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

I’m stunned into long, thick silence.

And Jeremy uses the chance to drag me behind him. He doesn’t do it gently, doesn’t wait for any cues from me. He just digs his fingers into my elbow and pulls me along.

I’m wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, but my skin tingles and burns where he’s gripping it.

The sudden, nonnegotiable motion might as well be an ambush that strips away all my defenses.

I’m not used to being treated this way—stalked, manhandled, grabbed with brutal strength.

I gradually snap out of my shocked state and try to wrench my arm free.

His powerful, much bigger hand engulfs my elbow in a merciless hold, fingers digging further in the skin until I can feel a bruise forming there.

“Where are you taking me? Let me go.” I hate the tremor in my voice, the helplessness in it.

I’ve always prided myself on being confident and having the ability to conquer anything in my path, but this is a lot different from anything I’ve experienced.

Jeremy Volkov isn’t a person who I can stand up to and hope to come out of the encounter unscathed. He’s not an entity that can be dealt with logically and hope for favorable results.

The more I see him, the deeper I’m trapped in his night-like aura. Ruthless, heartless, boundless.

“J-Jeremy…” I purse my lips at the stutter and my skin heats. It starts where he’s touching me and spreads through the rest of my body.

He doesn’t answer me, doesn’t acknowledge my existence as his sharp strides cut the distance through the night. The muscles in his back are rigid, rippling beneath his black leather jacket.

It’s a fact that Jeremy is a big man, probably the biggest I’ve seen, aside from Nikolai. But right now, he’s like a giant animal.

No, not an animal.

A hunter.

He’s been chasing me ever since the initiation, and I was insolent enough to run away once and stop him the second time.

And maybe that’s what led us to this predicament. Maybe that’s how I ended up being targeted by the most dangerous man I know.

The one whose name is whispered in university halls, fight clubs, and the streets. The one who comes with gruesome rumors attached to his name.

The most prominent of all is how he makes people disappear.

My body goes rigid at that reminder. Maybe it’s my turn now. Maybe he’s had fun tormenting me by following me around, and now, he’ll execute the next step that involves getting rid of me.

“Jeremy!” I call again, much louder this time.

He glances at me from the corner of his eye, looking no different than a monster in sophisticated clothes.

“So you do know my name, yet you chose to address me as a creep.”

I swallow. He’s not going to let that go, is he?

“I—”

“Don’t.”

“You didn’t even hear what I had to say.”

“I don’t need to. If you’re going to blurt it out without mulling it over in that head of yours beforehand, then it’ll only piss me off further.”

My mouth opens, but I force it closed.

So he is mad.

It’s hard to tell when he appears angry all the time.

He tugs me forward and I stumble, nearly dropping my books as we come to a halt in front of a huge bike.

The same bike I’ve caught glimpses of him riding a few times.

This thing is monstrous, and I resemble a stray mouse next to it. Jeremy, however, fits the vibe.

He looked to be in complete harmony the last time I saw him on it. He had one leg on the ground, helmet on, and his hands hung nonchalantly on the handlebars.

Jeremy finally releases my elbow and I resist the urge to massage the spot where his fingers assaulted my skin.

He plucks a helmet out of the saddlebag and leans toward me. It’s really bad for my self-esteem whenever he’s in my vicinity, because the only thing I can think about in this current situation is how to escape.

One of my legs steps behind the other and I jolt when my back hits the bike.

I jerk one hand up. “Stop it!”

He swats it away effortlessly, as if it’s nothing more than a cardboard prop, then shoves the helmet on my head.

I try to resist and grab his wrist to push it away.

He pauses and glares at me silently, so silently that it’s creepy.

How does he not want me to call him a creep when he scores a hundred for the vibe alone?

The moment he stops strapping the helmet in place, my struggle stops, too. Mostly due to his glare.

“If you want to touch me, all you have to do is ask. There’s no need to play hard to get for it.”

Heat flares in my cheeks when I realize I’m cradling his wrist, fingers stretching across his warm skin. Now that I’m not fighting him, it’s like I’m trying to grab his hand or something.

I release him with a jerk and he uses my flustered state to finish strapping on the helmet.

“Can you let me go?” I ask, softly this time, imploringly even.

For someone who obviously gets off on violence, countering it with the same medicine probably wouldn’t be as effective as trying the exact opposite.

“Not yet.” He grabs the top of my books and I hug them further to my chest, which causes his fingers to brush against my breasts.

