God of Malice: Chapter 12

“Where the hell have you been?”

I fidget at the entrance to the en-suite flat that I share with Cecily, Ava—and more recently, Annika.

She was supposed to stay in a secured solitary dorm that her family arranged for her, but since the three of us like her and we have a spare room, we invited her to stay with us. Apparently, her brother was against it, but she once again got approval directly from her father—with her mother’s help.

The other day, we talked to her mother over a video call and she was the sweetest, most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. Okay, maybe top five with Mum, Aunt Elsa, and my grandma.

Anyway, Annika’s mother didn’t look the part of being married into the mafia at all. But then again, Anni doesn’t look the part of a mafia princess either, so maybe it’s hereditary.

Our flat is cozy, with a spacious living area, four bedrooms, and a kitchen with black countertops.

The source of the question that was asked as soon as I walked in was Ava. She’s dressed in fluffy pajamas and a robe with black and pink feathers. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and a white mask covers her face.

Cecily peeks out from her room, black-framed glasses covering half her face, and she’s wearing a hoodie that says When I’m dead, bury me facedown so the world can kiss my ass. “You’re finally back. We were worried sick about you.”

I let my hand fall to my side and I rub my palm on my shorts. How am I supposed to tell them where I’ve been?

Well, guys, I’ve been kind of kidnapped by what I’m sure is a serial killer in the making, but I forgot about that as we sat and watched fireflies.

Oh, and he made me orgasm while speeding, in his damn car, and I liked it.

That sounds fucked up even in my head.

“I went for a ride to clear my mind,” I tell the girls, hoping they’ll buy it.

Ava narrows her eyes behind the mask and weighs me up and down. “Then why do you look all flushed and shit?”

“I took the stairs. You know, exercise.”

“Right.”

“Where’s Anni?” I attempt. “Is she okay?”

“She said she’s practicing, and you’re not changing the subject, Glyn,” Ava hikes a hand on her hip. “I’m waiting for a proper answer instead of some excuses.”

I chew on my bottom lip, then release it. Jeez. Even Cecily is watching me like a stern teacher which doesn’t mesh up with the pink bandana—definitely a gift from Ava—that holds her silver hair.

“I was really on a ride.” No lie there, so I definitely sound convincing.

“Really?” Ava circles me with the expression of a mama bear.

I nod, a bit too quickly.

“How could you leave right when Lan’s fight started? We almost crushed those King’s U wankers, but Nikolai won at the last second.” She sounds dejected like some fanatic fan.

I don’t say anything, because I simply couldn’t care less whether Lan lost or won. If I’d been there, I wouldn’t have stuck around for the fight anyway.

Seeing my brother in action is too nauseating for me to handle. I’m a coward like that.

“Even Bran came,” Ava continues. “Let me tell you, the crowd went wild. This year’s championship will draw a fortune in bets. I’m totally trying my hand at this one.”

“Wait. Go back.” My throat dries. “Bran came to the fighting ring?”

“Yeah.”

“While Lan was fighting?”

“Yup. He left during, though.”

My heart lunges at the thought of Bran witnessing all that violence—from Lan, no less.

I might not like violence, but Bran is downright squeamish about it.

Tapping my back pocket, I fish out my phone and start to text him when the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get that,” Cecily heads to open it.

“Not yet.” Ava runs back to her room, probably to remove her mask. She refuses to look anything less than perfect in front of outsiders.

Glyndon: Are you okay?

Bran: You can ask me that in person, little princess.

I turn around at the sound of a commotion, and sure enough, Remi is pushing in a poker-faced Creigh, who’s holding a case of beer while he carries a food container.

Brandon follows behind them with a sketchpad in hand.

“Ladies, your favorite lord has bestowed you with his god-level presence. No need to push, I have enough attention to divide equally between you all. Never mind these two, they begged to come along.”

“You made us come,” Creigh says point-blank.

“Now, hush, Cray Cray. Just because you beat up that lowlife doesn’t mean you’re up with me on the god level.”

Cecily crosses her arms and taps her foot on the floor. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Remi stares down at himself. “I’m looking as great as deities during their sacrificing days and just as dashing. I don’t think I forgot anything?”

“The fact that we have classes tomorrow, genius. Some of us actually take uni seriously.”

“Don’t be a bore, Ces. I swear to fucking fuck, you’re going to die in the middle of one your books one day. Don’t come asking for a spot in my joy corner in the afterlife.” He pushes past her, dumps the food container on the coffee table, and throws his weight on the sofa, making himself at home.

