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God of Ruin: Chapter 22

LANDON

Due to the noticeable absence of my newest favorite toy, I had to content myself with beating up her brother.

What?

It’s not my fault she’s exceptionally bad at reading the room and keeping my beast satiated. It’s no secret that the situation morphs into absolute carnage whenever he’s left to his own devices.

His weapon for the night is undiluted violence. While it’s not particularly my favorite method, it does get the job done, and for a long time, it could’ve been compared to the physical climax shagging holes provided.

Small problem, though. I’ve been going at this for about ten minutes, and I’m closer to dozing off than any form of climax.

I’m being beaten up all right since, well, Nikolai is this huge motherfucker with a grudge about a certain incident that I might have caused.

Don’t expect me to keep track of all the chaos my superior brain conjures. I’m under the obligation to archive those files to allow my neurons space to create worse anarchy.

Nikolai Sokolov, the eldest in the Sokolov family, that fucker Killian’s cousin, and, most importantly, Mia’s older brother. They look nothing alike except for a faint resemblance due to their sibling blood. They do, however, share some aspects of a brute persona, the need for violence, and the thirst to cause trouble.

Must be because of the Russian mafia blood running through their veins.

There’s one major difference, though. Nikolai has the type of face that’s begging to be beaten. Mia’s face, on the other hand, is the definition of an aphrodisiac.

Lately, the situation has become so dire that just imagining her naturally pouty lips and the blue wildflower color of her eyes is enough to make my cock jump like a fanboy.

Ah, fuck. I’m getting a hard-on in the middle of a fight. Well, the referee just called a break, but I still glare down at myself.

Way to read the room, dick.

My gaze strays to Nikolai, who’s on the opposite side of the ring being prepped by none other than Jeremy—the recent president of my anti-fan club.

The mere look at the brute is enough to kill any erotic thoughts. I definitely have no qualms about destroying his features and giving him the incentive to go through a desperate reparative surgery.

“You okay, Lan?” Remi asks from outside the ring and passes me a bottle of water.

He’s the only one of the guys who loves accompanying me on these bursts of violence. There’s also Ava, who loves to come cheer for me. She must be in the crowd somewhere as the president of Fighter Landon Club.

Ava and I have an easygoing relationship. I help her in bringing Eli down and then she helps me with all my gossip needs. What she doesn’t know is that I also help Eli sometimes. What? He’s still my cousin. The King men might fight and see the world through different lenses, but we’ll always be family.

Or that’s what Grandfather Jonathan says.

At any rate, I’ve been taking part in underground fighting since Eli first took me to one—behind our parents’ backs, naturally.

After his first years in uni, my cousin gradually pulled out from these scenes, but I found a much-needed venting outlet in the adrenaline this provides.

The crowd.

The screams.

The fuck fest that usually takes place after.

REU’s students’ shouts surround me in a halo, a drug that shoots through my bloodstream and shoves me toward the sky.

I grab the bottle from Remi, down half of it and pour the other half on my head, then shake it out like a dog. Girls swoon and I offer them my usual charming grins that would make them drop their knickers if I as much as asked. The only difference now is that I couldn’t give a fuck about their attention.

I don’t even have the right motivation to finish this fight.

“Do you have to do this?” my clone asks from the side of the ring.

Brandon is about the last person one would expect to attend fight clubs. He’s more squeamish than a sheltered prince and he looks the part of an upper-class, preppy boy with his groomed hair and snobbish face. He came dressed in a white shirt, a beige cardigan, pressed trousers, and classic Prada loafers.

Still, the fact that he chose to offer his support is a rare event that I plan to make full use of.

My lips curve in a sly grin. “Do you have to be here?”

He slides a hand in his pocket, posture straight and voice calm. “You’re the one who texted me.”

“Oh? Since when do you come running after I inform you of my fights?”

“Mum asked me to keep you out of trouble.”

“Didn’t think you listened anymore.”

“You’re my brother. I won’t like seeing Mum cry if you somehow get yourself killed.”

“Aww.” I jump down from the ring and ruffle his perfectly styled hair, sending it into irreparable chaos, then smile.

He pushes me away. “Stop it.”

“I knew you loved me.” My grin disappears as I grab him by the collar of his shirt and whisper in his ear, my voice hardening, “But try again, Bran. You’re a terrible fucking liar.”

