God of Wrath: A Dark Enemies to Lovers Romance (Legacy of Gods Book 3)

I don’t know how long I stand at the side of Cecily’s bed.

All I’m sure of is that I remain here, unmoving, watching, observing, long after she falls back asleep with tears rimming her eyes.

I reach out a thumb and wipe away those tears, smear them on the tiny freckles, then crush them between my fingers.

She’s probably sad that it’s not her fucker of a prince who came to claim her in the middle of the night.

Now that she’s asleep, she looks like the personification of inward innocence mixed with a poor relationship with her sensory world.

The worst relationship.

She’s awkward at expressing herself, being spontaneous, and letting go, even when her friends do. I know because I’ve been watching her.

Not up close and personal like following her home from the shelter or the library, but I’ve been around enough to know her schedule, where she goes and with whom.

I took a step back to give her room and see if she’d use the opening to throw herself at Landon again. Color me surprised when they only met within their group of friends and only rarely.

She wasn’t texting him back and forth, vying for his attention like a fangirl either.

What she does, however, is like and comment on each of his pretentious Instagram posts.

I stroke her white hair away from her face. Petite, soft, and with remnants of my dried cum.

The view thickens my erection, lulling me, inviting me to jerk off all over her again—this time, I’d mark her tits and cunt.

Scratch that. This time, I’d claim her cunt.

And I would break her.

I’d stretch her tiny pussy and split it in half.

These tears would turn into a tsunami if I have my way with her. Which is why I’m not.

For now.

My forefinger slides back and forth against my thigh as I caress her hair, sinking between the abnormal color that she had to wear a wig to hide during the initiation. I know because I nearly tore it off.

I know because that’s when I first figured out her identity.

Her lips part and she lets out a small moan, leaning into my touch, almost fucking purring like a cat.

I remove my hand with a jerk.

The fuck is wrong with this girl and her being so out there? And it’s ten times weirder considering her poor relations with the outside world.

It’s why I knew she was drunk when she sent me that DM in which she said she wanted to be chased and taken down.

A message that I’m sure was meant for Landon.

Considering her cowardly tendencies, she wouldn’t have sent that to me or him if she’d been sober.

I was plotting the raid of the Serpents’ local compound with the guys when I got that DM.

At first, I threw the phone in my pocket and ignored it, like I’ve been ignoring her for the past couple of weeks.

But like all those days, I fished my phone back out and glared at it. The same way I glared at her from afar.

While I watched her.

Followed her.

Hacked into her phone and computer.

Murdered every shred of her privacy.

Read her fucking journal that’s full of psychological bullshit and Landon.

When I checked my phone again, I found out she’d followed me on Instagram, too. Probably another drunken mistake.

But maybe the DM was meant for me, after all. Not Landon. Me.

That’s all the logic my brain needed to storm out of the meeting and come here.

In the middle of the fucking night.

It’s also what made me climb her balcony, creep inside, and touch her like she was already mine, partially forgetting that my little sister was on the other side of the door.

I should probably leave before one of her gazillion friends comes to check on her, but I don’t move.

Instead, I take time to look around her room, the walls covered in manga pages like some edgy teenager. I move closer and study the names at the top of each, committing them to memory so that I can search what she likes to read.

Then I do a whole sweep of the space.

Cecily’s room is simple—despite the manga wallpaper. Her wardrobe is casual and is full of T-shirts with sarcastic quotes. She owns no dresses or skirts or anything girly.

Her makeup table barely has anything on it aside from different brands of sunscreen. And perfume. Water lilies. I can’t help spraying it into the air and inhaling it.

Smells like Cecily. But not quite. It’s missing the scent of her skin.

I put back the bottle exactly where I found it, like a perfect creep, but then I place it on its side. I don’t give a fuck if she knows I went through her things. In fact, I want her to.

Let her be on the edge as payment for all the annoyance she’s brought into my life by merely existing.

I tilt my head in her direction. “Why the fuck did you come to that initiation, Cecily?”

If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be acting completely out of character by inserting myself into her life and learning things about her I’m not supposed to.

Once I’m done going through the small space, I sit at her desk.

Psychology, philosophy, and nonfiction books line her small library.

And mangas.

Slice of life. Shounen, and… I grab one and my brows lift.

Boys’ love.

Well, well. Would you look at that?

I slide that manga back in place and open her laptop. I already hacked it once, so I know it’s as boring and meticulous as the image she projects onto the outer world.

All filled with school projects and pictures from family holidays.

Still, I open her browser and look at her history.

Considering that seeing sex made her physically ill the other day, I doubt she watches any. Or she could be using a private browser.

I find no trace of porn. However, I land on an interesting burst of similar searches, usually conducted late at night.

The psychology of rape fantasy.

Why do many women have rape fantasies?

The sociology of judging women who seek out or enjoy sex rougher than most men.

The sociology of rewarding men and punishing women for enjoying sex.

Is there an underlying mental disorder associated with rape fantasies?

Paraphilias listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.