A zip goes through me and my hold falters around the books. Jeremy all but yanks them out of my arms.

The man doesn’t have one gentle bone in his body.

He dunks them in the saddlebag. “Why are you confiscating my books?”

“You’ll get them back when we’re done.”

“Done with what?”

He casts me a glance, and I can’t help noticing the smudge of blood on his palm that he got from beating up those guys.

Then leaving them wailing and groaning in the middle of the street.

That’s the type of person Jeremy Volkov is. A man who solves problems with his fists and likes stealing other people’s identities just to teach me a lesson.

So how come I’m caught in his web?

“You’ll find out.” His tone is final, prohibiting any other questions.

He straddles his bike and revs the engine. I’m pretty sure he sees me flinching at the loud sound, and unless I’m imagining it, there’s a twitch of his lips, too.

I’ve always hated superbikes, sports cars, and anything with loud engines and crazy horsepower.

The sensory overload hurts my ears and makes me want to hide in the nearest nook.

I cast a glance at my surroundings. The lot he parked in is isolated, but there are two roads ahead. Surely, if I run, I’ll be able to find a passerby—

“Don’t even think about it.”

My wide eyes land on Jeremy, who’s casually sitting on his bike and watching my every move.

“How do you know what I’m thinking about?”

“You’re a lot more obvious than you realize.” He strokes his index finger on the clutch, back and forth, as if he’s performing some sort of a ritual. “If you want to run, go for it. But you should know that I’ll chase you, and I can’t guarantee what I’ll do to you the moment I catch you, so if that’s an option you’re willing to gamble on, by all means, go ahead and run. If not, I suggest you hop on, peacefully.”

A whole-body tremor goes through me, and it’s due not only to his calmly spoken threats, but also to his words.

The innuendo behind them. The deepening in his inflection when he said them.

He wants to chase me.

I can see it in his dark, ash-gray eyes that he wants me to run.

No, he’s wishing for it. He’s hoping I’ll run so he can get off on chasing me.

Like in that forest.

He’ll pin me down, rip my clothes off, and have his way with me. He’ll unleash the animal inside him and devour me.

My legs shake and a crazy part of me yearns to actually run and hide. Run and be chased.

I internally drive the idea out of my foggy brain. Just what the hell is wrong with me?

Head trauma.

That’s the only explanation. I must’ve hit my head when he shoved me to the ground that night. That explains all the craziness I’ve been thinking about since then.

Or the last words he said to me.

Come back when you’re ready to be fucked properly.

A sling of heat ripples through me and I force those thoughts away.

Jeremy doesn’t break eye contact, his soulless eyes singlehandedly attempting to barge into my soul.

Looking at his face for even a few seconds is the most draining thing I’ve ever done.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even blink. Just stares.

I break eye contact first and climb onto the bike.

I try to, anyway.

The thing is huge and I’m not used to it. My foot slips and I grab onto his leather jacket at the last second.

Jeremy clutches my elbow, the same elbow that he held on to for dear life earlier, then jerks me behind him in one go.

“That’s what I thought.” He speaks with a mocking edge, as if he wouldn’t expect anything less from me.

Before I can respond, his bigger hand envelops mine and then plants my palm on his lower abs. My arm is all wrapped around his hard, sculpted waist and my fingers tremble slightly over his jacket.

“Hold on.”

“I can grab the back of the bike.” Or his shoulders. Why the hell is he making me touch him?

A slight twitch of his lips is all the answer he offers as he revs the bike forward.

My whole body vibrates from the force of the engine and my breasts glue to his back.

His rigid, muscular back.

I wrap my other hand around his waist, feeling like I’ll fall off if I don’t.

The power of the bike is nothing less than that of being on a roller coaster.

My fingers dig into his jacket, his T-shirt, anywhere I’m sure he won’t throw me off for fun.

The vibration of the engine shakes my whole body as he speeds down the streets. It’s like he’s in a competition against the wind. Due to which I might fall off on my arse.

The trees, streets, and people blur in my peripheral vision, or maybe I’m just about to black out.

These high-adrenaline activities are just not for me.

How the hell does he manage to remain calm through it? Is he a damn unfeeling robot?

I’m on the verge of a panic attack and he just navigates the streets as if they’re his kingdom. It doesn’t help that my body is all glued to his.

The pressure of the wind forbids me from putting any distance between us. Every time I try to pull away, I’m flung forward harder so that my breasts are crushed against his back.

I think he goes faster on purpose whenever I do that, so I stop trying. Either that or the crazy psycho will land us in an accident.

