God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2)(134)

If I’d known this is what we’d be returning to, I would’ve voted for skipping classes and staying the whole week with my parents.

But no, Creighton had an important thing to do.

Like today’s match.

Against my brother.

I wince at the reminder of their threatening stares when they jumped into the ring, looking no different than walls of muscle ready to pound each other into oblivion.

And since this happens to be the most awaited final of the current championship, both REU and TKU students are swarming the place, cheering and shouting and thirsting for blood.

Both Jeremy’s and Creighton’s blood.

Yikes.

I stare at my watch and groan when I find it’s been only ten minutes since I kind of escaped from the club.

So no, I wasn’t going to watch them go at each other’s throats. I begged them both to stop this or for one of them to forfeit, but neither of them is a quitter.

Besides, Jeremy said he can’t trust anyone to protect his sister if he can’t beat him. Something that got Creighton even more riled up for the fight.

Men and their testosterone will be the death of me.

So here I am, all alone in hiding, waiting for the ordeal to be done with.

Glyndon was keeping me company because she doesn’t like manifestations of violence either. Despite our objections about attending, we were all dragged by Ava anyway—she’s all for fights and is probably cheering for Creighton at the top of her lungs as we speak.

It took her some time and a few shopping trips for her to actually forgive me for shooting Creighton, and only because she knows how much we mean to each other.

Glyndon was the nicest of the bunch and talked to me soon after I got back to college. And since she’s a sweetheart, she opted to escape with me and was busy showing me her latest paintings. But alas, Killian interrupted us a few minutes ago and kidnapped her to God knows where.

“I still don’t forgive you for making her cry,” is what he told me as he swooped her away.

That psycho is incorrigible. Aside from Creighton, he’s the most territorial.

Actually, Creighton is in a league of his own. Not only is he possessive of me to the point where he’s constantly glaring at Tiger whenever he lies on my chest, but he’s also so consistent about it that no guy comes close to me in fear of his wrath.

Even Harry, who’s gay and has a crush on Creighton and is the leader of his fan club, isn’t safe from his lashes of jealousy.

I lean against my car and opt to roam social media. I pause at the picture I see on Creighton’s account.

He actually used the one Remi and I created for him a long time ago, but he changed the password and everything because Remi was planning to post ‘weird shit’ on his page.

Creighton’s profile picture is the same as his first post. It’s a selfie he took when I wasn’t even aware. I’m asleep in his lap, head tucked in his chest so that my face isn’t visible and only half of his is.

His veiny hand grips me possessively by the waist and the caption says:

My girl. My woman. Mine.

That was during the month we were apart. Exactly a day before he kidnapped me to that island.

How romantic.

Not.

The second picture is another selfie he took after we got back to college. He’s carrying me with a hand beneath my ass, my legs are wrapped around his naked waist, and my head is buried in his shoulder.

Did I mention that she’s all mine?

The third—the one I’m currently looking at that’s making me struggle to breathe—is one he posted just earlier.

Before the fight, I kind of slipped into the locker room for one final attempt to dissuade him from going against Jeremy.

Big mistake.

Not only did he look at me like a hungry predator, but he also oozed with savage adrenaline.

Needless to say, I didn’t stand a chance.

Creighton fucked me senseless against the bench in the pussy and then in the ass while he bit my throat and spanked me.

My core throbs and the welts on my ass sting at the reminder. I should feel demented that I get off on the pain as much as I get off on the pleasure, but I’ve learned to accept that about myself and us.

I’ve learned to own up to what makes us who we are, because I realize just how lucky we are to be so compatible despite having such different personalities.

Like a puzzle, the good and bad parts fit together perfectly.

The picture he posted is from the neck up, when he kissed me soon after we finished. My eyes are closed and his are open as he stares at the camera with chilling possessiveness.

Reminder: She’s mine.

A tingle ripples through me and dances at the base of my spine.

He’s simply impossible.

I still like the picture anyway. What? I’ve got to stake a claim, too. Next time I catch a girl flirting with him, I’m going to forward her to his Instagram account.

That he made for me.

No kidding, the other day, he was like, “Didn’t you say you’d unfollow all the guys if I make an Instagram account? Do it.”

I reminded him that I said he should have social media to follow me, not that he’d cut me off from the world, but he’s not having that.

Anyway, I’m so going to send this to Harry and his ever-growing fan club when he taunts me.

“Can’t you stop this?”