God of Malice (Legacy of Gods #1)(103)

Fuck.

I swerve to the right and drive down the dirt road, but I’m only a few seconds in when blinding light hits me in the face.

A car—or something bigger, a truck—is speeding straight in my direction with their blinding headlights on. I don’t attempt to avoid it because I’d crash into the other cars.

I don’t try to lessen the blow, I even step on the gas.

You want crazy? I’ll give you fucking crazy.

The last thing I hear is a loud crash and the sound of the airbag when it smashes my head back.

Hot liquid slips down my forehead as my neck remains lolled in a backward position.

I’m not sure if I’m conscious, unconscious, or in between, but I can feel a sharp sting as I’m wrenched out of the car.

A very familiar, very annoying voice rings in the air. “Your seven days are up, motherfucker.”





Underground-like noise rings in my ears and shadowy figures fly behind my orange-lined lids.

I slowly open them and a sudden throb slashes through my skull.

Motherfucker.

I haven’t experienced this type of pain since a group of losers ganged up on me back in high school.

Only, this time, my head feels heavier and I’m having trouble focusing. Is it a concussion?

I’m almost sure there was no blunt force trauma during the accident since the crash wasn’t that strong and the airbag protected my head.

Though it could’ve happened after.

Red dots line my vision as I shake my head to chase away the blurriness. I lift my hand to clutch my temples, but they won’t move.

I stare down, and sure enough, both my wrists are bound behind my back and my legs are strapped to the legs of the metal chair I’m in.

Fucking perfect.

Judging by the charcoal-colored walls and the bright neon lights, this is the underground.

My first bet would logically be the Serpents. They have a bone to pick with us, and Jeremy has been hitting them where it hurts for years. As a result, their retaliation was a matter of when, not if.

Assaulting and kidnapping me seems legit and predictable.

But that would only apply if I’d been kidnapped within TKU or if the chase had happened close to our compounds.

REU might be full of posh folks who worship the queen’s pristine shoes, but they have their own club. And Serpent or not, they’d be vulnerable here.

It’s not their territory.

It’s Elites’ grounds.

And I happen to have pissed off one of them, unintentionally—or maybe intentionally, considering all the couple shots I’ve become a fan of posting on social media lately.

The last picture I posted is of Glyndon sleeping on my lap, her face hidden by my naked chest and only half of mine visible. She’s wearing shorts and a red tank top and her arms are wrapped around my middle.

She wears red for me.

That could and would anger him. Which is one of the reasons I posted it, not the main one, though. That would be my constant need to stake a claim on the little rabbit.

Sure enough, when the door opens, the one who strides inside, dressed all in black with a golf club resting on his shoulder, is none other than Landon.

Usually, the Elites put on white and gold masquerade masks during rivals’ week, but he obviously thinks that detail isn’t needed in this situation.

He wants me to know he’s the one behind this.

It’s personal.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he says casually. “I hope you had a good one, because you might not be able to sleep for a while.”

“Oh my, I’m shaking.” I mirror his tone. “Is this the part where I start to cry?”

“I know you can’t, but thanks for the effort.” He glances over his shoulder. “Do we have the water?”

“Enough to drown an elephant.”

Now, this is a surprise.

The owner of the last line is none other than Eli King. He’s about the same height as Landon, dressed in denim, and is currently dragging a giant hose.

Upon seeing me, he pauses, but his expression remains the same. “It’s nothing personal, Kill. Just family business.”

“I’m wounded. I thought we shared a connection.”

He props an elbow on Landon’s shoulder. “Not more than the one I share with this one. Imagine if I let him loose? Jesus. We’d have a massacre on our hands. Got to play my role as the eldest King and put him on some sort of leash. Besides, you ghosted me, Killer. Damn near cried myself to sleep when we were kids.”

“Aww.” I match his mocking voice. “I’d never do that. Your parents and my parents are annoyingly smart and figured out early on that we shouldn’t mingle or they’d have bloodbaths to clean up. Plural. If it’s of any consolation, I missed you.”

“Missed you, too, little Kill. But don’t go changing lanes after you f—touched my cousin.” Eli raises a brow. “She’d cry.”

“Are you done with whatever fucked-up shit you’re on?” Landon glares at the both of us, probably blindsided by my acquaintance with his cousin.

Eli and I met when we were young, when his parents visited mine in the States. I was around six that time and he was twelve, and even though we were practically strangers, it was the first time I found someone whose look mirrored mine.