My attempts to alternate between breathing through my nose and mouth are futile, too. It’s just not possible when my whole body is under attack and I have no control over the situation.

It’s sensory overload, a dead end, and a bleak reality.

I’m surprised I haven’t thrown up by the time he stops. My nails continue digging into his abs while I scan my surroundings.

What if the crazy bastard starts the engine again and I fall on my face?

He brings me to a hidden alley that’s dimly lit. Several luxurious cars are parked to one side, and Jeremy has placed his bike near one of them.

We’re away from the main street, so I can’t exactly walk there unless I’m planning to run for about half an hour.

“Will you be holding on to me for long? Not that I mind, but we have somewhere to be.”

I carefully release him, my cheeks probably looking red again. Just why the hell do I keep getting caught in compromising positions by him?

Jeremy hops off the bike and I remove the helmet and give it to him.

“This doesn’t look like the dorm,” I start as we walk down the street.

“I never said I was giving you a ride home.”

“Can I go home?”

“I told you, not yet.”

I open my mouth to ask why not but clamp it shut when we reach a metal door in front of which stand two burly guys with angular features and harsh eyes.

They nod upon seeing Jeremy and he nods back. No words are exchanged as one of them opens the door.

Jeremy walks in, and when I don’t follow, he grabs me by the nape. His big hand stretches across my skin as he flings me to his side, forcing me to fall in step beside him.

“I don’t want to go in there…” I try to negotiate as an elegant hall with baroque wallpaper materializes in front of us.

“And I didn’t want you at the initiation.” He sinks his fingers into my skin. “But we don’t always get what we want, now, do we?”

“Are you doing all of this because I was at the initiation?”

“Am I?”

The condescension behind his question makes my blood boil, but before I can reply, he stops in front of a door and pushes me inside.

I start to struggle. There’s no way in hell he’ll get me into his torture chamber without a fight.

My body freezes when he locks the door and I’m greeted with a table that’s set like in a luxurious restaurant.

Elegant wallpaper covers the walls and a huge painting with bold strokes of warm colors occupies half of the opposite wall.

Two red velvet chairs are on either side of the elegantly set table.

If I wasn’t suspicious, I’d be almost certain this was one of those restaurants with private dining rooms.

But then again, why would Jeremy bring me here for a meal?

The question must be written all over my face, because he settles on one of the sophisticated chairs and motions at the one across from him.

“Sit and then you can ask your question.”

My steps are rigid, forceful even, as I carefully slide into the seat.

“What is this place?”

“Somewhere to eat.” Jeremy grabs the menu and skims it with disturbing nonchalance.

Maybe he’s doing it on purpose, knowing full well how nervous I am.

“Why would you bring me here?”

“I only agreed to answer a question, not questions.” He motions at my untouched menu. “Pick something.”

“I don’t have an appetite.”

He stares at me from above the menu. “Why not?”

“Are you seriously asking me that after you stalked me, assaulted some random guys, and kidnapped me to God knows where? Food is the last thing on my mind under the circumstances.”

“Stalking, assaulting, and kidnapping. Three serious crimes, don’t you think?”

“Is this a joke to you?” I ask with a trembling voice.

“No, but you must believe it is, because you’re not taking my words seriously.” His gaze slides to my menu. “Pick something or I’ll do it for you and shove the food down your throat.”

My spine jerks upright and I reach for the menu. It’s for self-preservation and I’m only choosing my battles.

That’s it.

That’s all.

Names of dishes I’ve never seen before spill out in front of me in gold letters, but there are no prices listed. I’ve been to many restaurants like this, usually with my parents or grandparents, so I know that this place is either exclusive or pricey or both.

The door opens and I jerk upright in my seat when a well-groomed man with rimless glasses walks into the room.

He places some appetizers on the table and a bottle of premium-looking vodka in front of Jeremy. He takes his order and then turns to me. I pick some soup that had the fewest weird ingredients in it.

As soon as he leaves, I wish he hadn’t.

Jeremy pours some vodka into his glass and swirls it, watching me watch it with that blank edge of his.

I force myself to meet his eyes even as my nails clink together in my lap. “What do you want from me?”

“What do you think I want?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew.”

He takes a sip of his drink. “Make a guess.”

“You’re getting back at me because I went to the initiation when I wasn’t personally invited?”

“Yes and no.”

“Can you explain?”

“I can, but I won’t.”

