God of Wrath: A Dark Enemies to Lovers Romance (Legacy of Gods Book 3)

18. Jeremy

Iwatched Cecily all night long.

I’ve been following close behind since she left the shelter and headed back to the flat, wearing tight jeans and a baggy sweater. Earbuds in her ears. Gaze lost in the horizon.

I remained on my bike behind the bushes and watched her window, waiting for her figure to appear, and it did, once, wrapped in nothing but a towel. Her wet silver hair cascaded to below her shoulders and she stood by the window.

For a moment, I thought she saw me, that no matter how strategically I hide, Cecily will always see me.

But that belief only lasted until I realized she was in fact caught in a trance. She stood there and looked, but no feelings could be detected.

She was there physically, but not mentally.

That state lasted for exactly fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of remaining as still as a soulless statue.

Fifteen minutes of…nothingness.

My molars grinded together and I nearly crushed my helmet between my fingers from how much I squeezed it. I contemplated jumping through her window and shaking the fuck out of her.

But then Ava came in, her face and movements full of giddy excitement. Cecily snapped out of it soon after, crossed her arms over her chest and listened as her friend chattered on, grabbed her shoulders, and pushed her in the direction of the closet.

Twenty minutes later, they were in a downtown pub. With their guy friends. Namely, that motherfucker Landon.

I was around the corner when they whispered to each other, when he grinned at her and she smiled at him. When he offered her a drink and she took it sheepishly.

When she ignored everyone else and talked to him.

When he kept nudging her shoulder with his, demanding her attention and eventually getting it.

I was so close to walking up there and slicing his throat then watch as it formed a pool around his body.

Before I could act on those destructive thoughts, she slipped out of the group, looking miserable as fuck, expression downward and shoulders hunched.

I slipped behind her the moment she fetched her phone and started texting her friends.

She didn’t even realize I was there until she saw my reflection in the glass.

I’ve thought of a million methods of handling Cecily Knight once I had her beneath my claws again. I could play with her until she breaks.

Hold her hostage until she squirms.

My favorite is to let her run just so I can catch her.

But now that she’s standing in front of me so close that I can breathe the water lilies off her skin and count the freckles dusting her cheeks, none of those options seem like enough.

And when the green of her eyes darkens? Fuck me. I want to do bad things to this girl.

Yes, I know she’s angry, but my cock can’t take a hint to save his life.

Cecily never dresses up for nights out. She has the same copy-paste style of jeans, a T-shirt, and comfy-looking tennis shoes. But tonight, the shirt is a bit tighter, molding against the curve of her round breasts and her defined waist.

The writing on it is in big, bold letters. Party person. Not.

Ever since she whirled around, I’ve been clenching my fist at my side, barely stopping my beast from taking action. He’s aroused by the expression on her face.

The stiffness of her muscles.

The sharpness of her demeanor.

Defiance radiates off her in waves. She’s glaring at me, but something else lurks behind the apparent emotion.

Something like…disdain. Pain.

“I’m not starting anything with you.” Her body shakes with the guttural quality of her voice.

She’s forcing something a lot deeper than words.

I lean against the car behind me, letting my body fall into a neutral stance by crossing my legs at the ankles. Either that or I’ll drag her with me by my hand around her throat.

A throat that’s no longer red and purple with the evidence of my teeth. It’s pale, translucent, crowded with veins and arteries peeking through the skin. Cecily watches my every move, that delicate throat working up and down with a swallow.

Note to self: mark it again.

I glide my forefinger against my thigh, back and forth in a controlled rhythm. “You are coming with me. Whether you do it nicely or after I resort to unpleasant methods is up to you.”

Her eyes darken further, muscles stiffening, and a halo of tension envelops her body.

She clicks on her key, the sound of the unlocking car echoing around us, but Cecily doesn’t break eye contact as she reaches behind her to open the door.

Hmm.

She’s smart enough to not give me her back again or put herself in a vulnerable position that I could and would make use of.

I knew I liked how fast she catches on. She’s so intelligent and careful, too careful sometimes, that I barely resist laughing at how far she’s backing herself in a corner.

None of her guarded behavior will make a difference, but I like that she tries.

I like it too much.

“Don’t.”

She freezes at my single word, her inquisitive gaze watching me again, imploring, taking every bit of me into her subconscious.

“I’m going home,” she announces with a lifted chin. She even sounds confident. I’ll give her that.

“No, you’re not.”

