Page 6 of G.O.D.S Omnibus

I thank him again before he leaves. I can’t believe this is happening to me. Some things are too good to be true and I feel like this might just be one of those times.

I spend time looking over my room, which is massive. A huge four-poster bed sits against the back wall, each pole and the top covered in fairy lights, and a fluffy neutral-toned blanket. A desk sits on the other side of the room, and each side of it has shelving. Someone has taken the liberty of adding some basic ornaments and empty picture frames. A white shag pile rug has been placed in the centre of the room.

Above the desk are some small, framed quotes.“Dream Big” and “Live and Laugh”. My eyes start to water, and I feel like an idiot. This is the nicest room I have ever had, even before I was in care. Trace could never afford anything flashy, but we had each other. I make my way to the bed and pick up the phonethat was left for me, utterly overwhelmed by the last twenty-four hours.

Once I finish messing around with my new phone, I slide it onto the bedside table. Being given it is honestly the highlight of my day. I have always been the only teenage girl who didn’t have one. It wasn’t deemed a necessity, so I went without.

I decide to snoop around. Surely, I can find the brother’s room and steal a shirt.

I’m surprised to find that his room is also on this floor, along with a few other empty ones. I push the door open; it looks like mine, plush cream carpet, a massive bed, an enormous flat screen TV mounted on the wall, and a walk-in closet.

I choke on my spit when I slide the door open. It looks like a damn streetwear store—I have only been in one once. I didn’t buy anything, but a girl could dream. Everything is so neat. He has a wall of shoes, and I run my fingers over a pair of rare Air Jordan’s.

After going over every inch of the closet, I pick a shirt and a pair of sweats with a drawstring, then make myself leave. I could spend hours just touching everything, but I really don’t want to be caught in here, especially given Brennan’s warning.

Chapter Three

Jolie

The air thumps with music, my heart racing as the beat pulsates through my body. I wake fully alert. After years in the system, and many dodgy foster placements, I have come to rely on my senses to alert me to danger. Admittedly, the sound of Cardi B’s voice is not the worst way I’ve woken up, but my spidey-senses and the hairs on my arms standing on end warn me that someone is in my room. My eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness.

“Hello, Jolie,” a deep masculine voice says. I spot his shape standing near the door just as he flicks on the light.

“Boston?” I guess.

He nods with an impassive look on his face.

I cannot help but notice the other guys in my peripheral vision. I don’t acknowledge them yet, not until I know if they’re a threat. This isn’t the first time a foster brother has been standing in my room when I have woken up. So much for being safe here,it’s just a few more months and this place shits all over my other placements. I’m just glad I no longer need a social worker, even if Brennan was the best one I have ever had and genuinely seems to care.

His large steps close the gap between us; I rush to sit up, keeping the covers pulled over me.

“Imagine my surprise when I got home and found out someone had been in my room. I don’t take well to people touching my things.” A simple look in his friends’ direction has them closing in on me. I barely have time to react before four guys are on the bed, pinning me down.

“Seriously, what is your problem, you cum stain? Shit, it’s just a damn shirt and sweats.”

His friends laugh as I thrash my legs and arms, trying with all my strength to break free from their hold.

“My problem is you think you can touch my shit. Now you need to learn a lesson about what will happen if you ever step foot in my room again.”

His large body moves towards me, a wicked smirk gracing his face. He’s the opposite of his brother. Brennan is fair, with ash blonde hair, blue eyes, and a thin frame. This brother has dark hair, skin covered in ink, and a shorter-built frame, the eyes the only indication the brothers are related.

“Remove the clothes,” he orders.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Kicking my legs out harder, I throw my body around. “I will kill you all.” Bile rises in my throat as I suppress the tears threatening to spill out.

“Promise to make it painful and messy?” the one holding down my right arm asks.

I look over at him and spit right in his stupid tattooed face. What sort of parent lets their teenager get tattoos on their face?

“Fuck you.”

No matter how much I fight and curse, I’m no match for the four grown men holding me down. Before I know it, his clothes are ripped from my body, leaving me naked before them. Boston’s eyes clinically trail the length of my body. His friends’ hands pin me down and it’s useless trying to fight them off.

“Can I keep her as a pet?”

My eyes go to the heavily tattooed guy holding down my left leg. His gaze cuts to mine—nothing good can come of the sinister look on his face. It sends a chill running down my spine. He has no irises. Well, he does, but the contacts he wears give the illusion that he doesn’t.

I try to catch them off guard and kick my legs out again, but it doesn’t work.

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