Chapter 3: God of Wrath: Chapter 3

It’s a miracle that I manage to reach the dorm and sneak into the flat I share with my childhood friends without getting caught.

No lights are on and the only sound is the melancholic cello coming from Ava’s room.

If she sees me like this, covered in scratches, with a hole in my jeans and a frantic look in my eyes, she’ll definitely start a questionnaire that’s filled with drama.

of drama.

I remove my shoes at the door and tiptoe across the length of the living room, wincing every time the cut on my knee and lacerations in my hand throb.

Once I’m in my room, I close the door, lean against it and then slide to the ground, hugging my legs to my chest.

My nails clink against each other as I stare at the walls entirely covered by pages from my favorite mangas. The figures appear shadowy under the dim lighting, looking as if they might become real and jump down beside me.

That’s what I take solace in—the images of fictional characters.

I’ve never been the type who asked my friends for help or told them about what I struggled with. Everyone sees me as the mother figure, the problem solver, and the listener.

Whenever I yearn to be listened to instead, nails dig into my chest, forbidding me from moving. From finding refuge in anyone but myself and fictional characters that don’t exist and have little chance of offering practical advice.

My fingers hover over the injury to my knee and I groan in pain when I touch the ripped skin.

But that’s not the only sensation tearing through me. No. It’s something much more potent and damning.

The pain might start with my skin, but it ends in the dark corners of my psyche. In unknown nameless places that even I didn’t know existed until it slammed me in the face today.

My fingers slide from my knee to the edge of my ripped jeans, ghosting over my thigh. I shiver and clench my leg when I touch my hip.

Something a lot more intense than pain slices through me, and my fingers tremble before they move up to stroke over my breast.

The same breast Orange Mask grabbed so savagely, tortured and dug his fingers into until I was gasping for air. But it’s not the same feeling now. The flesh is tender, my nipples ache, but the electricity from earlier is gone.

I lift my other hand, wrap it around my throat, and squeeze. Like the length of the golf club that crushed my trachea. I tighten my grip and hold, but no amount of pressure from my dainty fingers is enough to recreate the same image.

There are no rough gloved fingers squeezing my nipple, no wall of muscle at my back. Nothing.

I let my hands fall on either side of me.

How could I recreate the image of being trapped with that monster when I should be glad I escaped him?

Or maybe I’m not recreating the being trapped part as much as I’m trying to reach the state of mind I was in at that moment.

The blankness of it all.

The promise of freedom it held.

I internally shake my head, purging all of that out of memory.

That whole twisted scene only happened because I was in a life-threatening situation.

Survival instinct is the strongest instinct any human or animal has, and at that moment, I was ready to try anything as long as I left that place in one piece. So under normal circumstances, the entire event holds no meaning.

Still, I kept watching my surroundings long after one of the bunny masks gave me zip bag number twenty-three that held my belongings, then escorted me off the property.

I kept watching as I ran all the way to REU’s dorms and even as I put in the code for the flat.

A part of me thought Orange Mask would follow me to finish what he started. He’d trap me against the nearest wall and tell me in that deep voice of his that running away was only the beginning, not the end.

However, that was total paranoia on my part. A sick person like him who gets off on hunting and inflicting pain wouldn’t have left all the potential prey just to come after me.

Once again, I’m thankful for my invisibility traits. I’m safe.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I flinch, then release a long breath before I fetch it and check the text.

You alive, love?

My heart skips a beat and butterflies erupt in my stomach.

I’ve always thought those sensations were clichés that only existed in shoujo mangas, but it took real-life experiences to realize just how true they were.

How one word, one text, from the person who matters, is more important than the whole world.

I straighten and reply.

I think so. Just got back.

Meet me?

Sure. Where?

Same place.

I smile at that. We have a place. It’s not big nor special, but it’s our little secret.

On my way.

Thirty minutes later, I stop my car near the deserted rocky shore of the beach.