Is primal kink a sexual deviation?

Serial killers’ kinks.

That one puts a smile on my face.

Jesus.

I can almost imagine the deer-in-the-headlights expression she had while reading all of this stuff.

My gaze slides to her sleeping form. “You need to stop forcing labels on yourself.”

I skim through the articles written by some hotshot psychologists who try not to be judgy but sometimes let their true colors show.

Cecily must’ve been in a position where she had to see her preferences through a professional lens and wondered if something was wrong with her.

She’s shackled in some way.

And something tells me it’s not only due to her rigid codes of honor, stiff personality, or altruistic little heart.

Something deeper lurks beneath the surface, and I’ll find it if it’s the last thing I do.

My plans to only watch from afar just to catch Landon through her lie are forgotten as I dig, probe, and search.

Words and websites start to blur together, but I don’t stop.

People like Cecily carry their wounds so deep that even those in their closest circle have no clue about them.

I’m positive she’s kept it a secret from her parents and grandparents, with whom she’s close to, so as not to burden them. Ava, too.

But no matter how much she hides it, I’ll figure out her secret and drag it out of her kicking and screaming.

The commotion starts to die down outside her door, and that’s my cue to leave.

I quietly close her laptop and make a mental note to hack into it again later to dig deeper into her search history.

Then I take a few pictures of the books and mangas she reads. I’m about to leave from the balcony when her phone vibrates on the bedside table.

I stalk to her side and pause when I see the name on the text.

The motherfucking non-prince.

I unlock it using her passcode. She uses the same one for everything—her parents’ marriage date.

Landon: Hi, stranger.

My fingers tighten on the phone, but I type back.

Cecily: Hi 🙂

I tut at the smiley face. But if I want to make him believe it’s her, I have to mimic her style.

Landon: Everything okay? Is Jeremy still bothering you?

Bothering.

That’s what she told him? That I was bothering her?

Granted, stalking could be called bothering in certain circumstances.

But I wouldn’t have resorted to that method if I’d known what this motherfucker told her to do.

Cecily: Everything’s great. He’s not following me anymore.

Or that’s what she believes, anyway.

Landon: For how long?

Cecily: About two weeks.

Landon: That’s not long enough. He’s a dog who doesn’t give up on the bone he found, so he could and would come back at any time.

This fucker is too smart for his own good. I’ve always plotted his demise, but right now? I’m downright scheming for his murder and the best burial site to erase his existence from life.

Cecily: I’ll be careful.

Landon: That’s my Ces. Stay safe. I mean it.

My Ces.

My. Ces.

It takes everything in me not to smash the phone to pieces. I delete the conversation and return it to her bedside table instead.

I was going to leave quietly, but now, I’m pissed off.

Pushing her hair away from her neck, I lean over and bite down so hard, I’m surprised I don’t draw blood.

But I will.

Soon.

And when I do, it’ll be much more brutal than this.

Cecily groans, then moans and hides her face in the pillow.

I cover her neck with her hair, take one of her mangas, and jump out the window.

Instead of going home, I choose to spend time blowing off steam.

On my bike.

I’ve already toured the whole island, but the subtle feeling of intoxication, asphyxiation, and complete irritation hasn’t disappeared.

By sunrise, I stop at the top of a hill, leaning against my bike.

But I don’t look at the view.

I don’t give a fuck about anything beautiful. In fact, I find nothing beautiful.

Everything pretty is destined to wither and die. To shrivel and vanish.

So why find anything beautiful in the first place? That’s setting oneself up for disappointment without even trying.

I fish out my phone to find a long conversation in the Heathens’ chat group.

Nikolai: Did that motherfucker just leave us hanging?

Gareth: He must’ve had something urgent to do. Jeremy isn’t the type to leave without a reason.

Nikolai: I say we vote him down. The audacity of that motherfucker. How dare he wake me up for nothing?

Killian: And who should we put in his place? You?

Nikolai: You shut it, Satan’s heir. And what’s wrong with me becoming a leader?

Killian: The same thing that’s wrong with putting a clown as the head of the CIA.

Nikolai: Did you just call me a clown?

Killian: I didn’t. You did.

Nikolai: I’m sorry, Gaz, but I’m killing your brother tonight. Please prepare the funeral and don’t tell Aunt Reina that I’m behind the hit. We’ll say the enemies got him.

Gareth: He’s your cousin. Do as you like.

Killian: Hilarious, big bro. Not. @Nikolai Sokolov if you’re going to lie, pick something believable. No one would bite at the fact that I have enemies.

Nikolai: Bullshit. You’re a devil in disguise.

Killian: Keyword being in disguise. Everyone loves me. The only one with enough enemies to make the Queen of England kick us off UK soil is you.

Nikolai: I don’t go out of my way to make enemies, but if they come knocking, I’ll be serving.

Gareth: Is that why you sent two people to the ER last week?

Nikolai: Not my fault they were flexing muscles they didn’t have. I did visit them and gave them fruit baskets and shit.

