God of Malice: A Dark College Romance

9. Glyndon

Red drips onto the concrete.

Dark.

Ominous.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I follow the direction from which the blood is pouring and pause.

Killian still wears the red shorts and has thrown on a black T-shirt. His muscles flex, but he doesn’t appear to be cold, or in pain due to the bruise peeking from his arm or the cut on his lip.

That’s from where the blood drips, smearing his chin and collarbone.

“Get in the car,” he orders with complete assurance.

Someone honks because the crazy bastard stopped in the middle of the street, but Killian doesn’t pay them attention.

I shake my head and try to bypass him.

“I can always go back in there and pick up where I left off. The only difference is that you’ll regret the decision once your precious Creighton ends up in a body cast.”

My fists clench. “Don’t.”

“I heard he doesn’t tap out. So maybe he’ll be hooked to a machine in a hospital next time you see him.”

“Stop it!”

“Get in the fucking car, Glyndon.”

The guy honks again and while Killian doesn’t seem to hear him, the sensory overload nearly drives me up the wall.

“Get out of the way, motherfucker!” the guy screams from the window in an American accent.

Once Killian stares at him, he swallows and reverses, then hits a rubbish can on his escape route.

“You have until the count of three. If you don’t get in the car, I’m going back to Creighton.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Three.”

The bastard didn’t even count.

He slides back into his car, and I don’t let my brain think as I throw the passenger door open and get inside.

I’m breathing harshly, my skin crawling and my heart about to leap out of my skin. It isn’t normal that I’m on an emotional upheaval whenever I’m in his orbit.

One hand on the steering wheel, the other casually lying by his side, he faces me. “That wasn’t so hard.”

I glare at him and cross my arms over my chest. “For your information, I still don’t trust you. In fact, I distrust you even more now that you proved you’re not only prone to violence, but you’d also threaten my family with it.”

“All humans are prone to violence. I just have better control over it.”

“You don’t sound so convincing with blood dripping all over your face.”

“Worried about me, baby?”

“You’d be bleeding out and I wouldn’t even notice. In fact, I’d use the blood to mix colors on my palette.”

“Ouch.” His voice drops. “Though you’re such a horrible liar. You looked as pale as a ghost when I was being punched.”

“I dislike violence, so it’s not about you. I would’ve reacted that way to anyone.”

“I choose to believe that you felt especially aggravated because it’s me.”

“That’s called delusional.”

“Semantics.” He reaches for the glovebox and I push against the leather of the seat.

The squeaking sound fills the interior and I whisper, “What are you doing?”

Killian grabs a tissue and smiles. Or more like smirks. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite you.” He wipes the blood, smudging it all over his mouth further before making it go away. “Yet.”

The engine revs and I startle when I’m physically flung back against the seat as he speeds forward. My mind races with endless possibilities about where the hell he’s taking me while I fasten my seatbelt and hold on to it for dear life.

Logically, the northern side of the island isn’t that big. Aside from the two campuses, there’s downtown, shops, a library, and some restaurants and hotspots that the students frequent.

So he can’t kidnap and kill me around here.

Still not a reassuring thought, though.

“I figured you’d be a good girl.”

My eyes leave the road and focus on him. He motions at my seatbelt that I’m digging my nails in.

“It’s for safety.”

“Don’t worry. I’m an excellent driver.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m sure you are. I bet you’re good at everything.”

“Pretty much. I’m good at what I’m interested in.”

“And what are you interested in?” I sound nonchalant enough that it flies under the radar.

Because I’m changing gears here.

I can’t just keep getting blindsided by him and thrown around like a helpless doll. I need to somehow make the first move.

If my previous interactions with Killian are of any indication, then I’m sure he’s on the antisocial spectrum. Like Lan—maybe even worse.

Because while he’s a beast to the world, my brother chooses to spare us. The keyword being chooses. Because Lan can become insufferable when he’s bored. It’s why we stay away from him—it’s just impossible to figure out what goes on in his unpredictable head.

And if Lan is of any indication, then like him, Killian must have an obsession. A stimulus. A need for something to keep his tendencies regulated.

For my brother, it’s sculpting. He became a more socially accepted being after focusing on his art. The only time we voluntarily approach Lan is after he exits his art studio.

It’s when he’s the most elated, somewhat normal, and even jokes with us.

I choose to think that Lan would never be as subhuman as Killian, though. I choose to think that deep down, my brother cares about our parents and us.

Back at RES, he beat up a bunch of entitled kids who called Bran a fag. He came home bloodied, but those kids had to be admitted to the AE.

