God of Ruin (Legacy of Gods, #4)(22)

And the hole of fucking strange keeps widening.

I’m usually more aware of my surroundings than a predator in a dark African jungle.

“I told you he’s fine,” Eli supplies like an arsehole. “As unfortunate as it might sound, nothing can hurt the twat.”

“You, however, could accidentally end up on an MIA list.” I match his grin with my wolfish one. “Don’t worry, I’ll console Uncle Aiden and Aunt Elsa after they receive the news.”

“Not if you magically disappear first.”

“Catch me if you can.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“I don’t know. Is it?”

“Can you both stop?” Bran shakes his head like a headmistress who’s sick and tired of her most troublemaking students. “We’re family.”

Eli and I snort and then we burst into laughter at the same time.

Did I mention that my brother can be the sappiest plain Jane who ever walked the planet?

Eli pats his shoulder. “Family is what makes this more fun, dear cousin.”

Bran doesn’t appear the least bit amused, though his shoulders relax now that he’s figured out Eli and I like to rile each other for sport.

He still wants to kill me for my plan that included his brother, but I’m sure he won’t do it.

At least, not if he still wants to belong to the King family.

As in, the one that owns the UK and half of the world. My grandfather, Jonathan King, is a ruthless monarch with an iron fist and a sharp sense of business. He built the fortune his brother and father nearly eradicated.

My father, Levi King, and my uncle, Aiden King, have been transforming the business and making it more lucrative than oil princes’ fortunes.

The future of the King empire falls on Eli, me, and probably Creighton. Bran and Glyn were never interested in business and prefer to be artists like Mum.

My art career is just a temporary ruse before I take over the world. Might need to study some business first, but who gives a fuck. I’m sure I’ll excel at that like everything I’ve done thus far.

Nothing is permanent, and the world is a mere vessel to make my desires come true.

My every whim and want has been catered to, which tends to be boring, for lack of a better term. Someone give me a challenge, for fuck’s sake.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been locked in here for over twelve hours…” my brother trails off when he sees the miniatures lying on the floor, and his eyes grow in size. “Wow.”

Yes, wow. I’ve never made so many useless miniatures in one session.

“Wow for the murdered Smurfs he’s been making?” Eli asks with a note of depleted sarcasm.

I side-eye him. “You’re an uncultured swine with not an artistic bone in your miserable body. Don’t pollute my studio with your lack of taste.”

“I do have taste. It just doesn’t include your ugly art.”

“It’s far from ugly,” Bran says without looking at Eli, then lowers himself to his knees to inspect them closely. “These are some of your finest work. They’re stunning.”

“All of my work is stunning.”

Bran stares at me. “You haven’t sculpted a thing in months, Lan.”

“These aren’t sculptures.”

“You haven’t done any model miniatures either.”

“They’re doodles. They mean nothing.”

“You’re such an arrogant fool. If others… No, if I could make something like this while doodling, I wouldn’t ask for anything else.”

“You need to stop painting happy-go-lucky nature scenes and you’ll be able to do better than this. You’re welcome for the free advice from a genius.”

“I told you not to meddle with my artistic choices.”

“Cry me a river.” I kill my half-finished cigarette and crack my neck. “What time is it?”

“Past your beauty bedtime,” Eli says. “Dark circles look hideous on you.”

“And that striped jacket gives you a fantastic grandpa vibe. Have better fashion sense before patronizing me about my looks.” I point at the door. “Now, out of my space, and I’m going to need that master key so no one trespasses again.”

Eli leans forward and whispers, “No,” before he buggers off to make the world a worse place than it was an hour ago.

“You need some sort of an escorting service?” I ask when Bran lingers behind, still staring at the miniatures.

He reaches a hand to one of them but thinks better of it and retracts it. Good. That hand might have been accidentally broken if he’d put it on my possessions.

Though I might not be as murderous if he asks for permission. He’s always wanted to touch my sculptures after I’ve given him the green light. Now, he doesn’t even ask if he can.

My brother stands to his full height and faces me with a furrowed brow. “Are you going to sculpt any of them?”

“No. They’re not worth it.”

“Have you positively lost your mind? These are your…”

“Finest work. Stunning. A stroke of a genius,” I finish for him. “We obviously have a different definition of excellence. What you see as extraordinary is mediocre at best to me.”

“Well, excuse me for not understanding the genius genes.”