Since Brighton Island, which is situated near the south coast of the United Kingdom, is surrounded by sea on all sides, there are a lot of beaches and shores.

But we from REU don’t usually hang out in places that TKU’s students frequent to avoid unwanted fights.

This part of the beach is ours, and yes, it’s a public place, so we can’t stop TKU’s students from coming here, but they know not to unless they’re ready to face our club’s wrath.

Just like TKU has Heathens and Serpents, two notorious clubs whose members are part of the mafia, our university has the Elites.

They’re not mafia or anything that shady, but they’re equally lethal in an ‘old money rules’ kind of way.

And the one I’m meeting is the leader of this club.

I step out of my MINI Cooper, do a sweep of my surroundings, then open the passenger door of the black car that’s parked facing the sea and slide inside.

My heart does that skip again when my gaze falls on the most ethereally beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. So blue and deep, they might as well rival the ocean and swallow anything in sight.

Landon King is three years older than me, so while I’m a second-year psychology major, he’s already getting his master’s degree in arts and sculpting masterpieces that galleries all over the world snatch up before they’re even complete.

And just like his statues, he has Greek god beauty with sharp features, gorgeous dark brown hair, and a straight nose that might as well be carved from marble.

He’s the epitome of masculine beauty with his toned body and stylish clothes. Even his car is a special edition McLaren, made specifically for him and him alone.

I shift against the leather to face him, and that brings on the memory of a different type of leather.

The one that groped and touched me in places even Landon hasn’t.

“You do look alive.” His voice brings me out of my forbidden musings.

“Yeah. I managed to escape.”

“Interesting choice of words. Were you not allowed to leave for one reason or another?”

I go still.

Sometimes, I forget how much of a genius Landon actually is. He’s attuned to every single detail and nothing escapes his notice.

For some reason, I don’t want to talk about what happened back at the initiation. A part of me, a stupid, lovesick part, views it as a betrayal to Landon.

And that’s the epitome of irrationality.

Lan and I aren’t an item. Hell, he has no clue about my feelings for him and had friend-zoned me to the next planet when we were kids.

Not that I’ve liked him since then. I think I started to have a crush on him when I was maybe seventeen and we had a thought-provoking conversation about choosing lives that were independent to our godlike parents’. He said they wouldn’t shadow us if we didn’t allow them to and that if anyone could do it, I could.

There was something so sexy about a man who believed in my potential before I could reach it. Little by little, I developed a crush on him, but due to his obvious lack of interest, I backed off.

I tried to get over him, you know. I even dated, but look where that disaster got me.

Besides, there are just no other guys like Landon. None with his wit, charm, and Machiavellian view of the world.

I don’t really approve of the last part, but nobody’s perfect, right?

“The initiation was brutal,” I say in reply to his last question. “That’s what I meant by I managed to escape. Unscathed.

.”

He watches me intently, his hand stroking the steering wheel in a slow rhythm. “No problems other than that?”

“The guard did double-check me when he scanned the invitation, but he allowed me in, so I don’t think there were any issues on that front.”

Lan nods silently.

The Heathens rarely invite students from REU to their initiations, considering the whole rivalry with the Elites and whatnot. However, they did send out five invitations this time. All to students who aren’t in the Elites but are close to Landon. As in, his friends—

friends. Not me, the boys.

Naturally, none of them went, and Landon approached me with this crazy idea. What if we direct their weapons against them? We can use one of the invitations they sent to slip inside their compound and see what’s going on for ourselves.

He couldn’t go personally since no amount of disguise would camouflage him. And Lan has been majorly flagged by the Heathens, the Serpents, and the whole of TKU.

So I volunteered my invisibility services.

Now, I’m not sure if that was the right decision or if I could afford to be so brazen, even if it was for Landon.

It cost me things more precious than money or material stuff.

It probed the forbidden fantasies that I’d tucked in the dark corners of my consciousness, hoping they’d be forgotten.

Lan offers me his golden boy smile. “What can you tell me about the inner workings of their compound?”

