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

“Listen…” I take a step toward Creigh. “I know you feel the need for revenge, but this whole thing is wrong.”

“No one asked for your opinion. Stay out of this.”

“I won’t allow you to throw your life away for parents you’ve never known and a past you’re better off without, Creighton.” I speak in a firm tone. “I’m letting Nikolai go and then we’ll talk about this. Rationally.”

I turn toward Nikolai and I feel like I’m melting when I find him looking at me with those hooded eyes.

I’m sorry, I say with mine. For everything.

I grab the ropes, but a blow lands at the back of my head, and the world is pulled from beneath my feet.

The last thing I see is Nikolai’s wide eyes as I fall on top of him. But I manage to slip the knife between his thighs so he can save himself.

Or at least, I think I do.

My last thought is just how much I’ve missed his smell. Maybe losing consciousness isn’t so bad after all if I get to hug him.





22





NIKOLAI





The situation turned into a shitshow.

Two people left that basement in a fucking ambulance that day.

One of them was me due to that motherfucker Creighton. But hey, karma is a little bitch who works very fast, because he also got what was coming to him.

I might have made my fate worse since I pushed my throat against his blade. No regrets, though. I refused the very notion of being used against Jeremy. That’s just not going to happen under my fucking watch.

Anyway, that was over a week ago.

I’m fine now, didn’t need many stitches, and in a few weeks, I can wear the new scar as a badge of honor. Yes, bitch.

My sisters and Jeremy don’t agree about how I view the whole incident, but who gives a fuck. I’m alive.

I’m fine.

Or I was. Until I found out a tragic fact that I’d been blind to see this whole time.

My baby sister Mia is apparently friends with Bran.

Friends.

Why the fuck would he be friends with my sister? Unless he has an ulterior motive and is using her for another diabolical plan by his fucking brother or his whole fucked-up family.

He didn’t even visit me in the hospital.

Not that I’m butthurt about that or thinking about it on a daily basis or anything equally crazy.

We’re done.

Yeah, right. You haven’t moved on a fucking inch.

I could swear I heard his voice when I was sleeping and even saw him sitting in the chair beside my hospital bed and felt him stroking my hair. But then again, I’ve often been delusional when it comes to him.

Sometimes, I pictured him walking out from the penthouse elevator.

Other times, I imagined he came up to kiss me in public.

The few times I fell into a deep sleep, I dreamed of his heartfelt smiles, erotic noises, and his head on my thigh.

He invaded my every waking and sleeping moment.

The harder I pushed my mind to forget him, the more persistently he haunted me. Oftentimes, I found myself in the penthouse just to be able to smell him or see his shadow in the kitchen fixing God knows what.

But I was fine. Fucking perfect. Except for bugging Jer to give me problems to solve and being at the fight club on a daily basis, everything else was awesome.

I don’t deal with complications, so removing the major complication from my life was the most logical decision I’d ever made. I was proud of myself for making that choice. For extracting the tumor that was growing inside me. I no longer had to deal with his grouchy presence, his push-and-pull games, and his stupid mixed signals.

There was just his pesky fucking ghost that followed me everywhere and wouldn’t leave me alone, but I was handling it.

I was fucking okay.

Until he sent me that goddamn text.

Just like that, the thin layer of ice I’d surrounded myself with melted away.

The asshole was right. I can’t stay away from him.

I can force myself away, I can try to be the very thing I’m not—logical—but then I’ll stalk him on social media and sometimes in real life.

From the shadows, like a motherfucking creep.

Now is one of those times.

I lean against my Harley, arms crossed and helmet on. I’m even wearing a leather jacket to be anonymous.

My gaze is on an NGO’s building. This is his favorite charity—the one that organizes marathons and performs volunteer work around the island.

Naturally, Bran is one of their top volunteers since he has that kink for running.

What I love about this building is that the windows are large and I can see what’s going on inside, even if I’m across the street pretending to be having coffee. I haven’t touched the cup since I bought it, considering the helmet and all.

My eyes track Bran’s movements as he carries some chairs to the other side of a giant hall and smiles at something his colleague, a rosy-cheeked curvy brunette, says.

It’s his golden-boy smile, not exactly fake, but it’s not genuine, either. He’s mostly polite as he listens to her blabbering on and on like a fucking chatterbox.

He better stop smiling at her or she’ll do a fast climb to the top of my shit list.

Would she stop fucking talking already?

I need to chill for one second, because we’re not even together anymore.

Not that we were before.