As I pull away, his eyes widen a little, not enough to be noticed by Remi, who’s busy trash-talking Nikolai’s fans. However, Bran can’t hide from me and just unconsciously proved one of my grim theories. The one I was contemplating when I sent him the text about my fight with Nikolai.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” For all intents and purposes, he does sound unaffected.

“I’m talking about your recent fascination with Nikolai. Care to explain yourself?”

He lifts his hand to the back of his neck, but upon seeing me staring at it, he drops it before he can indulge in his stress-relieving habits.

But the fact that he had to do that and hide it in the first place is telltale enough.

I’m about to get in his space, when the referee announces that the fight is resuming.

I narrow my eyes on my brother and he narrows his back.

When I jump back in the ring, I find Nikolai glaring down at me with a bloodied nose—that was my doing, by the way—and a tight posture.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” I ask casually, then point a thumb at myself. “Want a piece of this?”

As soon as the referee gives the go, Nikolai pounces on me with the vengeance of a thousand ghost warriors.

I manage to stand my ground for the first few hits, but then he backs me into a corner and nearly jeopardizes my Greek god looks.

Thankfully, the referee manages to break us apart.

“Jesus Christ.” I spit out a mouthful of blood and grin. “I know you’re jealous about your inability to ever reach my superior looks, but tone it down a notch, would you?”

“You’re going down, motherfucker.” He punches his bandaged fists together.

I suppose that’s a no about breaking the news about my cock’s unorthodox relationship with his sister’s cunt.

But then again, his cousin took my sister, so this could be seen as fair payback. Just saying.

When he charges again, I punch him in the ribs as hard as I can. Nikolai recovers faster than lightning and knocks me down on the canvas, then hails me with fast, sharp punches.

Fucking fuck.

“Hey, twat,” I manage between groans. “That hurts.”

“Exactly the point, motherfucker.”

I block some of his hits, but some of them land straight on my rib cage.

I wonder if I’m bleeding on the floor. Perhaps my ending won’t be as glorious as I thought it would be. Preferably in the middle of my studio, surrounded by my masterpieces that come to life à la Pygmalion style.

“Is this the best you can do, mafia prince?” I taunt with a barely audible voice. “You punch like a girl.”

A certain girl comes to mind whenever erotic violence is involved.

Only, I don’t mind if she shatters my ribs as long as she rides my cock and chokes on it for redemption right after.

“Stop!”

The voice filters through my haziness, and I pause. Please don’t tell me I lowered my standards and asked Nikolai to stop.

It’s then I realize it does sound like mine. Only one person has the audacity to be so chaotically emotional while sharing my otherworldly physical traits.

Surprisingly, Nikolai jerks back, putting the episode of “Punching Bag Landon” on hold as he stares at who I assume is my brother. His eyes narrow and darken and his nostrils flare.

What. The. Fuck?

I’m going to kill this bastard. How dare he look at Bran—my fucking twin brother—like he’s his next bitch?

My. Fucking. Brother.

The Landon King’s identical twin.

I slam my fist against his cheek so fast and hard, he falls sideways, and blood explodes on his face.

My ribs ache, and I can feel my own blood decorating my features, but I manage to stagger to my feet in the midst of roaring cheers.

“King! King! King!”

I kick Nikolai in the ribs before he manages to get to his knees, then I jerk him up by a fistful of his hair and whisper in his ear, “This is your first and last warning. Keep your fucking eyes off my brother or I will claw them the fuck out.”

He kicks me back, but I dodge at the last minute, letting the hit fall to the edge of my leg. Then I jump out of the ring.

Fuck the fight.

Fuck the lot of the Heathens. I’m going to set their lives on fire before they get another one of my siblings. I’m not even over the fact that my sister defected to Killian, and now, this fucker thinks he can set his sights on my brother.

Remi and Bran rush toward me and I grab my brother by the collar and drag him out while Remi dabs at my lip and tries to stop the bleeding.

“What did you say to him?” Bran asks, not bothering to fight my grip.

“None of your fucking business.”

“It is if it was about me.”

I stop in the middle of the tunnel that leads to the changing rooms. “Do you want it to be about you, Bran? Is that it?”

This time, he pushes me away and stands toe to toe with me. “I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to for me to get the message. What’s with you lately?”

“As you so eloquently said earlier, none of your business.”

“Now, now.” Remi steps between us. “No need to fight when my lordship is here. Drinks on me?”

“Take him.” I flick my finger in my brother’s general direction. “He’s obviously in desperate need of a wake-up call.”