Creigh nods in our direction, a red bruise covering his jaw. I swallow at the reminder of who put it there and can’t help pointing at it. “Are you okay?”

My cousin doesn’t even touch it. “I’ve survived worse.”

“Do you have to keep fighting, Creigh? Aunt Elsa would be so worried.”

“She won’t be worried about something she doesn’t know.” His words are spoken casually, but I can hear the warning behind them. “Also, why was he looking at you?”

“W-who?”

“The younger Carson. He was looking at you during the fight.”

“You must have been imagining it.”

He gives me a knowing look but thankfully doesn’t push it.

“Come here, spawn. Use your brute strength to move this shit up,” Remi calls from the other side of the room, kicking a heavy antique chair.

“Stop changing our decor, Remi!” Cecily runs in an attempt to stop him, but Creigh is already beside him.

“Not my fault your decor is as boring as your books, nerd.”

“Screw you, manwhore.”

“Not interested. It’d be boring, too.”

“Ugh, I’ll strangle you one day.”

“Not into that either. Jesus, you’re scary, woman. No wonder they say the quiet ones are the kinkiest.” He physically grabs Creighton and uses him as a shield. “Protect my lordship from her venomous claws, spawn. This cougar will kill me in my prime.”

Creigh doesn’t move, but he tilts his head back. “And that’s a bad idea because…”

“What the fuck? What the actual fucking fuck? You’d sell me out for Cecily? Jesus, my lordship is having an existential crisis. Listen up, spawn. If you don’t have me, no one will be able to translate your weird shit.”

“Oh,” Creigh says.

“That’s right. You need my lordship’s presence.”

“He has a point,” Creigh tells Cecily and starts to move the chair.

“What’s with all the noise?” Ava emerges from her room, sans mask and with her hair loose.

She immediately figures out the situation and goes to Cecily’s rescue. But Creigh is already moving the chair and Remi’s laughing like a dark overlord.

I let the commotion slip to the background and step toward Bran, then touch his arm. “Are you okay?”

He’s smiling at the whole scene, and I love seeing Bran smile, probably because he finds it hard to. At least, not genuinely.

So I’m ready to put up with all the noise if it’s to see him happy.

“I am now,” he tells me.

“I heard about the fight club. Why did you even go there, Bran? You don’t like those scenes.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” He retrieves his phone, scrolls through it, then shows me the last bit of the conversation he had with Lan.

He has him saved as ‘Spare Parts.’ It started when they were in their teens. Back then, Bran had Lan saved as ‘Other Half,’ but Landon made fun of him and said he was saving him as ‘Spare Parts,’ so out of pure spite, Bran saved him as ‘Spare Parts,’ too.

Something that Mum chose to think of as a joke while Dad was super pissed.

In the conversation, Lan sent Bran a picture of me in the crowd. It’s zoomed in to show me clenching my hands and my expression alarmed.

That was in the middle of Creigh and Killian’s match.

Spare Parts: Our little princess is in trouble. Care for some saving?

I briefly close my eyes, then sigh. “I’m sorry, Bran.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Besides, I did watch him get knocked down by the other fighter, so it’s not a complete disaster.” He watches me closely. “Are you really okay, though? It looks bad in the picture.”

I clear my throat and tuck a blonde strand behind my ear. “You know how I get in violent situations.”

“So don’t go there anymore, Glyn. I can’t protect you from Lan in his environment.”

“I don’t need protection from Lan. I’m not scared of him,” I say it and mean it this time.

Dealing with Killian has taught me that there are always monsters worse than the ones you know.

Even monsters have levels of depravity, and Killian’s is on the highest pedestal.

Bran gives me a look. “Just be careful.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

Seeming to be satisfied with my answer, he pulls me to his side as we join the others. We sit beside Remi, who has already moved all our sofas and even decor lamps to create a circle that resembles Satan’s summoning ritual.

Creigh’s munching on some snacks while sitting on the floor, his legs crossed.

Ava and Cecily, who lost terribly, are sitting side by side, crossing their arms and glaring.

The only one who’s laughing is Remi while mixing drinks and throwing a snack in Creigh’s direction. Then he reaches into the container he brought and grins. “Guess what I have here, bitches?”

“If it’s not your severed penis, we’re not interested,” Cecily says.

