God of Ruin (Legacy of Gods #4) by Rina Kent

Rumor has it he got dropped on his head as an infant and never recovered the lost neurons.

He’s chaotic, and not in the good, anarchy-filled sense. But more like a caricature with nothing inside his skull but the need to shag and serve as the group’s comedic relief.

He’s a good support in certain situations, but this one definitely doesn’t belong on the list.

He, Bran, and I are in the living room where they’re waiting for Match of the Day and a much-anticipated premier league game.

My brother occupies the sofa, wearing Chelsea colors and a matching bandana. Our family members are traditional gunners, and my father used to play for Arsenal a long time ago, but Bran chose to root for a rival club. Out of all the important things he could choose to rebel on, he ended up with such a lousy one. And Dad actually chooses to be slightly offended, as if this whole thing means a fuck. Pretty sure King Enterprises owns shares in both clubs.

“You can’t do that!” Remi jumps from his chair and points a finger at me, despite the fact that I dropped the subject ever so peacefully.

“What’s with all the parties you keep throwing in the mansion?” Bran asks as if he’s my designated keeper. I happen to be fifteen whole minutes older than him and should assume that role if it were to exist, thank you very much.

“This is complete rubbish!” Remi throws his head back dramatically. “Back me up on this, Bran! We have to stop this overlord from occupying our space all the time.”

Bran, who’s definitely not as obnoxious as Remi, merely nods. Unfortunately for my childhood friend, he’s missing his other ally.

A certain vexing presence who everyone else calls Eli. He’s not around today, probably having fucked off to make other people’s lives miserable.

Which is why I chose this perfect time to hold this type of meeting. If he were here, the state of affairs would be bumpy and unnecessarily draining.

“Give me a better reaction than that, Bran!” Remi calls out with his hurt, over-the-top voice that’s begging for a few snips to his vocal cords.

Seems that tonight, they don’t really have plans except for being a pain in the arse.

“Whether you agree or not,” I say. “If I decide to throw a party, I’ll just do it, so you better go ahead and cut your losses. You guys are invited if you’d like to join the mayhem.”

“No, thanks.” Remi gives me a look of disgust. “I become invisible to the ladies whenever you’re around.”

“Don’t be jealous of my charm, Rems.” I walk up to him and catch him by the shoulder. “To make it up to you, I can put you in a Jacuzzi with a flavor of your type.”

He lifts a brow. “How many?”

“How many do you want?”

“Three.”

“They’ll be there.”

“Then you’ll disappear so they won’t throw themselves on your dick instead?”

“Of course. What are bros for?”

“You got yourself a deal, Lan.” He shakes my hand.

“Seriously?” Bran asks. “You were just whining about how he’s always occupying our space, Remi.”

“I just remembered his parties are fun. My lordship inhales fun.”

“Which is why your lordship is such a good sport,” I say with a straight face, despite internally cringing at how he calls himself that.

Mum also has an aristocratic title, but you don’t see me flashing it and calling myself a lord for anyone to hear. I wouldn’t shy away from using it as a plug in front of the right people, though.

At any rate, the mission is complete. There will be another mindless party, where I can invite the scum of the scum and crown myself as their leader.

It’s one of my countless attempts to not get stuck in my head for longer than absolutely necessary. It’s good for the art but usually bad news for everyone else. Especially for those who will be the target of my anarchy and their closest circle.

Lately, that’s been a certain goth blonde Barbie that so inexplicably happens to be the only form of a muse I’ve ever had.

She’s been trying to avoid me ever since she shattered all over my fingers a week ago, but I know how to smoke a mouse out of its hideout.

I’m about to go back upstairs, not really caring about football, when Bran catches up to me and grabs my arm.

I stare at his hand and then at his face. “Something on your mind, little brother?”

“Mia.”

I pretend to be unaffected and suppress the instinct to narrow my eyes at him. I know she’s somewhat friends with my brother. That didn’t particularly bother me before and that shouldn’t change now if I’m being logical. But for some reason, I don’t like it.

“Who’s that?” I ask while tapping an index finger on my mouth.

“You know exactly who she is, considering you’ve been going after her.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“I don’t need her to tell me anything. I’ve known you all my life, and I can recognize when you’re up to no good, which is, unfortunately, more often than not lately.” He releases a long, frustrated breath. “Haven’t you done her brother enough damage already?”

“She’s not her brother, now, is she?”

“No, but he’ll kill you if he finds out you’re targeting his sister.”