God of Malice: A Dark College Romance

37. Glyndon

I’m the worst sneak alive.

But when I arrive at our family’s mansion at night, I manage to slip inside without waking anyone.

It helps that I know the security code.

What doesn’t help, however, is the lights that keep going on automatically whenever I move.

Jeez.

However, I manage to steal a tub of ice cream and hide behind the table in the ballroom.

This small nook is as safe as it can get. It reminds me of when I was running around in Grandpa’s house as a kid, how he carried me on his shoulders, told me stories, and taught me chess.

The light stays on, but it’ll be off in about a minute.

Opening the ice cream, cherries and chocolate, my favorite—because I’m the only one who eats it around here—I stuff my mouth with two spoonfuls that hurt my teeth.

But I do it again.

And again.

Tears start to gather in my eyes, but I refuse to let them out. I cried on and off on the flight back home until my head hurt and the flight attendant looked at me as if I were a freak. I stayed in the airport for a few hours to gather my bearings.

I’ve never flown on my own, but I didn’t even think about aviation disasters when I was tending to my broken heart.

And that might have made me cry harder, recalling just how Killian made me comfortable, held me, didn’t even try to satisfy his libido as always. He was just there for me platonically.

Then he crushed me to pieces.

Though, from what I saw in the video, the crashing happened before I even met him.

He was always meant to break my heart, leave me hollow, and confiscate my everything.

“Glyndon, is that you?”

At Grandpa’s voice, I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and step out from behind the table, tub of ice cream in hand and an awkward smile on my face.

Grandpa stands near the entrance, wearing silk gray pajamas and an open robe. Grandma peeks from behind him, her black hair falling to her shoulders, her face free of makeup save for red lips. And she’s wearing a matching pajama set.

“See, I told you it was probably Glyn, Jonathan.”

“Hi. I didn’t mean to intrude this late.”

“Nonsense.” Grandpa gathers me in a hug. “You never intrude, princess.”

My fingers clench into his back and it takes everything in me not to break down in tears.

“Missed you, Grandpa.”

“Is that why you haven’t returned my calls in the past…two days?”

“Your clinginess is showing, Jonathan.” Grandma wrenches me from Grandpa’s embrace for her own hug. “How are you, hon?”

“Okay, I guess.”

She stares at the ice cream and then back at me. “Forget about this and let me get you something more soothing.”

Then she disappears with my junk food, leaving me alone with Grandpa.

“Now, tell me who made my princess cry so that I can castrate him.”

I wipe at my tears. “I wasn’t crying. Something just got in my eyes.”

“Uh-huh, the last time something got in your eyes, that boyfriend of yours died and we nearly lost you, in retrospect.”

“Devlin was not my boyfriend.”

“You went through all of that for a non-boyfriend?”

“He was a friend, Grandpa.”

“Friendship goes both ways. If he was only using your support and good heart, he wasn’t your friend, he was a parasite.”

“And how would you know? You only have Uncle Ethan as a friend.”

“His husband, Agnus, too.”

“He hates you.”

Grandpa grins. “So what? I love riling him up, so that makes him my friend. Don’t tell this to anyone, but it’s the highlight of my week to make that man jealous.”

I smile, loving how carefree he becomes when talking about his friends, business partners, and in-laws.

Though friends is a strong word.

They mostly bicker.

“You can be so evil, Grandpa.”

“Can be? I invented evil, princess.” He pats my cheek. “Now, talk to me.”

I rub my hand on my shorts, then pause, recalling that I’m trying to get rid of the nasty habit. “I’m just…lost, I guess. Have you ever trusted someone and they murdered that trust?”

“Not really, but I might have to check the morgue for any traitors I may have forgotten existed.”

