God of Malice: Chapter 26

Today is just not my day.

Not only did the girls grill me about all the Killian drama, but I also got an earful from Professor Skies due to being late. The icing on the cake was bumping into a glass door after class.

In my defense, the last one happened because of all the people who kept watching me as if I were an exotic animal.

Attention isn’t my scene, but that wanker went ahead and put me at the forefront of everyone’s mind.

They wouldn’t stop talking about me behind my back, whispering, and murmuring, and making my anxiety shoot up.

I contemplated hiding in the bathroom for a bit, but then I thought that I don’t really owe people anything and shouldn’t be feeling ashamed about that kiss.

Yes, the bastard is at the top of my shit list, but that doesn’t mean I have to feel any form of shame.

So I held my head high, barely, finished my classes, and then went to the art studio.

We were supposed to paint a nude today, with one model for about fifteen students, but I realized halfway through that the features and the body lines on my canvas weren’t the model’s.

Far from it.

My sense of eroticism drove me to the nightmare I’ve been trying, and failing, to escape every time.

It made me put rough strokes around intense eyes and recreate every cut in his abdomen, hauntingly broken crows, and even the slight freckles on the top of his shoulders.

I need help.

When my colleagues take a break to smoke, I use the chance to check my phone.

I’m fully intent on ignoring Killian’s calls for the sole reason that I need time for me and myself.

But then I find a text from him.

Psycho: Run all you want. I’ll just occupy myself with…

Attached is a picture of my brother eating from a plate, his head down, so I can’t see his expression.

My heart skips a beat.

Please don’t tell me he coerced or threatened Bran with something?

I don’t think about it as I slip out of my painting jumpsuit, grab my bag, and drive all the way to the Heathens’ compound.

Judging from that picture and the wallpaper behind them, they must be somewhere in the mansion.

I stop the car in front of the closed gate.

In my haste to come here, I forgot that this is a private property—a guarded property with enough security to put the queen’s royal guards to shame.

The other two times I came here, during the initiation and last night’s party, it was open to all. Well, not all, but the guards didn’t stop me.

Before I can think of a believable lie to grant myself access, the giant gate opens with a haunting creak.

My hands sweat on the steering wheel, but I choose to take the opportunity and drive inside. I can think about everything else after I make sure Brandon is safe and outside that snake’s reach.

I tried calling and texting both Killian and Bran, but there was no reply. Oh, and the psycho left me on Read.

Once I get to the mansion, I find the front door open as well. This time, I search my surroundings for possible guards.

The gothic air of the house, mixed with emptiness and silence, fills me with a creepy vibe that I can’t put my finger on.

A swish of air throws my hair in my eyes and I swear a shadow creeps up behind me.

Or maybe I’m just paranoid.

I quicken my steps inside, choosing to focus on my mission instead.

I’m not one step up the stairs when I hear a scream from a room downstairs.

My hand shakes and I rub it on my shorts as I slowly head in the direction of the sound.

Please don’t tell me I’m too late.

Again.

A sob catches in my throat and it remains there, stealing my ability to breathe properly.

I push the huge double doors open, half-shaking, half-nauseated.

Not again, please—

My thoughts come to a halt when the scene unfolds. I don’t know why I expected to find some torture chamber, but what’s in front of me is far from it.

In fact, it’s…a game room.

Gold-and-red wallpaper covers the space and a red carpet spills on the ground with the density of blood. Huge screens occupy most of the walls, all complete with red LED lights. An elegant billiard table sits in the middle, and some board games are set up in the corners.

The reason behind the noise is from the screens.

“Give it up already,” Killian says from his position on luxurious dark red leather chair while clutching a gaming controller.

He’s speaking to a girl who’s sitting cross-legged on her own huge chair and tapping manically on her controller. Her lips are pursed and her fair skin is red.

“Don’t listen to him. You can win,” Bran says, sitting on the armrest of her chair.

My breath comes out in a slow whoosh.

He’s fine. I’m not late. He looks okay and he’s…smiling.

My quiet brother, who’s more asocial than me, seems to be having fun.

Now that the immediate danger is out of the way, I focus on the scene in front of me.

Are they seriously playing games when I’ve been worried sick?

