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

“But where’s the fun in that?”

“Being normal for once?”

“Is that spelled boring?” He gets close and I step to the side, narrowly escaping his shoulder bumping into mine.

“Back off.”

“Ah, fuck. I want to defrost that layer of control you’re wrapped in and see what lurks inside the preppy boy.”

My teeth clench and I release them slowly so as not to trigger the sensation I’ve been coexisting with for most of my life. “I’m not a boy.”

“Whatever you say, posh kid.”

“What the hell is your problem?”

“Me?” He points a thumb at himself. “You seem to be the one crowded with issues, boy.”

My nostrils flare and my hand balls into a fist.

You have issues.

Lots of them.

You don’t want to be a disappointment.

Nikolai tilts his gaze to my hand, bouncing off his heels as if he’s waiting for a Christmas present. “What you gonna do with that? Punch me? Just so you know, you might get disgusting blood on your pretty hands.”

The urge to hit him snaps my muscles into a tight knot, but I force my fingers to uncurl.

I don’t do violence. Ever.

This crazy wanker won’t be changing that.

“No? Bummer.” As fast as they sparkled, his eyes become muted again, turning into two orbs of black.

Black on black.

Black on—

I briefly close my eyes to chase away the clouded thoughts. When I open them, I catch a glimpse of Nikolai stalking into what looks like an annexed house.

I didn’t notice it earlier during our walk, too focused on the bastard and his unpredictable behavior to watch where the hell we were going.

Against my better judgment, I slip in behind him. Not that I have a choice. Nikolai knows where Landon is and I need to make sure my twin brother is safe.

The interior looks far simpler than the outside—clean and clinical—but the white walls are smudged with dirt in places. The decor consists of a leather sofa and a table against the wall, and there’s a door to what appears to be a storage closet.

I stand at the entrance as Nikolai throws his weight on the sofa, arms flung on the back and legs wide apart like one of those macho guys who think they own the world.

He beckons me over with a forefinger and I snarl behind my mask. And I don’t even snarl.

I don’t run away or elbow or scream for help, either, and I’ve done all of the above this evening. Thanks to this bastard.

“Do that again and I’ll break your finger,” I deliver the threat with calmness and a smile. He probably can’t see it, but fuck it.

“Get your ass over here if you want to see your brother breathe another day.”

My shoulders tense and I take careful steps toward him, each one echoing a louder-than-necessary sound.

It isn’t until I’m within arm's reach that I realize he’s crowding the sofa that should fit at least three people.

I’m still contemplating his sheer size when a noise spills from my lips. A startled, funny noise that feels foreign as it scratches out of my throat.

But I don’t focus on that, more concerned with the reason behind said noise.

Nikolai grabs me by the wrist and hauls me over so fast, I land on him, my chest crashing against his and our masks bumping.

The assault on my senses is much more prominent this time as that stupid glint rushes to his previously muted eyes. “Well, hello there. Lovely of you to finally join the party.”

I bite back a curse as I attempt to get up. Nikolai lets me, but then I make the mistake of turning my back.

Brutish hands land on my hips and I stifle whatever noise that’s trying to escape. A curse. It was definitely another curse.

And it doesn’t matter that I actually don’t curse.

Nikolai drags me down and my arse meets a hard surface. His thighs.

What the—

Panic dashes in my veins and I start to get up, but he pushes with enough force to knock my bones against his. “Stay fucking still unless you’re in the mood to take care of the boner you’re giving me.”

My face falls, figuratively, of course. I’d pay money for it to disappear literally. Indefinitely.

I try again, needing to escape the wanker. But before I can move, he wraps his arm around my waist and spreads his palm over my stomach. “Someone has nice abs.”

“Stop touching me and throwing out sexual innuendos,” I hiss under my breath, sinking my fingers into his arm and pushing. “I’m straight and have no interest in your weird nonsense.”

He chuckles, the sound reverberating like a symphony gone wrong. “You don’t say.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. The fact that you say sexual innuendos, maybe. Such a preppy boy.”

“What?”

Whatever he has to say is drowned out by voices and the shuffling of feet outside. Green Mask stalks in from another door to the right that I didn’t notice and I stiffen.

The situation I’m in registers quickly and heat rushes to my head. I’m sitting on a random guy’s lap.

Me. Brandon fucking King.

Yet I remain completely still, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I’m wearing the mask anyway. If I stay still, he won’t look at me or notice me—