I snort. “Well, I did. And I know I should be angry, and I am, but I’m more heartbroken. I’m more…mad about being blindsided. See, I knew he wasn’t normal from the beginning, and Lan even gave me a way out, but I didn’t take it. I was headstrong and high on dopamine and the power of having my own choice, but it eventually hurt me, Grandpa. I eventually found out that Lan was right and he’s always right.” My voice chokes. “And now, I’m so broken that I don’t know which pieces to pick up. That is, if there are any pieces left.”

“Come here.” He gathers me in his arms, and this time, I let the tears cascade down my cheeks.

“It hurts, Grandpa.”

“Being stabbed in the back does that.” He strokes my hair. “But remember, Glyndon, they’re not the only ones who can do the stabbing.”

I pull back, sniffling. “W-what do you mean?”

“You’re a King. We don’t stay down to take the jab. We hit right back.”

“I can’t. He’s…much stronger.”

“No one is stronger than a King.” He fishes out his phone and enters a number, then puts it on speaker.

My eyes widen when I see Levi on the screen.

“Why are you calling my dad?” I whisper-yell.

Grandpa puts a finger to his lips as my father picks up, sounding groggy. “Uncle? Why are you calling this late? Are you dead?”

“Obviously not,” Grandpa says in his signature hard voice. I learned early on that it only ever softens around Grandma and me.

“Then call me back in the morning. And next time you’re having late evening episodes, call that fucker Aiden.”

“There’s an emergency about your daughter.”

My eyes widen and Dad pauses before he sobers up. “What happened? She was texting me just fine yesterday.”

“Someone broke her heart and we need to break his legs.”

“Grandpa!” I try to hang up, but he keeps the phone out of reach.

“I see.” Dad sounds contemplative.

“Be here in twenty minutes.”

“On my way. Let me scold the hell out of my boys first for failing to protect their sister.”

“Dad, don’t!”

“We’ll talk in a few, Glyn.” Beep. Beep. Beep.

I groan. “Grandpa, why did you do that?”

“You said you can’t hit this tool yourself, so we’ll happily do you the favor.”

It dawns on me then. Grandpa was trying to teach me a lesson, to tell me that I had to do this for it to work.

“If you hit him for me, I’ll always feel helpless.”

He raises a brow. “Maybe.”

“But if I do it myself, I’ll get closure.”

“Who knows?”

I reach out and kiss him. “Thanks, Grandpa! Can you have Moses drive me back to campus?”

“I’ll do you one better and send you on my private jet. That is, if you can handle flying?”

“No, no flying three times in two days. And can you please call Dad and tell him the plan is off?”

“Who said it’s off?” He smirks. “We can always hit him after you’re done with him. No one messes with a King and lives to talk about it.”

* * *

By the timeI get to campus, I’m boiling with the destructive energy Grandpa has fueled me with.

Because he’s right.

Why should I be heartbroken, crying, and feeling miserable when the bastard doesn’t feel any of those emotions and never will?

The least I can do is hit him where it hurts to prove he has no hold on me.

And where it hurts is his mountain-sized ego. At first, I think of rubbing another man in his face, because I know how much he hates the mere thought of any man breathing near me.

But then I recall that he could and would kill them and I’m not ready to have that on my conscience. So the best way is to make him believe that without putting a specific person at risk.

After Moses, Grandpa’s trusted driver and bodyguard, drives me, I ask him if I can have a picture of me holding his hand on the armrest of the car and he says, “Whatever you need to get back at the loser.”

So I take the picture and upload it on Instagram with the caption:

I finally found my type. Older men, yum.

Before I can start backpedaling and thinking of the consequences, I hit Post.

Then I walk to my car in front of the dorm, slide inside, and drum my fingers against the steering wheel.

One minute passes.

My phone lights up with the thousandth call from Killian that I ignore like the rest.

So he switches to texts.

Who is that and does he know he’ll die as soon as I find you?

I know you’re provoking me on purpose and it’s fucking working. My promise to have you bounce on my cock in his blood is also still in working motion.

Delete that and talk to me before I start showing my devil side, Glyndon.

