Before you proceed with your attempts at rearranging my features, allow me to clarify an important element. I happen to be in the process of courting your sister, and any attempts at ruining my face will not play in the favor of said task.”

What did this asshole just say?

Did he just mention courting? And who? My sister? My Mia?

“I’m going to fucking kill you before you lay a hand on her.” I storm toward him.

“Oh, that’s already done.”

Bran closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose as he breathes slowly.

What the fuck…?

He’s not surprised.

Why is he not surprised?

“What the fuck did you just say?” I ask slowly, my fucked-up brain refusing to believe the words I heard.

No. I’m refusing to believe Bran knew about this fuckery all along. He wouldn’t…

Why not? He obviously cares about his brother’s safety and opinion more than yours.

“I said.” Lan stands toe-to-toe with me. “The touching part already happened. In fact, our rendezvous included more than touching, but I’ll spare you the details since you’re her brother.”

“You fucking—” I raise my fist, but when I’m about to drive it into his face, Bran slides in front of him.

It’s too late.

My fist slams into Bran’s face.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

The blow is so powerful that Bran falls back against his brother and Landon grabs him, then dabs at the blood at his lip.

I don’t resist when hands pull me back. I don’t even know whose they are as I stare at the blood gushing out of Bran’s nose. His face is pained, but he’s trying hard to remain unaffected.

Fuck!

What the fuck have I done? Me hitting Bran? How could I do that? Even unintentionally?

My jaw tics and every fiber inside me urges me to make sure he’s okay. But I can’t do that when his fucking brother is all over him.

So I direct my wrath at my sister. “Is it true?”