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

I should be out there, beating Kill to a pulp and getting beaten in return, but I can’t stop looking at my conversation with Bran.

It’s been four days since the day he finally agreed to stop running from us—well, he didn’t say that exactly, but he laid out all those fucking conditions, so he can bet his ass that I took that as an agreement to my sole condition.

I went running with him the past three days, and he was still stalling, being the epitome of an asshole and refusing to come to the penthouse.

Every day, he came with a different excuse. Practice. Meeting with friends. Art project.

He finds those so easily, the lies slipping out of his beautiful mouth without a second thought.

Fucking liar.

He’s just trying to avoid the inevitable, which I told him in not-so-subtle words over texts yesterday.

Me



You know you’re stalling, right?





You can hide for as long as you wish, but I’ll eventually drag you out, baby.





So I’ve been thinking. I don’t do that a lot, but it’s become a habit lately. You know, since you love all that smart shit.





Wanna know what I’ve been thinking about?





Bran



Don’t care.





Glad you asked. I’ve been kind of replaying the image of your ass swallowing my fingers as you came all over my stomach. So fucking hot. I came to that image in fucking waves, picturing your erotic face.





Why on earth do you have to speak that way?





Does that mean you were thinking about it, too? I knew I liked you. Serious question. Wanna do it again? This time, maybe replace my fingers with my cock? I’ll make you feel good when I fuck you, baby, I promise.





You’re not going to fuck me, Nikolai.





Eh, what do you mean I won’t fuck you? Isn’t that the whole point behind your exasperating conditions?





Why do you have to be the one who fucks me? Maybe I should be the one who fucks you.





Baby, you’ve never fucked a guy before and I only top. Besides, you obviously enjoy receiving, judging by the way you came apart on my fingers.





Doesn’t mean I’ll let you fuck me.





Are you still weirded out about being touched by a guy? You clearly loved it, no?





Love is a strong word. I just…didn’t mind it.





*eye roll emoji* Then you won’t MIND the fucking either. I’ll prime you really well and try not to make it hurt. Though you do enjoy a bit of pain, since your cum flooded my mouth when I handled you roughly.





Stop talking.





Penthouse tonight?





Tomorrow?





Tomorrow. It’s a date.





He left me on fucking Read.

That was yesterday. I didn’t go on the run today because of all the demons perching on my shoulders and whispering nasty things in my ear.

It’s the first time I haven’t pounced on the chance to see his face, annoy the fuck out of him, and crawl deeper beneath his skin.

I don’t want him to see me this way. I also can’t trust myself not to fuck him the fuck up the moment he’s in front of me.

My finger is stiff as I exit the text exchange and call the only person I’m comfortable speaking to when I’m in this situation.

The only person who told me, “Fuck the pills. If they erase your fire, don’t take them.”

He picks up after a few rings and speaks in a British accent. “Talk to me, son.”

I pace faster, my feet slapping against the tiles. “It’s coming back, Dad. It’s fucking me up in the head and I want it gone.”

“You’re okay. Breathe.” His voice is calm and firm, but I can sense his affection beneath the control.

My father is a high-ranking member of the New York Bratva, the best hitman anyone has had the misfortune to know, and the number one man in my paternal grandfather’s family.

But most importantly, he’s my number one supporter. I love my mom, but she’s a fan of science, of doctors in white coats who love to slap people with labels. She’s also an advocate of the fucking pills. Not my dad. He, like me, believes that I can control it. And I did.

For fucking years.

Doesn’t feel like I’m in control now, though. Fucking far from it.

I’m teetering on the edge of destruction. It pulses beneath my skin and roars in my veins.

“I’m going to snap, Dad. I can feel the pressure gathering and intensifying behind my eyes. Someone will touch or look at me the wrong way and I’ll fucking explode. How do I stop it?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t, Niko. Just fall into it, absorb the shock, and release some steam. You know how to do that the best, no?”

“It’s not fucking working.” I slam my fist against the locker and the sound bangs in the eerie silence like a bomb. “Jeremy gave me the setting I needed this morning and it still didn’t fucking work.”

“What…changed?”

My movements come to a halt as I trace the necklace my dad gave me when I started to need a crutch. Something to touch when I feel my mind spinning, screaming, and turning against me.