He also slashed the tires of a teacher who called my painting mediocre and told her she had no business judging me when she was a tasteless, talentless piece of rubbish herself.

Bran says Lan only does those things to protect his own image that we’re an extension of. But I’m not as pessimistic as he is.

Anyway, I need to figure out what makes Killian tick and try to counter it.

“For now, you.”

I swallow at his neutral tone as he keeps his attention on the road. He’s speeding, the lights and trees blurring in my peripheral vision, but I’m unable to focus on that right now.

“Why would you be interested in me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The fact that we don’t know each other? Oh, and you assaulted me the first time we met.”

“As I said, I saved you. You should learn to become more grateful.”

“That was assault, Killian.”

“Call it whatever you like.” He tilts his head in my direction, a dark gleam shining in his eyes. “By the way, I like the sound of my name on your lips.”

“Then you won’t be hearing it anymore.”

“You know, defying me every step of the way will only tire you. It could be so much better and easier if you enjoy this and try to free yourself.”

“And let me guess, I’ll have to give in to your every whim?”

“It’s highly recommended.”

“I would rather choke to death.”

“I can make that happen, but I prefer feeling that wild pulse in your neck.”

My palms turn sweaty and I rub them against the sides of my shorts. There’s no need to guess if these are casual words or not, because I have no doubt that this psycho would make them come true.

He’s really unhinged.

“You should work on quitting that habit.” He motions at my palms that are slowly going up and down. “It gives away your discomfort. Or is it anxiety? Maybe nervousness? Or the three combined?”

It hits me then.

If he’s like Lan, then he doesn’t process emotions like the rest of us. It’s not only about a lack of empathy for these guys. They literally don’t see emotions through the same lenses as normal people.

Almost every single socially acceptable emotion they have to portray is gradually learned through their environment. Little by little, they perfect their outer image to the point where they’re indistinguishable in a crowd.

But if anyone gets close, close enough to see behind the fa?ade, they find out just how dysfunctional, how cardboard they are.

How…lonely they actually get.

Lan has never liked how Bran and I get along—how alike we are—because he can’t fit in with us. He thinks he reigns over us, but I’ve almost always pitied his lone wolf status.

He’ll never know how to love properly, laugh properly, experience joy, or even feel pain properly.

He’s a mash of molecules, atoms, and matter with complete and utter emptiness for which he needs constant stimuli to keep filled up to the brim.

Like a house of cards, he can scatter at any second.

He’ll never live like the rest of us.

And neither will Killian.

I just feel zero sympathy for this bastard.

And that’s why I can provoke him.

“Giving away my emotions is my business. At least I have those unlike a certain someone.”

“Is this the part where I should act offended? Maybe try to shed a tear or two?”

“Yeah, and look into ways to grow a heart while you’re at it.”

“The world won’t function correctly if all of us are emotional, morally right creatures. There needs to be a balance, or else there’ll be chaos.”

“Are you kidding me? You guys are the ones who instigate chaos.”

“Organized chaos is different from anarchy. I choose to uphold society’s standards by reigning over it instead of ruining it.” He pauses. “And who are you guys?”

I huff but say nothing.

He taps a finger against the steering wheel. “I asked you a question, Glyndon.”

“I obviously refuse to answer.”

A large hand falls on my bare thigh. The touch is callous and so possessive that my skin erupts in a wild heat.

“As much as I like your fight, there are situations where you should read the atmosphere and not defy me.”

I grab his wrist, attempting to remove his hand, but it’s like I’m pushing a wall. It’s scary how much strength he has and how weak and fragile I feel in his presence.

It’s impossible to stop his fingers from sneaking up my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. There’s pure command in the way he touches me with dripping control, as if I’m a conquest he’s set on finishing off.

I know the best method to get off his radar is having him get bored of me, and that any resistance on my part will probably flame his interest, but I can’t.

I just can’t let him have his way with me.

It’ll break me this time.

It’ll make me drive to that cliff with no chances of coming back.

So I claw at his fingers, my heart hammering faster and harder. “Let me go.”

“How else am I going to get an answer for the question I asked?” His fingers slip under the hem of my shorts with expert ease. It doesn’t even matter that his other hand is on the steering wheel or that he’s driving.

“Don’t,” I whisper as the pads of his fingers hover close to my underwear. “I’m telling you no, Killian.”

“The word no doesn’t scare me, baby. We guys don’t give a fuck about its meaning or the lack thereof. Besides, doesn’t no mean yes sometimes?”

“Not this time.”