“And you’re not?” Bran gently pushes Remi away and gets in my face. “What Nikolai did just now will look like a warm-up once he finds out about your recent fixation on his sister.”

“His sister?” Remi asks, sounding as lost as a lamb. “Mia?”

I grin, purposefully putting my bloodied teeth on display.

Naturally, when I found her having fun with Bran and Remi, I was under the obligation to set the record straight and hint, not so subtly, that she was off-limits.

Bran shares my genes and, therefore, is intelligent enough to put certain pieces together. But Remi seems to have perfected the fool’s image, even though it’s mostly that—an image. Now, however, he’s connected the dots and looks at me as if I’ve completely lost my marbles and will actively cause a third world war.

“He won’t be able to hurt me in this lifetime. I, on the other hand…” My voice drops. “Can finish what I started with his meaningless life.”

“At the expense of losing Mia for good?” Bran delivers the question with disturbing calm.

“Utter nonsense. If anything, she should kiss my feet for taking on the tedious task of removing the unnecessary oaf from her life.”

“Just because you think so little of your own siblings doesn’t mean everyone else shares your sentiments.” He jams his index finger against my shoulder. “If you cared to know more about Mia, you would’ve found out that she loves and, more importantly, respects both her siblings. They have a tight relationship, ask about one another all the time, and make sure to meet several times a week. But then again, you’ve always faked your way through those feelings, so of course you wouldn’t know what they mean, even if they were to splash your precious car’s windshield. So, by all means, attack her brother and cousins. Burn down their mansion and sabotage their existence. Destroy whatever saving grace she sees in you so she’ll send you packing. The way I see it, you don’t deserve her and never will.”

“If you’re done preaching like a hypocritical pastor…” I push past him and control the limp in my step.

I’m nothing less than the personification of physical perfection, and the world won’t see anything else, not even if I’m drowning in my own blood.

Bran’s words keep ringing in my ears like an unholy prayer. Or maybe it’s holy, because the more I think about it, the more pissed off I get.

After washing up in the locker room and changing into casual trousers and a hoodie, I head to the half-deserted car park.

My whole body aches as I slowly slide into the driver seat. That fucker Nikolai got me good and probably bruised several of my ribs.

I pull out my phone and find a few texts.

Ava: I can’t believe you lost after I bet on you. What the hell, Lan?

Rory: If you don’t give me my rightful place, you’ll deeply regret this, Landon. Remember, you’re not immortal.

Bethany: I miss our good times. Can I watch if I bring you one of my friends?

Nila: You’re belittling us at this point, Lan. Who’s getting all your attention?

Definitely not you.

I ignore all of them, except for Ava, whom I tell that I’ll pay her back the next time we meet.

Usually, I tolerate people, but at this point, they’re becoming my least favorite chess pieces that I’d much rather kill off instead of seeing them on my board.

I scroll to the text that Mia obviously read but didn’t reply to. When she said she was abandoning me for some stupid family dinner, I personally sent a fighting invitation to Nikolai that I knew he wouldn’t refuse.

He’s wanted to fight me ever since the incident that sent him to the hospital, but due to being busy with his sister, I haven’t really had time for the fight club.

So yes, I might have ruined her family night, but then again, I clearly stated I’m not to be shoved aside to a mere secondary role.

I tap the back of the phone, contemplating how to drag her out of her ivory castle. I suppose I could light it on fire again, but the thought that she might accidentally get hurt promptly removes that thought from my mind.

There’s the option of going home and calling it a night, but my beast rebels against the very foundation of that idea.

I’ve been keeping him entertained by chasing, biting, choking, and fucking Mia in the most acrobatic positions. Not to mention the bursts of creativity caused by her mere presence.

Forget being able to sculpt after she’s gone. That’s impossible now. My muse only manifests itself whenever Mia is around and is at its peak after I’ve fucked her to several powerful orgasms.

So I can’t possibly get to work now or I’ll only produce mediocracy. After being used to glimpses of perfection, I can’t allow myself to slide back down to the peasant category.

I just refuse to work on anything but finishing touches when she’s not around.

The addiction I feared is now flowing in my veins and turning into a nuisance. The worst part is that it’s probably too late to cut it out without suffering the consequences.

So what should I do now?

Maybe you can just water the plants as she asked?

I’m about to reach for that sappy part of my brain and strangle him to death, but I catch a glimpse of three masked men standing in front of my car.