“I can show you instead.” I pull out my phone and scroll to a simple demonstration I drew on my iPad back at the flat.

Landon grabs the phone from my hand. Our fingers brush, and I my breath catches, but he’s completely oblivious to the electric war he started with a simple touch.

He watches my creation with a raised brow before a smirk lifts his lips.

People call it the evil smirk, the trouble smirk. Whenever he’s wearing it, everyone either runs or hides, because Landon is always plotting one thing, manipulating another, and reaching for the horizon itself.

If he got the chance, he’d kick the planets and toy with the stars.

Everyone in our circle of friends, his twin brother and younger sister included, avoids him like the plague because he could and would make use of them for his grand schemes.

Me? I think they’re only seeing the superficial Landon. Yes, he’s methodical and has little to no moral compass, but he’s not as black as everyone suggests he is.

“This is impressive,” he says after a while. “You even drew camera locations.”

“Those are the ones I saw on the paths I took. There must be others in places I didn’t go to.”

“Don’t be humble. Not even the greatest spies would be able to get this level of detail.” He sends himself a copy, deletes the original file, then gives me my phone and strokes the top of my hair the same as he would his sister and my friend, Glyndon. “You’re such a good sport, Ces.”

I smile even if a part of me doesn’t like the compliment.

Though it’s not the compliment that bothers me—it’s everything else that comes with it.

How he touches me like he does his sister. How he looks at me with nothing of the fire that I hold for him deep in my heart.

Continuing to do him favors and merely existing in his orbit won’t allow me to get close. If I don’t do something about the broken limbo we’re in, I’ll never be anything more to him.

I tuck a stray silver strand of hair behind my ear, feeling refreshed now that I don’t have the annoying wig on. “What do you plan to do next?”

He leans forward against the wheel, wearing a charming yet sadistic smile. “What else can I plan aside from trouble?”

“Can I join?”

“No. It’s dangerous.” He grins. “Uncle Xan will chase me with his grandfather’s famous shotgun and paint a hole where my head used to be if I’m the reason his precious daughter is put in harm’s way.”

“Don’t worry about Papa.”

“Have you seen your papa lately? He’s been sending us daily reminders that if something happens to you, we’ll all pay. In blood. I kind of need that inside my body, outside it.”

I wince.

I love my father to death, and some would argue that I’m Daddy’s little girl—or I was before my life took a sharp dive to hell. Before he put his trust in me and I betrayed it in the worst way possible.

At any rate, Papa is overprotective and I get that, but he doesn’t have to be this extra.

“Anyway, you did so well that the MI6 would be a good fit if you ever considered a career change.” He throws his head back against the seat, looking like he’s straight out of a painting—no, like a statue. “Now, you just sit back and watch the Heathens burn.”

I don’t care about that.

My disregard for TKU is mostly on the academic level, because I apparently disrespected a member of their American football club by telling him ‘no, thank you’ when he asked me to dance at a pub. Ever since then, he and his minions keep stealing my textbooks and being a thorn in my side.

That hasn’t happened much lately, though, so they probably lost interest. Other than that, I don’t focus on their clubs or activities.

“I can be useful,” I argue with Lan.

“You were more than useful, you were the best.” He pats my hair again. “But we both know you’re a dainty princess and would break like delicate china at the first hint of the hardcore stuff, so let me take care of this, okay, love?”

The feeling of being metaphorically slapped causes my skin to throb and tingle.

Any words I had to say get stuck at the back of my throat, refusing to be said out loud.

I’ve never been good at expressing myself—I’m a listener, not a talker. At least, when it comes to things that concern me.

I curse myself for that trait as I step out of Landon’s car and hear him rev the engine. In a super expert move, he reverses in a perfect circle before he shoots into the street like a bullet.

For a second, I remain there, hugging my arms and letting the chill of the sea seep beneath my bones. The sound of the crashing waves slams into the warring thoughts in my head.

All of them start and end with the things I should’ve said but didn’t.