She does a spectacular job of breathing in and out in a regular rhythm. Cecily isn’t the type who’s prone to dramatics and she always thinks her actions and words through before unleashing them on the world.

Carefully.

Assertively.

Except for where it matters the most—her sexuality. She’s still too new to that side of her and too concerned about the outside world.

“What do you want from me, Jeremy?”

“I’ll let you know that if you come with me.”

“I’m not playing your games anymore.”

“Games? Is that what you call what happened between us? A game? I like it, though I prefer calling it a hunt. Tell me, Cecily, did you go on the club’s website again? Did you ask to be chased?”

She didn’t and even terminated her membership in the club the night after I fucked her like an animal.

A fact that surprised me, considering the ‘calling Landon’s name’ incident. I was so sure she’d throw herself into his arms now that she’s had a taste of her kink.

“So what if I did?” She lifts her chin. “I don’t see why that’s any of your business.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you had some random man chase you, strip you, tear through your cunt, and make you scream?”

Despite the night, her face glows a deep shade of red and she rubs the side of her nose once, twice, before she realizes what she’s doing and forces her hand down.

“You get so flustered by any talk that’s sexual in nature, and you want me to believe you allowed someone else to have you?”

“Whether I do that or not shouldn’t concern you.” She releases a deep breath, more resigned than frustrated. “Leave me alone, Jeremy. You already got what you wanted.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy every second of my cock plowing into your tight little cunt. You came from it, twice, and fell apart asking for more.” I step toward her and she glues herself to the side of her car. “You’re so confident and innocent, but you’re not naive, Lisichka. I know what goes on in your head, what you think about when you touch yourself beneath the sheets while hiding from the world. You dream of behind chased.” My fingers wrap around her throat and I stroke the thumping pulse point. “You dream of having your will taken and your body ravaged. You want someone to dirty you the fuck up while you scream and beg and come.”

The shiver that skates through her small frame rushes all the way to my cock. Ah, fuck. Now I need inside her like I need air.

“S-shut up.” Her lips tremble in sync with the rest of her body.

I tighten my grip on her throat. “You’ll need to stop lying to yourself or hiding your true nature. I already saw you naked, touched every part of your body, felt your muscles quivering against me, and your cunt milking my cock. I drew your blood and feasted on it. I know your tendencies and what makes you come faster, what gets you on a high, and what turns you on. So do not fucking hide.”

She shakes her head back and forth as if convincing herself of what her righteous, politically correct brain is dictating.

“I could’ve slapped any label on you, but I didn’t think you’d be such a coward.”

She stops shaking her head and glares at me, that fire igniting in the depths of her green gaze like a wildfire eating a forest.

“Let’s go.” I release her throat to grab her elbow, but she wrenches it away with a force that causes her to bang it against the car.

“I said, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You can come with me now or you can do so after I go into that pub and tell your friends how much you love being chased in the dark. How you paid a club membership for it and asked someone to come rape you.”

Her face loses all color and she balls her hands into fists on either side of her. “They won’t believe you.”

“Probably not. They think you’re a prude, after all. But it’ll create a niggling doubt and what-if questions. Ava might start putting the pieces together, such as when you always wore scarves or when you went home limping and closed yourself up in your room. They’ll form theories, and you’ll be put under increased pressure the more you deny them. With time, you’ll become disgusted with yourself for lying to your best friend. She’ll probably be revolted with you and question all the years you’ve spent together.”

“Ava is not like that,” she murmurs as if the statement is meant for herself instead of anyone else.

“You don’t know that for sure. No matter how open-minded people pretend they are, deep down, they judge you for being different. They kink-shame you, tag you with labels, and shove you into the lowest category. You’ll be nothing more than an animal who’s following their instinct. Someone who asked for it.”

“Shut up.” Her voice is barely a whisper, a trembling haunted sound that obviously scares the shit out of her.

Because she knows it to be the truth. It’s why she’s never shared this part of herself with anyone. She must’ve learned in her psychology endeavors that society doesn’t react well to those who are different.

Society stomps on them, fills them with doubt, and throws them into a ditch where they rot and die.

And Cecily is terrified of that prospect.

A better person would’ve given her affirmation and attempted to lessen the blow.

But I’m not a good fucking person.

“Your precious Landon will see you as nothing more than a whore. A filthy slut with depraved tastes and several holes ready to be used. He might fuck you like he fucks the other holes, but he’ll never like you as much as you like him. You’ll be nothing more than a cum bucket.”