Also, who’s the girl? From my side-glance, she seems familiar, but I’m not sure where I’ve seen her.

Why is my brother bonding with her and Killian? Might as well stab me in the back, Bran.

Not that I’m jealous.

I refuse to believe I’m jealous.

“Don’t go giving her false hope.” Killian presses his buttons with the same speed as the girl, but he’s completely nonchalant about it, appearing bored while still efficient. “And believe me, baby Sokolov, he’s only rooting for you because he’d rather play the final against you and win.”

I take a step inside and I swear he catches me in his peripheral vision. His speed slows down a little and then the girl jumps up, hitting her controller over and over.

Then she laughs and hugs Bran.

“I knew you could do it,” Bran says as they break apart.

She jerks her chin in Killian’s direction and signs.

Oh. She can’t speak.

Now I feel like a horrible person for having a tiny grudge against her earlier.

“She says you’re the best cheerleader ever.”

My brother grins. “Not sure if I should be honored or feel disturbed.”

Killian lifts a shoulder. “Probably both.”

Suddenly, his eyes meet mine. They’re harsh and dark and have nothing of the earlier nonchalance he sported when he was playing.

For some reason, I think he lost on purpose just now. Bran and the girl probably didn’t notice, but I saw how Killian intentionally slowed down to let her have the upper hand.

He’s still lounging on the chair, but his spine has straightened and there’s that brimming tension in his blank expression, a storm that’s been slowly but steadily building—definitely not good news.

But you know what? Fuck him.

I’m the one who’s supposed to be angry for all the shit he’s done since this morning.

“Bran.” I slide to my brother’s side and touch his arm. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, hey, little princess. Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” He motions at the girl, who’s watching me closely. “Meet Mia, Killian’s cousin and my new gaming master.”

She nods enthusiastically, her features making her look so young, way younger than me. Countless ribbons decorate her hair, dress, wrists, and even her giant boots. She gets A+ for the fashion sense.

Now, I feel completely stupid for thinking she’s a romantic interest. I knew I’d seen her somewhere—she was in some pictures with Nikolai.

After watching me for a beat, Mia signs to Killian.

“What did she say?” I ask him without fully looking at him, because I’m just not ready to face the devil right now.

“She’s asking me whether or not you’re mean like your tool of a brother, Landon.”

“She…she met him?” My voice shakes and Bran holds my arm.

Killian narrows his eyes. “Earlier, when he showed up at my school, vandalized my car, and threatened me to break up with you or else he’ll do worse.”

Yup, sounds like my brother.

Mia signs to Killian again and he translates, “She says Landon is the biggest tool she’s met in years and that says something since she’s used to seeing all shapes of tools. Oh, and it’s a shame that he shares looks with such a sweetheart like Bran. If it weren’t for that, she would cut his face while he sleeps.”

Bran laughs loudly, genuinely, and I smile, too. This girl isn’t afraid of Lan. I like that.

“Meet Glyn, Mia,” Bran says, holding my shoulder. “She’s definitely more like me than Lan.”

“Nice to meet you,” Killian translates, the rumble of his voice next to my ear, then lowers until only I can hear him. “You should treat my cousin—as in, me—well.”

I glare at him. “Are you sure she said that last part?”

“She would if she could.”

“Let’s go back, Bran.” I grab his arm and try to get out of the situation before it becomes muddier.

“Mia and I have the finals now. Just wait a bit.”

“But—”

Mia shakes her head at me with pure determination, grabs her controller, and tosses the other to Bran.

He catches it and looks at me. “We can go if you’re not feeling well.”

I do want to leave, but if I say that, then I’ll just ruin the whole mood.

“Are you okay?” Bran watches me closely.

“Yeah.”

“You sure? Because you have a lot of explaining to do, little princess.”

I wince. “I know. We’ll talk later. Go on and finish your game.”

It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen Brandon enjoying himself without feeling so…sad.

Mia signs something to Killian and he stares at her blankly. “I’m not saying that.”

Her brow furrows and she signs again, angrily this time.

“What?” I ask.

“She says your accents are hot, and fuck you, too, baby Sokolov.” He stalks to my brother’s side. “Guess I’m rooting for Bran this round.”

Since when does he call my brother Bran? And how are they so close when they barely hung out today?