With the way I’m built, I’m probably never going to be able to say them out loud.

My only choice is to show him instead.

I have to show Landon that I’m not a delicate princess and that I can and will take the hardcore stuff.

If it’s him, I can let him see this part of me.

Slipping into my car, I close the door and lock it before I open the browser on my phone.

It’s on the homepage of the kinky sex club Landon is a member of.

Not even Glyn knows this fact about her brother. I only found out through his cousin and my childhood friend, Creighton.

He told me about it, including the kinks Landon is into, so I’d see what type of defective person the guy I’m crushing on is.

Creigh was looking out for me because he believed I’d only end up getting hurt.

Thing is, Creigh has no idea that I’m equally defective.

Which is probably why I’ve been hung up on Landon since secondary school.

It’s not only because of that conversation I had with him back then; it’s also because I found out he’s into the same kink as me.

I have read through the site and its rules. There are attendance kink activities where they pair subs with Doms, but there are also other activities that can happen off-site.

One of which is a kink Landon takes part in all the time, according to Creigh.

In fact, he’s the club’s ace in this particular kink, and many new members have joined because of him.

Primal play.

Aka consensual non-consent.

It’s been on my mind ever since I first heard about it from Creighton about two weeks ago.

I’ve imagined all the ways Landon chases those women before he fucks them ruthlessly.

How he ravages them with their consent, and how elating it must be for them.

I realize how demented it sounds to consider something like that elating. But rape fantasy is a very common kink, especially with women who want to feel free in some way.

way.

Even if it’s in fantasy only.

It’s not about power play. It’s about giving up control and gaining the power to have the ability to stop something so monstrous with a word.

It’s a fine line, which is why this kink shouldn’t be done with a stranger or an arbitrary person.

I don’t know how the girls in this club do it, but I know I wouldn’t be able to if it wasn’t Lan.

I trust him.

Which is why I’m willing to show him this part of me.

Like earlier, every time I’ve attempted to talk, to express what’s inside me, words fail me, so action is all I have left. This means putting myself in a vulnerable position as I did during that nightmare, but it’s different now. Lan isn’t that scum.

Lan wouldn’t use my trust against me.

I type in my login with steady fingers.

So, yes, I created an account soon after I heard about this from Creighton and paid the membership fees. But I didn’t attend or pick an event.

I did go there once because they had to confirm my identity and age in person, and I kind of bolted out of the club wearing a blazer and a hat once the process was done.

? appears as soon as I’m logged in.

I click on Yes and then I’m presented with a list of kinks and fetishes the club could arrange.

Some of them are completely new to me and I researched each and every one of them the last time I opened the app. Let’s just say I’m slightly traumatized by some.

Like I’m sure others would be if they were to see me click Primal Play.

I agree with the disclaimers that say I should know this type of kink is one of the most sensitive and to read more about it in the link they’ve attached.

I visited that link another time, but it was nothing compared to all the reading I’ve been doing about the topic since I started noticing how different I am.

That makes sense. I did select that I’m on birth control when I signed up the first time, so they already know that. After I click on ‘I understand’, I’m directed to the following page.

Performed on.

Man.

Muscular.

Brunet.

I hesitate before I click on Masked.

It’s true that I’m showing this part of me, but maybe we’re not ready for face-to-face yet.

I click on I’ll be masked, too, during the act.

I click on 1.95 m. Landon’s exact height.

No Preference.

Yes.

Lan has some, but they’re hidden.

No Preference.

After sunset and before midnight.

No preference.

Smoke.

Gagging. Drugging. Any use of an enhancement drug.

Those are the only things that make my skin crawl. They bring back memories of when I breathed wrong, existed wrong, and fought but found no way out.

After I review my selection, I click Submit.

That makes sense.

I spend a few more minutes reviewing and rereading my answers to make sure everything is correct. I’m about to exit when a red dot appears at the top of the screen.

I click on it and freeze.

I scroll down to the details, my heart hammering so hard, I think I’ll faint.