I narrow my eyes and a slight curve tilts his lips. “Are you okay? You look a little annoyed.”

“Are you enjoying this?”

“Very.” His voice drops with that single word as if taunting me further.

I want to curse him to the darkest pits of hell, but I force myself to inhale deeply and stay calm.

In. Out.

It’s not worth it.

In. Out.

He’s probably doing this on purpose to get a rise out of me and I’ll not give him the satisfaction.

“Where are your annoying, self-righteous retorts?” He continues to swirl the contents of his glass. “Cat got your tongue?”

“More like an unwanted existence has rendered me speechless.”

“Careful there. Just because I’m being tolerant doesn’t mean you should test the limits.”

“And what are those?”

“Sure you want to know? You’ll have to tell me yours in return.”

I reach for the appetizer for no other reason than to ignore the situation and stop my fingers from assaulting each other.

“Not interested,” I mutter.

“But I am. So why don’t you tell me why gagging and drugging are your only limits? Does that mean you’re fine with brutal flogging, spanking, breath and knife play, but can’t handle a simple gagging? What’s the philosophy behind that?”

My fingers tremble and I nearly spill the glass of water as I bring it to my lips.

“Can you not?” My voice is breathy, distorted.

“Can I not what?”

“Talk about that.”

“That? Oh, you mean your limits in primal play? How you like to be chased and used and abused like a dirty little slut?”

“Stop it.” I jerk up from my seat.

“Sit down.” His voice is nonnegotiable but calm as he slides his attention to my chair in a silent command.

“Please stop this.”

“Sit the fuck down.”

I slowly do, my heart beating loudly behind my rib cage. This is a dangerous man with dangerous actions. If I fight for the sake of fighting, he won’t hesitate to knock me into what he believes is my place.

“Now, answer my earlier question. Why are gagging and drugging a limit?”

I purse my lips.

“We can do this the amicable way or I can torture the answer out of you. I don’t have to say which option I’d like to try out more, do I?”

This sick bastard.

This bloody sick bastard.

“I had a bad experience with them,” I say so softly, I think he doesn’t hear me.

“What type of experience?”

I glare at him. “The type I don’t want to talk about.”

“Hmm. Is that also why you developed the kink?”

“No.” I had it long before that. Maybe I’m sick, too.

“Then was it because Landon is into that sort of play?”

I gulp the contents of my mouth and the door opens again as the waiter walks in with our food.

As soon as he’s out, I stuff my face with the soup, eating so he’ll stop talking and give me space.

Jeremy, however, doesn’t touch his food, and I squirm under the weight of his unwavering attention. “Are you that desperate for his attention?”

I choke on the soup and when I look at him, he mutters, “Pathetic.”

Beneath his callous edge, I detect a worse feeling. Disgust.

He’s revolted with me to an extent I didn’t think was possible for another human being to feel.

The shame I’ve been battling with since the night he touched me resurfaces again, much stronger and more potent.

But I manage to place my spoon down and preserve my composure. “If you think I’m so pathetic, why are you wasting your time with me?”

“Why do you think?”

“Can you stop answering my questions with your own questions?”

“No.”

“I’m leaving.” This time, I get up, intent on getting the hell out of here.

“No, you’re not.” He doesn’t even move from his spot.

“I’ll scream the whole place down.”

“No one will hear you.” His voice drops. “This room is soundproof.”

My gaze strays to the door.

“Only my people are out there, so don’t even try unless you’re in the mood to be manhandled.”

I take a step toward the door anyway. In a flash, Jeremy reaches me and appears like a wall at my back.

He grabs my jaw and directs my attention to the painting on the wall. “I’m going to need you to watch a live scene with me.”

Like in some sci-fi show, the painting is lifted and glass appears, revealing another room that’s similar to this one. Only the entire scene is different.

I gasp as the person on the other side materializes in front of me.

“See. Landon isn’t exclusively a member of that club. He’s a member of every club on this island and beyond. He doesn’t have one kink. He has them all as long as he can inflict pain. One of his kinks is exhibitionism, which is why he chose a room where anyone can watch him.”

Bile rises in my throat as Landon drives in and out of a bound, gagged, and blindfolded brunette at a maddening pace. The sounds mix with the graphic scene.

Groaning, slapping, gagging, moaning.

Sharp pain stabs my stomach. Then all of a sudden, I bend over and empty what I just ate on the floor.

Just like I did two years ago.

Just like back then, I can hear his voice over the ringing in my ears.

“You’re disgusting.”