“Not interested,” Ava echoes. “And holy shit, did our resident prude just say penis? Please tell me someone recorded that.”

“Shut up. You’re ruining the comeback line,” Cecily nudges her.

Ava snorts a laugh, then stops. “Fine, fine, we’re totally not interested, Rems.”

“Are you sure?” His face is pure mischief mixed with gloating as he slowly opens the container to reveal several smaller containers. “Because I’ve got fish and chips!”

Silence fills the room before Creigh jumps up and snatches a container—no, two.

“You get one for being the sweetest ever, Glyn.” Remi gives me a container and then another to Bran. “And you for being a bloody good sport, mate.”

Then he smirks at Cecily and Ava, who are watching the containers with parted lips that are only short of drooling. “You two, however, will need to beg my lordship.”

Creigh already opened his container, and the smell wafts through the air. Ava swallows. “It’s our house. The least you can do is pay up for interrupting our night.”

“I’ll pay up in money, but not fish and chips. Now, say, please, your lordship.”

“Go wank a horse, your lordship.” Ava glares.

He makes an error sound like this is a game show. “You have two more tries.”

“Just give me that.” Cecily snatches a container and Ava jumps on his back to stop him from fighting.

“Cray Cray, save me from these crazy cougars!”

My cousin, however, has zero interest in his environment when he’s eating. His whole attention is on devouring the chips.

Bran and I laugh as we begin to eat, too. Or I do. Bran puts his down and starts sketching.

Some would assume he’d sketch them, but since he doesn’t do humans, he translates the scene into a chaos of lines and shades of gray.

“That’s insanely beautiful. Please tell me you have social media I can follow.”

Both Bran and I glance back to find Annika staring down on his sketch. The smile on her face is so big that it’s contagious.

She’s wearing a purple leotard over tights, probably having come out in the middle of practicing.

“Hi, I’m Annika. You must be Glyn’s brother. She talks about you all the time. Actually, no, she’s not the talkative type. Ava does, though.”

“I’m Brandon.”

“Nice to meet you.” She retrieves her phone. “What’s your IG? TikTok? Snap? WeChat? WhatsApp?”

“I only have IG.”

“Oh. That’s fine,” she chatters happily and fawns over the work he’s posted online.

Something that makes Bran happy—so happy that I can feel the joyful energy radiating off him. He’s definitely not bothered by Annika’s hyper energy.

“Why, hello there.” Remi shoos both Ava and Cecily and slides to Anni’s side. “Am I dreaming or have I stumbled upon an angel with an American accent?”

All of us, except for Creigh, cringe.

Anni chuckles. “You’re so sweet!”

“I prefer hot, but we can go with sweet for now. I’m Remington. Son of a lord and grandson of an earl and currently holding a lordship title. One hundred and ninety-five in the line to the throne of the commonwealth and have the perfect looks and wealth to go with it.”

“Wow, that’s impressive. I’m Annika. No royalty, though.”

“She’s mafia royalty,” Cecily waltzes to her side, holding a container, and Ava occupies her other side. “Stay away from her.”

“You’re so beautiful and pure, and I have to warn you away from this den of vipers, Anni.”

The three of them start arguing again, and Annika finds her way to Creighton’s side. “Hi there.”

He doesn’t reply since he’s eating. Creigh takes that seriously.

Super seriously.

“I’m Annika. You are?”

No response. It’s like she’s not standing in front of him. So she waves her hand, and when he doesn’t show a sign of recognition, I expect her to give up. That’s what most people do.

However, Annika grins and sits beside him. “This dish must be so delicious if you’re this engrossed in it. Can I have a bite?”

“Get your own,” he mumbles after swallowing.

“I can’t really eat the whole plate. It looks fried, so a bite would do.”

“No,” he says point-blank.

“Just a little—” One second, she’s reaching for his container, and the next, he’s pinning her against the back of the sofa by her collarbone with one arm as he continues eating with the other.

“I said, no.”

“Okay.” Her smile falters. “Can you let me go?”

“I don’t trust you not to come after my food again, so you have to either stay in this position or leave.”

“Got it.”

She actually remains still, watching him the whole time.

“Cray Cray!” Remi shrieks and pulls Anni from beneath his hold. “What are you doing being rude to our American angel on the first meeting? Didn’t I teach you manners?”

“It’s okay.” Anni laughs. “I think he doesn’t like people coming after his food.”

“Yeah, he’s weird like that.” Remi pushes a container her way. “You can have this one.”

