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

My jaw nearly hits the floor when none other than my baby sister rushes through the door, her cheeks red and her demeanor flustered. Glyn stares at me and I feel as if I’m being stripped naked, free falling from the sky without a safety net.

I lower my head, staring at my feet, and soon, that dark inky water swallows them whole, creeping up my calves and to my knees.

Veiny-like tendrils strap around my flesh in a vise, pulling, gripping, plunging me into the endless hole.

Down.

Down.

Down—

“She’s gone,” a chilling voice whispers in my ear and I jerk.

The black ink slowly dissipates and I lift my head to find that Glyn and Green Mask are disappearing out a third door to the left.

I release a puff of air, but it gets stuck in my throat when Nikolai strokes his hand on my stomach.

It’s over my shirt, but it’s like he’s scratching at the surface of my skin, nearly peeling it off the muscles. A burn erupts at the pit of my belly and rushes to the rest of my limbs.

“Such a responsible brother. First, you came here because I made up a story about Landon, and now, you’re worried about your sister. We have something in common. I like it.”

My head spins, mostly due to his breath near my ear, his hand on my stomach, and his rock-hard thighs underneath mine.

Then something he said comes back to me and I narrow my eyes. “You made up a story about Lan?”

He lifts a shoulder. “How else would I have gotten you here? On my lap, I mean.”

A volcano of rage splinters inside me, and I want to punch his fucking stitch mask so bad.

So, so bad.

But I don’t, because I don’t do that.

I use the energy to push against him and spring up. “Take your nonsense away from me. Far away.”

That glint flashes again, but before I can find out what type of absurdity he’s planning, Jeremy walks through the door Glyn and Green Mask disappeared through, holding his orange mask and a bloodied club.

He’s only second to Nikolai in broadness and unpleasant facial expressions. But where the arsehole behind me is outwardly loud, violent, and generally obnoxious, Jeremy is the calmer version. The type who appears collected, but is in fact as notorious as his precious idiot friend.

He’s scowling now, seeming lost in thought as he throws his club on the ground and runs his fingers through his damp hair that’s stuck to his nape.

“Jer!” Nikolai jumps to my side and wraps an arm around my shoulders as if we’re mates. “Meet eighty-nine. Pretty sure he’s the only one who made it here and, therefore, can be a member of the Heathens.”

Jeremy lifts his head and takes in the scene for the first time. He was so lost in his own head that he didn’t even notice us.

He cocks his brows at Nikolai, then narrows his eyes on where he’s grabbing me.

I flash the crazy bastard a death glare that he lets roll off his bloodied mask as if it was never there.

He’s high. Must be.

There’s no other explanation for why he’d think the twin brother of Lan, aka his worst enemy, should join his precious club’s ranks. Or why he’d possibly think I would.

Now that I know Lan isn’t in danger, I have no reason to tolerate his distasteful presence.

I shove his hand off my shoulder, not bothering to hide my contempt, and turn around and leave.

No, I run.

Far. Away.





3





NIKOLAI





Kolya Jr. has been an adventurous whore since he got his first boner at the fresh age of five.

It was such a marvelous discovery when I found my then-wiener hard that I giggled with glee. Then I proceeded to run all over our house, dangling, pointing, and showing it off to anyone who crossed my path while shouting, “Look! I have a gun!”

Dad laughed his head off. Mom looked like she was going to either throw up or burst into flames.

Good times.

For me and my dad. Definitely not for my mom since she was covering my twin sisters’ eyes, ushering them inside, and telling me to get my weenie back in my pants.

I pouted as I muttered, “But my weenie really likes the air.”

Mom looked at the sky, probably to the invisible big bro up there, and when that didn’t work, she directed her gaze at the actual semblance of a real God in our lives. My dad.

After he laughed his ass off—five out of five sense of humor on that man, love him—he helped me pack a pouty Kolya away, and sure as shit, my dick had every right to be offended since his first show was put to a nonconsensual halt.

Dad told me that I actually couldn’t use my wiener as a gun. At least, not yet—see, told you that man has the best sense of humor, as expected of my dad—and stripping in front of my baby sisters is a no-no.

He also said the stupid rule where I couldn’t be naked all the time. Fucking social restrictions and all that bullshit.

At any rate, that was the official birth of Kolya Jr., or Kolya for short. Kolya happens to be the Russian diminutive form of my name, but it’s rarely used, and only by my very Russian grandfather, who snarls at the reality that Niko won the nickname battle a hundred to one.

And no, Grandpa doesn’t know I actually call my dick Kolya or I’d need to revoke my Russian card. And that’s no fun. I breathe vodka.

Anyway, ever since that boner incident, Kolya has become the sluttiest, most adventurous cock anyone would ever meet.