I told you that if you leave me on Read again, things will take a turn for the worse.

You picked war, baby, and I’m here to serve.

I throw my phone in my shorts pocket and drive to the place that started and ended it all.

As soon as I arrive at the cliff on the far end of the forest, I stand on the edge and stare below.

At the violent waves crashing against the harsh rocks, at how much the water has turned them sharp, steep—a natural wonder that’s able to steal lives.

And be the site of a fucked-up encounter.

Grandpa was right—as usual. The more I think about my friendship with Devlin, the more it doesn’t feel like a friendship.

He definitely didn’t feel happy for me like Cecily, Ava, Remi, and even Annika do when I tell them about something that’s made me happy.

Not to mention that he always loved to talk about himself, how he was an orphan, how he battled with depression his entire life, and how no one understood him.

I always listened to him because I thought we were kindred spirits and shared the same issues.

Our identities are misunderstood. Our depression is overlooked.

But now, I don’t know anymore.

I think his death hit me harder because I was right here when it happened. Right beside him in the car.

The wind flips my hair back as memories from that night hit me.

“Come with me, Glyn,” he said. “We can end the pain once and for all.”

“I…don’t know, Dev. I don’t really want that. I…can’t do that to my family.”

“Aren’t you the lucky one to have people who love you?”

“Dev, don’t say that. You have me.”

“And since when do you think you’re enough? You’re nothing more than a fucking coward, Glyn. You sing this tune of being misunderstood and say that your art is compared to your mother’s and brothers’, but ever thought it’s because you’re mediocre as fuck and shouldn’t even be painting in the first place? What type of artist is scared shitless of ending their life? How about you start practicing what you preach?”

Tears streamed down my cheeks and I couldn’t believe that I was staring at the same Devlin I’d known for months.

His face was dark, too, nothing like the kind-hearted friend I’d known.

“D-Devlin, how could you say that?”

“Get out of my car, coward.” When I remained in place, he shouted, “Get the fuck out!”

I opened the door, but I swayed on my feet, and I remember feeling dizzy, because I leaned against a tree for balance.

No clue how long I remained that way, my vision hazy and my limbs shaky, probably due to the drinks we’d had earlier.

Then, in slow, distorted motion, Devlin revved forward at full speed and tumbled over the cliff.

Back then, I was so shocked that I didn’t move for a long time, thinking that maybe I was dreaming and if I remained still, I would wake up.

Then I was screaming his name and crawling to the edge of the cliff because my legs failed me.

The car was sinking in the water below and I was crying and calling the police and shouting for help.

It was a mess.

Two days later, they found his body and he was identified by his roommates.

Besides his death, his words had the worst impact on me. It made my depression worse and my existential crisis critical.

Until a certain bastard came into the picture.

No matter how hurtful Devlin was, Killian had no right to tell him those words that could’ve possibly propelled him to end it all.

While I want to ignore him some more, there must be a story behind his whole encounter with Devlin.

But I’m ready to ghost him and make him lose his mind like he does to me on a daily basis.

Payback is a bitch and so am I, Killian.

“Miss me?”

I flinch at the very familiar voice and a scream bubbles in my throat when I turn around and see who’s standing behind me.

No, no, no…

This must be a play of my imagination. Or maybe I’ve become psychic and started seeing ghosts.

Or else…or else, how could Devlin be in front of me?

He looks different, too. Wearing all black leather like a member of a rock band, his hair is floppy, and his lower lip and nose are pierced.

If I didn’t already know Devlin was an only child, I’d swear this was his evil twin or something.

“D-Devlin?”

“Do you see anyone else here?” Even his voice is different. It’s harsher, like the Devlin from the car that last day.

“But you…” I stare at the cliff and then back at him. “I saw you fall. You fell off the cliff and they found your body…”

“You saw the car fall while you were drugged out of your mind because you’re so trusting, it’s annoying. As for the news about the body, nothing some connections couldn’t take care of, and I lied, I’m not an orphan. My family is pretty much alive, loaded, and associated with the mafia.”