Though maybe I’m underestimating Killian’s ability to charm people.

“I’ll be right back,” I announce, though I’m not sure any of them hears since the video game is loud and they’re arguing.

One more reason why I chose this opportunity to slip away.

I’ll hide in the loo until Bran is finished with his game and we can leave.

My steps quicken to the guest bathroom on the lower level, which is next to the game room.

Steps sound behind me and a sudden chill goes down my spine.

“If you run, I’ll chase you.” Killian’s dark voice permeates the air with the thickness of smoke. “And if I chase you, I’ll catch you.” His voice gets nearer. “And if I catch you, I’ll fuck you, baby.”

I don’t allow myself to think about it as I run the short distance to the bathroom and slam the door shut with all my might.

But a hand slips through like in a horror film, complete with the scare and the terrified yelp.

I try to push the door shut, but my effort doesn’t compare to his brute strength.

To the power behind it.

To the twisted intent coating it.

I’m physically flung back when he bangs the door open, appearing nonchalant, effortless, as if he found no trouble eliminating an obstacle that’s in his way.

Which I honestly think he didn’t.

He stalks inside the bathroom, letting the door close with haunting slowness.

I’m trapped with a monster.

One with beautifully cruel features, a sinful physique, and no mask.

He won’t even pretend he’ll take it easy on me now, will he? No promises of I won’t hurt you much, or I won’t fuck you if you suck me off.

This is him uncut.

I wish it was merely a scarface, that if I tried to peel it off, it’d collapse. But it’s his true face. No scars to uncover, and no alternate reality to find.

And I need out of his reach.

Now.

I turn to the toilet’s door; my last resort is to lock myself in there.

Two steps are all I take before I’m wrenched back by a merciless grip on my hair.

I shriek, but the sound is muffled by a harsh hand on my mouth as my back hits his chest.

“Shhh.” His lips brush against my ear, so sinful and dark that my stomach drops. “You don’t want your brother to come in and see his sister getting fucked raw, do you?”

I shake my head frantically, but it’s not to agree with him. It’s so he’ll stop this fucked-up charade.

“What was it he called you?” His voice sounds casual, but it’s anything but. It’s lava spilling from a volcano. A hurricane that’s flipping the ocean inside out. “Right, little princess. Think he’ll still feel that way when he witnesses his baby sis all fucked up with my cum?”

My core clenches and I try to push away from him, but the more I do, the tighter his grip turns on my hair. It’s downright painful and tears spring to my eyes.

“Bet you’re wet like a dirty little slut.” He effortlessly pushes down my shorts so they pool around my ankles and slips a ruthless hand inside my underwear, cupping me. “I knew you’d be soaking for me, baby. You like being manhandled till you can’t breathe. You like how I confiscate your will. It turns you the fuck on, doesn’t it? Admit it, you don’t like my nice side. You’re a fucking whore for my devil side.”

I shriek a “No,” but it comes out like a haunted sound against his hand. It comes out like a big fat lie that I don’t know if I’m believing anymore.

Killian pushes my underwear aside and thrust three fingers in at the same time. My eyes roll back from the ruthless force and the pleasure that pulsates through my core. The fact that he’s muffling my voice and my breaths is making this even more demented.

Erotically sinful.

Killian uses his hold on my mouth to push my head down. “Look at how your cunt is thrilled with my fingers. You wanted me to find you and pin you down and force you to come. You wanted me to make your little pussy sorer so you feel my cock with every step. You want me, baby.”

I shake my head over and over.

He merely shrugs. “It’s up to you whether you believe it or not, and it’s up to me to fuck my cunt whenever I want. See how you’re dripping all over my hand, you dirty slut?”

He makes me watch the in and out of his fingers and my embarrassing arousal. He makes me see every move, every depravity, adding more edge to the act.

“That’s it, swallow them up.” He adds a fourth finger, stuffing it against the others, and I honestly think he’ll tear me or something. “Relax, you took my cock, you can handle this much.”

He pounds them into me at the same time, scissoring, interlinking, deepening them.

My eyes droop and for a moment, I honestly believe I’m going insane from the onslaught of pleasure.

“Think I can fit my whole first in there?” he whispers with dark lust, and my eyes shoot open as I turn my head to shake it.