“Debatable.” His voice drops to a dangerous rumble. “The thing is, I might not feel emotions the same way everyone else does, but I can understand them in others, oftentimes better than they do. And right now, I can smell your fear mixed with something entirely different. You’re terrified I’ll repeat what happened at the cliff and confiscate your control, but at the same time, you’re buzzing with the possibility, secretly wishing for it.” His fingers curl against my knickers and a whimper escapes me. “You’re soaking wet for it, baby.”

“Don’t touch me,” my voice breaks and I can’t help the shame that coats my words or the tears that fill my eyes.

“You can’t entice a predator with prey and ask him to go hungry.” His fingers glide against my folds, the weight of his hand forcing my thighs apart despite my attempts to close them. “I bet you were also wet when you were choking on my cock with your life hanging on the edge. Did your little cunt throb and demand to be touched, too? I bet it was getting all drenched and achy. I loved your lips with my cock wrapped around them and cum coating them, but maybe I should’ve gone for your pussy, too.” He reaches a finger beneath my underwear and thrusts it deep inside. “I bet these lips would look even better with my cock tearing into them.”

My upper body hunches over, half due to the intrusion and half due to the shame that must be written all over my face.

The combination of his crude words and his dominant touch have triggered a weird part of me. A sensation I’ve never experienced before. It’s even worse than when my state of mind crashes down and dark thoughts swirl in my head.

These are darker but more erotic and damning in nature that it’s impossible to control them.

“You said you wanted me to trust you,” I croak, changing tactics. “This isn’t the way to do it.”

“You said you’ll never trust me, so why should I keep on trying?”

“I…could consider it if you stop, but if you keep taking away my choice, I’ll hate you.”

“You already hate me, so that more or less has no meaning.” A slight smirk curves his lips as he adds another finger and drives deep. “Besides, I did give you a choice. It’s not my fault you picked the high road. You’re already enjoying this, so let go.”

My breath comes out in a shattered exhale as an ache builds between my legs.

And builds.

And builds.

My nerve endings resurrect to life all at once, and no matter how much I try to suppress that need for pleasure, I can’t.

But I also can’t allow him to take this from me. So I hold on to his forearm with all my might and shake my head. “What should I do to get you to stop?”

“I can feel your tight little cunt clenching around my fingers. Do you really want me to stop while you’re on the edge?”

“None of your business. Just let me go.” I’d rather die with sexual frustration than have an orgasm on his hand.

He lifts a shoulder and cuts me a glance. “I’ll consider that if you tell me who the guys are in you guys?”

“My brother and cousin,” I breathe out. “They’re different from the rest of us.”

“Hmm.” His expression doesn’t change, but his hand stops even though his fingers are still deep inside me.

The throbbing heightens and I wince, trying and failing to contain it. My thighs shake and I think I shift forward.

My eyes widen when I realize what I’ve done. I think… I just grinded into his hand.

I hope and wish and pray to every deity under the sun that he missed it.

But who am I kidding?

A wolfish smirk lifts his lips as he plunges in with renewed energy. His thumb circles my clit as he savagely thrusts so deep, I think he’ll really tear me apart.

“You said you…would consider it.”

“I did, and I decided against stopping. Besides, you’re a slut for my fingers, baby.”

I don’t get to pretend or stop this. Even my hands no longer claw into his as the wave crashes into me.

The fact that we’re speeding down a dark road doesn’t even scare me. In fact, it adds to the thrill.

I slap a hand on my mouth to muffle the scream as I break into pieces around his fingers.

I thought about the fall before, a different fall, and I always imagined it to be dangerous.

A terrifying shadow.

This one, though? It’s completely freeing. And I don’t have the energy to hate myself for it.

Not now.

“You said you’d stop,” I repeat in the silent darkness, holding on to the vain belief that I wouldn’t have fallen the way I did.

“No, I didn’t—you assumed that yourself. Not to mention, you were grinding your hips like a horny little whore, so quit the defiance for the sake of defiance.” He removes his fingers from inside me.

Heat covers my ear and neck when he lifts his fingers in front of his face and stares at them glistening with my arousal.

“I have another question for you.” He rubs the fingers that were inside me against his thumb, smearing the stickiness in a way that makes me want to crawl into a hole and die. “I felt something just now and I’m curious.”

He slides the first finger into his mouth and make a show of licking it clean before proceeding with the other one. His eyes never leave mine through the whole process and I should be worried about us crashing into something, or falling to our deaths.

But I can’t seem to think of that right now.

Either the orgasm hasn’t really finished or I’m sick in the head, because my mouth goes dry and my thighs tremble.

After one last dart of his tongue around his fingers, he pops them out. “Tell me, Glyndon. Was I just touching your virgin cunt?”