Well, well.

Seems my beast won’t go home empty, after all.

They are, of course, the Heathens. The one wearing a yellow stitch mask didn’t even bother to put any effort into hiding his identity. Nikolai is still wearing black shorts from when we were fighting. His distinctive tattoos, which could give an artist a stroke, are on full display.

A baseball bat hangs nonchalantly on the shoulder of Red Mask, who’s none other than Killian. The reason I know is disgusting at best and involves seeing Glyn wearing it before making out with the bastard in his car when they came to visit my parents.

Naturally, I emptied his tires of air the moment he went inside. All four of them.

What? I managed to blame it on wild animals.

The orange mask is Jeremy, judging by the height and unnecessarily bulky build.

His weapon is a metal golf club that could possibly shatter someone’s skull. The target in this case being me.

But I do have a car that could crush a few legs. Preferably all three pairs of them. I grin as I rev my engine.

This baby can go from zero to one hundred in a few seconds and will teach them a lesson or two.

Nikolai approaches first, not giving a fuck about my McLaren’s loud engine.

He hits the bonnet with a fist. “Come outside.”

The tasteless brute dared to touch my car.

All I need is to hit the accelerator and he’ll join his family’s graves.

One second passes.

Two.

Three.

I don’t hit it.

As annoying as Bran is, he was right. If I hurt Nikolai, Mia is out of the picture faster than a rocket. Hell, she might hurt me back for revenge like she did with that blood bath.

In fact, that would be mild compared to what she’d do to me this time. And while I don’t give a fuck about violence, I do give two fucks about her pulling away from me.

Truth is, I give more than a few fucks. A dozen of them, to be more specific.

I push my gear stick back to Park, shut off the engine, and step out of the car. Motherfucker.

Pain spreads through my limbs. It takes me more effort than necessary to stand by the car and paint a mocking smile on my face.

“To what do I owe this unpleasant surprise?”

“Do you want us to start counting all the shit you’ve stirred?” Jeremy asks while tapping his golf club on the ground.

“We’d probably be a while if you do that, so how about I take a rain check on that and this entire Halloween-esque encounter?”

“You think you can get away with it?” Nikolai steps in front of me.

“Already did. Also, the masks look hideous, so you should consider an urgent makeover of the brand. You’re welcome for the free aesthetic advice.”

Killian steps beside Nikolai and swings his bat. I don’t move or flinch as he stops it a mere inch away from my face.

“Hi, Killian. Glyn has been wishing that we’d spend some time together. Should we FaceTime her and show this beautiful scene? Or maybe you’d rather she finds out after you’re done with beating me up for sport?”

“You’ll have no proof.”

“There’s no need. She’ll know it’s you.” I motion at Jeremy. “You, too. Cecy might have gotten over her crush on me, but I’m still her childhood friend. A peaceful soul like hers would shatter to pieces if she finds out you touched a hair on my gorgeous head.”

Jeremy lifts the club, but he doesn’t even swing it in my direction.

Fucking fools. This is what happens when you submit to inferior emotions like love. You become weak and eventually lose.

I will always, without exception, reign supreme over these idiots.

Nikolai grabs me by the collar and punches me, sending me flying against my car. “I, however, can break your bones and eat them for breakfast.”

“Did I miss the memo where you’re a dog?”

“You think I’m joking? I will end you.”

“Oh?” I straighten and make a show of wiping the fresh blood that exploded on my already split lip. “Are you sure? Think about who you’re trying to impress and what role I play in their lives.”

So no, Nikolai won’t get within a mile radius of my brother—at least, not with a functioning dick—but it doesn’t hurt to make him believe I’d allow it for my ulterior motives.

His fists clench, but he doesn’t move.

“What are you doing?” Jeremy asks him. “You wanted this, no?”

Nikolai’s growl fills the air and he kicks one of the cars. The loud alarm fills the otherwise silent car park as he continues growling like a cornered animal.

I pat his shoulder and whisper, “Bran is nice, but I’m not. Keep that in mind when you attempt anything funny.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fortunately, you’re not my type.” Your sister is.

But I don’t say that in an attempt to remain civil and, most importantly, keep my balls in one piece for today. Besides, I’m already beaten up as it is.

I leisurely slide back into my car and drive away with loud revs of the engine while watching the three fools in my rearview mirror.

There will never be a day when I’m lumped in with them. Not even if I have to cut off my own arm to prevent it.


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