She lifts her hand and I see the hit coming, but instead of stopping it, I let her slap me across the face.

Tears shine in her eyes despite the scrunching of her nose to keep them at bay and hide her weakness.

“You’re a monster,” she snarls. “I hate you.”

“Your feelings for me have no importance.” I turn around. “Follow me or I’ll make your worst nightmare a reality.”

She doesn’t.

At least, at first.

From the corner of my eye, I can see her standing by the car, her whole frame shaking, but by the time I reach where I parked my bike, she beeps her car closed and quickens her steps toward me.

Cecily wipes her tears with the back of her hand and shoots imaginary daggers in my direction.

I pull out the extra helmet and strap it on her head. She starts to push me away so she can do it herself, but I sink my fingers in her arms and force her to let go.

Despite her having the helmet on, I can feel the animosity radiating off her, floating around us and attempting to stab my skin.

I put on my own helmet and straddle my bike. Cecily casts one last glance at the club, probably waiting for her Prince Not-Charming to come out and save her.

“Hop on,” I order not so gently and she jerks, whether it’s at my tone of voice or something else, I don’t know.

She gets on the bike and grabs onto my shoulders. “For the record, I don’t want to go with you.”

“So you keep telling me. You can be persistently repetitive.”

“And I will keep telling you. You know, just in case you grow a heart and start respecting people’s wishes.”

“I might if I had any fucks to give.”

I rev the engine and her small frame jerks against my back when I forcibly start forward.

Cecily has no choice but to wrap her frail arm around my waist tightly, holding on for dear life. That, or she’ll fall off.

Whenever I go at a steady pace, she tries to put distance between us, her hold loosening from around me. I go faster every time, hitting the brakes at small intervals, just to have her crash and glue herself to me.

Her perky tits smash against my back and her softer curves mold into my hard muscles. There’s a bizarre type of satisfaction whenever her fingers dig into my abs and she grabs onto me.

Or when her thighs touch mine, quivering, shivering.

Shuddering.

No clue if it’s because of the wind, the vibration of the bike’s engine, or her fear of the unknown, but I revel in every visceral emotion I rip out of her.

Every touch and every frantic thud of her heart.

It might be sadistic, downright demented, but I want to be the reason behind her extreme emotions.

Whether it’s sexual or not.

There’s something about corrupting a good girl, delving beneath her skin and ripping out her deepest, darkest parts.

I want to cut it open with my knife and flounder in its blood.

I want her blood.

Calm the fuck down.

I have to remind myself of that constantly whenever Cecily is involved.

After extending the ride for as long as possible, just so I can feel her jump, shake, and squirm, I arrive at the abandoned property I bought about a year after I got to Brighton Island.

Cecily flinches in sync with the creaking of the gate.

“What…” She clears her throat. “Why have you brought me here?”

Her question is eaten by the wild wind and scattered all over the sky. The vibration of her spooked voice hardens my cock in an instant.

Well, fuck.

Looks like she’s not the only one who’s deeply affected by this place.

“Jeremy…”

And I’m harder, just at the sound of my name in her voice.

What the fuck am I? A teenager with no control over his libido? Why would this fucking girl have so much of an effect on me without even trying?

I ignore her as I ride my bike inside. Despite not using any underhanded methods, she’s glued to my back and I can feel her watching our surroundings.

Nothing has changed since the last time she was here. The property is still barely kept, with wild bushes and unwanted grass everywhere.

The night makes it more ominous, distraught, and gives it a high possibility of turning into a hunting site.

I park the bike in front of the old cottage and kill the engine.

Cecily releases me with a jerk as if just realizing she’s been hugging me, but she doesn’t hop down from the bike when I do.

I remove my helmet, hang it on the clutch, and raise a brow. “Are you going to stay there all night?”

She lifts off her own helmet, letting her witch-like hair fly in the wind, stab her eyes, and create a mess against her face. “If need be.”

“You’ll freeze. It’s cold tonight.”

“I’d rather freeze to death than follow you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous and quit the dramatics. They don’t suit you.”

“So now you know what suits me and what doesn’t?”

“For the most part.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Are you going to come down?”

“No.”

We stare at each other for a beat.

Two.

Three.

I stride toward her and she shrieks when I lift her lithe body and effortlessly throw her over my shoulder.

This will be a long fucking night.

And I’ll enjoy every second of it.