“What’s it called?”

We all stare at her dumbfounded and even Creighton pffts between bites.

She stares at him. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“She’s American, guys,” Ava tells us.

“Yeah,” I echo.

“Yeah, American,” Cecily says as if it’s an insult.

“I’m actually half Russian.” Annika stares between us with an awkward smile.

“It’s fish and chips, love,” Remi starts. “It’s like the national English dish, the revolution of the modern era and the bringer of joy. Even my lordship likes this simple working-class dish more than shagging. Okay, maybe they’re on the same level. Look, even picky Glyn is eating.”

“I’m not picky.” I glare while munching on a chip. “Don’t make me take Ava and Cecily’s side and kick you out.”

“Trying is free. Succeeding isn’t, peasant.”

I’m ready to go at his throat, but my phone vibrates. “You just hold on, Remi.”

I let a chip hang between my lips and fish out my phone.

The text that sits on my screen makes me pause.

Unknown Number: What are you doing?

My first thought is that this could be the unknown number behind all those ambiguous texts, but that one doesn’t usually ask how I’m doing—just drops something nasty and leaves.

My thoughts are reconfirmed when another text comes through.

Unknown Number: Don’t tell me you’re sleeping? Though, of course you would be after having that orgasm. I’m the one who’s left with a cock so hard, I keep fantasizing about how you’ll bounce on it.

I choke on the half-eaten chip, and Bran taps my back and passes me a can of pop. “You okay?”

My cheeks must be crimson. The thought of Bran or anyone else seeing that text makes my skin crawl. “Totally cool. I’ll be back.”

I practically bolt to my room, dash inside, and slam the door shut, then lean against it. I jump when my phone vibrates in my hand again.

Unknown Number: Leaving me on read is bad etiquette, baby. I know you’re there.

Glyndon: How the hell do you have my number?

Unknown Number: It’s a lot easier than you think. But that’s not the issue here. My unsatisfied cock is. I really am not the giving type.

Glyndon: No one asked you to give anything.

Unknown number: Your little cunt would argue otherwise. I can still feel it clenching against my fingers with the desperation of a nymph. Also, I still have your taste on them. Haven’t washed my hands yet. I think I’ll use them to rub one out in your honor while I imagine your body writhing beneath me as your blood coats my dick.

My core clenches as tingles spread all over my skin. I slowly close my eyes, willing it to go away, but it doesn’t.

Not even close.

I sit on the edge of the bed, my fingers slightly trembling.

Logically, I know this is just his sick fixation with my virginity. That he really won’t stop until he has it.

His twisted interest in me might have been poked on top of that cliff, but it was fully activated once he found out I was a virgin. Even his eyes shone in a way that was way different than before. His body tightened, and I could see the devil in him. Unmasked.

Unhinged.

Uncontrollable.

He’s a special breed who has absolutely no brakes. And the fact that I’m the subject of his sick fetish is terrorizing.

Considering that he probably has no limits, it’s absolutely horrifying to imagine what lengths he’d go to in order to get what he wants.

And yet, I can’t stop myself from being affected by his words.

Just…what is wrong with me?

Am I perhaps as defective as he is?

My heart hammers as another text lights up the screen.

Unknown Number: The real thing is better than my imagination, though. What are the chances of you opening your legs if I come over right now?

Glyndon: Zero.

Unknown Number: And if I ask nicely?

Glyndon: Still zero.

Unknown Number: You should’ve said 50%. Because there’s a 100% option if I somehow slip into your room while you’re sleeping.

Glyndon: My friends won’t let you.

Unknown Number: They won’t find out, and if they do, I’ll strap them to their beds with duct tape.

Glyndon: Even Annika?

Unknown Number: Especially that one. She’s loud as fuck most of the time.

Glyndon: Jeremy will kill you.

Unknown Number: Not if I tell him she was putting herself in danger and I tied her up for her own good. And aww, are you worried about me, baby?

Glyndon: If by worried, you mean I’m commissioning a voodoo doll with your name on it to stab it to death, decapitate it, and watch the tendons snap, then sure, I’m sick with worry.

Unknown Number: I like your gory imagination and attention to detail. You should show me your paintings sometime. I want to see inside your head.

Glyndon: Never.

Unknown Number: Never say never.

Glyndon: I’m going to sleep.

Unknown Number: Sleep tight and dream of me. And who knows? Maybe it’ll come true.