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

“Because I prefer women. What kind of question is that?”

My face is so close to his, anyone else would be intimidated and jerk back, but Jeremy doesn’t even breathe differently or attempt to move. He’s so confident in his straight sexuality that he’s not fazed by my outwardly weird behavior.

“You got a boner for Jeremy?” Kill asks from the side like a witch that will be burned in hell while Satan cackles manically.

“Nope.” I push back. “He’s straighter than straight.”

“Thanks?” Jer mutters.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

He releases that defeated sigh again. “What’s going on, Niko?”

“Get me someone to maim. That’s what’s going on.” I jump up and run up the stairs three at a time, sprint down the hall, then whip the door to Gareth’s room open and shove it against the wall.

He looks up from his desk, pausing on doing homework like a boring prick. Jesus. If he didn’t indulge in some violence on occasion, I would’ve already disowned him.

No cousin of mine becomes boring and gets away with it.

“Gee, thanks for the death scare. Please don’t tell me you’ll start stripping…?”

I stalk toward him, eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you dare, Niko, or I swear I’ll tell Aunt Rai about your annoying habits—”

“Have you ever been attracted to men?”

It’s subtle, and I probably wouldn’t have noticed it if I’d stayed by the door, but Gareth’s eyes widen a little.

He drops his pen on his notebook and exhales loudly. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve always fucked women, but have you done that because you feel you have to due to peer pressure and what’s defined by society as normal or because you want to?”

“What is this about?” He stands up. “What did you hear?”

“What should I have heard?”

His face falls for a fraction of a second and I step into his space. “So? What? Tell me. Tell me! What should I have heard?”

He pushes me away. “Stop doing that shit.”

“Not until you answer my question.”

He runs a hand over his face. “I love women. Happy?”

“What about men?”

“I…don’t know. Could be.” His eyes spark like a tropical forest before he clears his throat. “Why are you probing?”

“I’m testing something. When did you discover you like men?”

“I don’t like men. Jesus.” He jogs to the door and slams it shut, then leans against it, arms and ankles crossed “I’m not sure. I don’t know. I love fucking women, but…”

“But what?” I walk up to him and then peer down at him until I can see the tiny freckles on his nose. “What changed your mind?”

“I didn’t change my mind and, seriously, stop looking so intense. It’s creepy.”

“Blah fucking blah, just tell me what made your straight ass sway on the line. Figuratively, of course.” I grin. “Or is it literally?”

“Fuck you, asshole.” He closes his eyes with pure exasperation. “If you tell anyone about this, especially Kill, I’ll murder you.”

“I won’t if you just fess up. What made you change lanes?”

“I’m not sure I did—or would, for that matter. It’s just…one person. That’s it.”

One person.

One. Person.

That’s it.

Fucking interesting.

I ruffle Gareth’s hair and offer courses in butt stuff, but I’m not even done enumerating things he should know before he proceeds to throw me out and shut the door in my face.

His groans can be heard through the door as I grin and walk down the hall.

On a scale of straighter-than-straight Jer to fluid-as-lube Kill to confused-as-shit Gareth, I wonder where Brandon King falls.

Not that I’m tempted to find out.

That would be crazy.





Just kidding. I am crazy.

A week later, I’m lurking by the entrance of the Elites’ mansion at five thirty in the fucking morning.

You know, where Brandon lives with his insufferable brother, Landon, and a bunch of their family/friends.

Believe me, I’d never dream of waking up this early. But I can’t exactly survive on images of him trapped beneath me and wiggling his ass against my cock.

Kolya, the traitorous bitch who’d deserve castration if I wasn’t a major sexual being, still twitches at those memories.

Something he wasn’t interested in despite all the porn shows I presented him with, both live and recorded.

He’s being a dick. Literally.

Which brings me to this amateurish stalking mission. I might have visited Bran’s Instagram and seen all the stories he posts every single day at five thirty like clockwork.

Sure enough, the small gate on the side creaks open and he steps outside, stretching under the hint of sun. He’s dressed in loose shorts and a fitted green T-shirt that clings to his muscles like a second skin.

Fucking hot.

Now, if he weren’t so groomed with his shaven face, styled hair, and general sophisticated appearance, he’d be even hotter.

I love my men filthy, unkempt, and rugged around the edges.