My head crowds with the onslaught of information, unable to keep up.

“You visiting the site of my death is a very touching declaration of love, which would’ve mattered if you weren’t a fucking whore,” Devlin continues in his haughty tone. “You were supposed to let Killian play around with you a little, not take my sister’s place.”

“Your sister?”

“You already met her. Cherry.”

My heart drums harder in my chest. “Why…why would you go to all the trouble of faking your death? Just for the club?”

“The club? No, it’s for fucking power, Glyndon. I didn’t need to be part of the Heathens, since I’m already a Serpent. And do you know what we want? Those fucking Heathens and Elites wiped off the planet. You served as my opening to Landon, which is about the only reason I’d get close to a dull person like you. But then I thought, why not make that fucker Killian part of the equation, too? He likes your type—naive, innocent, waiting for corruption. So I talked about you a little, threw him the bait, and peeked his curiosity. Surprise, surprise. He fell right into it.”

Oh my God. The reason Killian came to this cliff was because of Devlin’s death, wasn’t it? It’s why we met. Because of this…this person I don’t know anymore.

I don’t think I did in the first place.

“It’s time you play your role properly, Glyn.”

He lifts me up by the hair and I shriek as the roots nearly rip, but I don’t focus on that when he drives his fist into my face.

My whole body jerks back as red-hot pain explodes in my nerve endings. My mouth fills with blood and I choke on it.

I attempt to escape from his hold, but he punches me in the ribs, knocking the breath out of my lungs.

“See, they’re all playing nice with each other and I don’t like that. What’s so fun about powerful secret societies if they’re not constantly at war? And I’m not talking about petty fights, night raids, rivals’ week, and the whole boring charade. I’m talking about actual blood, Glyndon, you feel me?”

I gather as much blood in my mouth as I can, then I spit it in his face. “I’m sorry I wasted a tear on you. I thought you struggled with mental illness, but you used my compassion to orchestrate your twisted anarchy. You’ll never get away with this, you sick bastard.”

He wipes the blood with his palm, then raises it and slaps me across the face with enough force to make me see white dots.

“Glyndon, Glyndon, dear fucking Glyndon. Boring, sweet, and absolutely forgettable Glyndon. You’re missing the whole point here. It’s not about whether or not I get away with it, it’s about fucking war. See, when you go running back to Killian, he’ll know we did it, since we’ve been getting on their nerves for a while now. If you go to Landon, the Elites will be after blood. It’ll be even more fun if you get Eli and Creighton involved. Do you hear that?” He cups his ear mockingly. “That’s the sound of a win-win.”

I smile, then laugh long and hard and so maniacally that even I start to believe I’ve gone crazy.

He shakes me with his hold on my hair. “What the fuck are you on, bitch?”

I spit in his face again. “You’ll never get what you want, Devlin.”

He punches me hard enough to throw me to the ground. My vision blackens and I think I hear him laughing and laughing and laughing.

He who laughs last laughs best, arsehole.

If he thinks I’ll go to either Killian or Landon and start a war, he’s sorely mistaken. I’ll wait until I heal and then I’ll talk to Jeremy and Gareth so they’ll take care of him.

They’re reasonable enough to not get too violent or start a war.

I think I’ve got the plan all in motion until I feel strong arms lifting my head.

For a moment, I think I’m imagining things, that in a moment of weakness, he’s the one who comes to mind first.

But when I strain to open my eyes, I find Killian’s dark face staring at me, his fingers stroking my cheeks, and his voice a raging volcano.

“Who the fuck did this to you?”

Unable to keep my eyes open, I let them close, a pained moan leaving my lips. For some reason, it feels safe with him here.

I don’t want it to, but it does.

And I can finally admit that.

“Fuck, baby. Open your eyes. Tell me who did this.”

I purse my lips and let the darkness swallow me in its clutches.