Killian: You sure you were in the hospital for them and not that erectile dysfunction you had?

Nikolai: The only erectile dysfunction is you. I told you it was a lack of fucking interest and showed you proof, motherfucker.

Killian: Must’ve forgotten. Didn’t happen. Feeling in the mood to tell others about it.

Nikolai: That’s it. You and me, outside. Now.

Gareth: Kill is messing with you because you might have talked to Glyn for more than five minutes and he hates that. And stop it, Kill, otherwise, he’ll flood the group chat with dick pics to prove he doesn’t have ED.

Nikolai: Taking one as we speak.

*Killian left the group chat*

*Gareth left the group chat*

Nikolai: Hey! Where did everyone go? Whatever. Here’s one in your honor when you come back, Jer. You know I don’t have ED, right?

I leave the group chat before I’m bombarded with his ‘proof.’

He’s extra like that.

Now, I need to figure out an excuse for why I left them during a strategy meeting that doesn’t include ‘I was a raging volcano because Cecily sent me a DM that was probably supposed to be for Landon.’

Fuck.

They’d have a field day if they found out I was interested in a girl. If I said it was only to keep her under surveillance, they would call bullshit.

They’ve known me all their lives and they know I don’t put forth effort to get my dick wet. I don’t spend weeks stalking and following and being the creep she labeled me to be.

That’s just not my modus operandi.

And for that reason, they’ll remain in the dark about my endeavors with the little fox. These strong feelings of interest will eventually wane.

My phone vibrates and I straighten before I answer. “Dad.”

“Son.” My father’s voice with a slight Russian accent fills my ear.

It’s past midnight in New York, but Dad doesn’t sleep much. A trait I inherited.

“You need anything?” he asks.

That’s what Dad’s always been. Efficient. Our relationship wasn’t built on affection or care like Mom and Annika’s.

We’re just two efficient beings who are interested in the bigger picture.

But he cares in his own way. My father’s love languages are protecting us, slaughtering our demons for us, and making sure no one bothers us.

But since I grew into my role as his heir, the slaughtering demons part is exclusive to Annika. In fact, I’ve joined him in that endeavor.

We’re Mom’s and Annika’s guardian angels.

Though, realistically, we’re fallen angels who are campaigning for Lucifer’s throne in Hell.

I let my gaze get lost in the horizon as I speak in a businesslike manner. “Nothing is amiss.”

“I heard you’re taking on a new guard who used to be with the Serpents, is that true?”

By heard, he means his guards that he sent with me both to protect me and report back told him.

Asking me if it’s true is a mere courtesy.

“Yeah. His name is Ilya Levitsky. I’ve done my background check on him and he’s a good kid.”

“We don’t need good kids in our line of work, Jeremy. Besides, how do you know he’s not a spy?”

“I tested him. Gave conflicting information and waited for him to fall into the trap, but he didn’t. He’s a good kid, Dad. As in, a loyal one. He had the chance to betray the Serpents to join us, but he didn’t. He took the punishment, got flogged and left.”

“Which could all be a masquerade to fool you.”

“I’m considering that option, but it isn’t viable. He…wants to follow a leader he respects.”

One of the things that surprised me in the speech Ilya gave when he started working for me a couple of weeks ago. I knew people feared me, but it was the first time someone said they respected me.

“Or he plans to stab you in the back.”

Dad’s most authentic, but sometimes over-the-top trait, is being utterly distrustful.

It’s something I inherited, too, but not to the extent he exhibits. Instead of completely cutting out others from the start, I give them a chance. Once they betray it, they’re out.

Killian says that’s risky, but nothing good in life comes from hibernating and cutting off the outside world.

“Dad.” I speak firmly. “You had the chance to choose Kolya as your right-hand. I’m asking for the same.”

“Kolya was planted by your grandfather to spy on me when we were kids. I converted him.”

“I’ll convert Ilya, too. Aren’t you the one who told me loyal men are hard to find and if I stumble upon one, I should keep him?”

“That’s true. Well played, son.” A note of pride slips into his tone.

“All thanks to you.”

A small pause of silence hangs between us before he says, “Be careful.”

“I will.”

“Your mother is worried about you and is concerned you’re slipping away. Call her sometime.”

“Will do.”

I click the End button and stare at the soft glow of the sun in the distance.

It’s a mixture of yellow and orange, but appears gray.

Black, even.

Despite my best efforts, none of this suffocation is disappearing. If anything, it’s thickening and growing in density.

I should blow off steam in a different way.

This time, with the person behind this fucking mess.

I send Cecily a location, then follow with a text.

Be here tonight. Seven p.m. Don’t be late.

She might become a coward again, erase that text, pretend she didn’t admit to her tendencies out loud, and kill the animal inside her.

But something tells me she’s been approaching the boiling point for a while now and she might have reached it last night.

I sensed the trapped emotions inside her and saw the way her eyes shone with dark lust when I was using her mouth.

Cecily might be finally ready to act on her fantasy.

And when she does, I’ll show her who the actual monster is in this equation.