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

“You signed up for this knowing full well about the possibility of turning into collateral damage.”

“So…you’ll let us fend for ourselves?”

“For fuck’s sake.” I retrieve another cigarette and light it. “You’re not kids, last I checked. Besides, if there’s something major, I will interfere and stop it from affecting the group.”

I can’t be arsed, if I’m being honest, but an attack on the club is a direct threat to me, and that’s simply not an agenda I support.

“Rory said you’re not paying much attention to the club.”

Rory, the second in command with Nila, and someone I only gave the co-vice president position to because he can be molded like clay, has started to think he could have his own opinions. I don’t appreciate that in my domain, and I will certainly have to nip it in the bud before he turns into a worse problem.

“Tell Rory everything is under control. I’m sure you’ll help me convince him, Nila. You know you’re the only one I trust.”

I don’t mean a single word I’ve said, but I’m convincing enough that I’m rewarded with Nila’s heart eyes.

“Of course!” She approaches me with a sultry look plastered all over her above-average face and places a hand on my chest. “Now that we got that out of the way…”

I stare at her mud-green eyes, so big and muted and terribly boring. The only eyes I’d like staring back at me are those of powder blue and tarnished innocence.

Mia kicked me out of her room last night after she signed that if I cut off her light again, she’d slice my throat in my sleep. Since then, I’ve been in the uni studio for the sole reason that it was the closest.

A burst of creative energy rips through me every time I touch Mia. It’s strange, powerful, and, to my dismay, unexplainable.

I don’t tread in unknown territory. And when I do, it’s only after I’ve studied all variables. That doesn’t seem to be possible with a certain blonde who’s messing up my patterns, habits, and, most importantly, my equilibrium.

It doesn’t matter that I spent the whole night here. That energy started to slip soon after I left Mia.

There must be a way that I can contain this energy. When I was coming all over her petite face, I figured the only solution would be to lock her up, but she’s literally a menace and would snip my balls the first chance she gets.

Now, there’s another option that I don’t particularly care for, but it could be the only one on the table.

“You look gorgeous today.” Nila’s annoying voice brings me out of my reverie.

“I’m gorgeous every day.” I grab her wrist with two fingers and throw her hand away.

Touching is one of the most revolting things humans ever invented. I tolerate it out of necessity and only indulge in it when my cock is involved.

“Now off you go.” I push her in the direction of the door.

“But—”

“I won’t fuck you, Nila. Go find yourself another dick. Though it won’t be as satisfactory as mine, I’m sure you’ll survive the downgrade.”

“You’re such a prick.”

“Being obsessed with my cock won’t get you on his Ten Favorite People list. Fortunately, he’s not turned on by desperate holes.” I slide the studio door closed in her face and make a note to ask the janitor not to give her the keys again.

Though that would be talking to his dick she obviously seduced and won’t be an easy task.

Men, as a general rule, are guided by their lower parts, and while I belong to the disgraceful gender, I don’t share their mindless animalistic instincts.

Fucking, like everything in life, is a power play. A means to take what I want and fuck off.

Just like last night.

Then why did you want to stay afterward, Lan? the voice inside my head that I thought I’d murdered for his blasphemous suggestions whispers.

To get more from my muse, I reply back—in my head, of course, because I’m not a lunatic. Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t have that, so you don’t know what that means. Throw a pity party for yourself and don’t invite me.

That shuts him up.

Good.

Hope he chokes to death on the sentimental bollocks that he wears like a charm.

I’m about to leave the studio to execute my next diabolical plan that may or may not include a certain goth Barbie when my phone vibrates on the work table.

Now, I won’t be winning a Son of the Year award anytime soon, but I don’t usually ignore Mum’s calls.

I pick up the video call with a grin. “Morning to the most beautiful queen.”

Mum laughs, her face radiating. Bran and I inherited the shape of her eyes, while Glyn has her facial structure.

Astrid C. King, as per her paintings’ signature, is the reason all three of us have artistic genes, though I have the strongest, mixed with a dash of chaos.

She soon narrows her eyes. “Why are you buttering me up first thing in the morning? Are you hiding something?”

“Just the fact that you’re the best mum ever, maybe?”

She laughs again.

It’s easy to deal with my parents because I just unleash my inner boy who actually appreciates them.

Mum is a tad better than Dad, though. He, for some reason, still holds a grudge that I pushed Bran and called Glyn unnecessary when we were kids.