He merely chuckles. “Don’t faint on me, little rabbit. I still have a lot to punish you for.” He flicks his thumb against my clit, making me see stars instantly.

It’s embarrassing how fast I come from the clit stimulation.

“You didn’t deserve that orgasm after the stunts you pulled today.” He wrenches his fingers out of me and I refuse to recognize the emptiness that takes hold of me.

I refuse to recognize the need for more pulsing inside me.

“If you scream or call for help, I’ll make your brother watch you getting fucked. Do you hear me?”

Bitter tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them loose as he releases my mouth but fists my hair.

“Fuck you,” I spit out.

“That foul mouth only gets my cock hard, baby. So if you have any more insults to get off your chest, by all means.”

“You’re the one who pulled the stunts first by posting that picture.”

“The world needed to know you’re mine. I won’t apologize for that. In fact, I’d do it again and earlier so no one would entertain the idea of having you.”

“Let me guess, because only you can?”

“You guessed correctly.”

“I’ll never, ever choose to be with you.”

“News flash. You already are.”

“Not by choice.”

“Don’t fucking care.” He tugs on my hair. “And you’re pushing it. Your pussy will pay the price for that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t like being told hard truths?”

“You’re the one who doesn’t. You were pissed off even before you found out about the picture because I told you facts your little moral compass doesn’t approve of.” He shoves me down against the counter and I buck, but he pins me in place by the nape, so I have no choice but to hold on to the edge of the marble. “But here’s the thing, I’m not going to lie to protect your fragile little emotions. What’s so fucking special about emotions anyway? You think you’re great because you have them? Here’s the thing, you see me and you’ll continue to fucking see me, Glyndon. Empty shell, devil side, and all.”

He’s mad. No, probably enraged.

I’ve started to notice that he only calls me by my name when he’s angry.

The sound of his zipper echoes in the bathroom, followed by a slap on my arse cheek. I yelp, but it’s drowned by a moan when he enters me from behind.

I’m supposed to be sore, but the moment he’s fully sheathed inside me, I let out a small whimper.

“Fuck, I’ll never get tired of this,” he murmurs with obvious lust, then thrusts inside me with the rhythm of a madman.

I want the earth to open up and swallow me rather than feel the onslaught of both pleasure and pain.

All of a sudden, he tugs my head up by the hair and makes me stare at the stranger in the mirror.

Killian is behind me, tall like a god and sinister like the devil. His face is hard, his features dark with both lust and domination.

And me?

I’m bent over, being used and abused and utterly dominated by him, but instead of pain, my eyes shine with erotic pleasure. My lips are parted, and my nostrils are flaring.

His hold on my hair makes the scene even more disturbing. Wrong.

Carnal.

“Look at how much you want this, baby. You’re about to cry for it.” He slows his rhythm but deepens it until my hip bone hits the edge of the counter. “Next time, you don’t question that you’re mine, you don’t go around ghosting me for it, and you sure as fucking fuck do not push me away. Is that clear?”

I dig my nails into the marble, feeling every stroke, every burst of pleasure inside.

His teeth meet the flesh of my throat and he bites down, so hard that I shriek.

“Is that fucking clear, Glyndon?”

“No…” I glare at him in the mirror and he bites the spot next to it.

A sob leaves me this time, but the onslaught of pain adds to the friction his cock causes.

“We’ll try again. Is that fucking clear?”

“I don’t want to be yours.”

“Not your call to make.”

“I don’t want to lose myself,” I admit, tears gathering in my cheeks.

“You won’t.”

“How would I know? You’re getting your way with me.”

“It’s up to you whether I punish you and you don’t enjoy it or I actually bring you pleasure.” He rolls his hips and hits a spot inside me that whitens my vision for a brief second. “Say you’re mine, baby.”

I purse my lips, but the fight in me is long gone. I still murmur. “I’ll never be yours.”

“Terrible fucking mistake.” His rhythm turns berserker and it’s intense, so intense that I cry.

So intense that I wish I could die and orgasm at the same time.

But he makes me come again and again, demanding that I say the words.

I don’t.

He could kill me and I fucking wouldn’t.

This is the last part I have of myself, and I vehemently refuse to hand it over.

He said he wouldn’t lie to me.

I will.

Until he finally lets me go.