The man of the hour, as he probably thinks of himself, slides his attention to me while still wearing a destabilizing grin that could rival a serial killer’s.
“Landon, this is Mia.” Mr. Whitby motions at me. “She’s unable to speak, but she can hear you just fine. If she needs to communicate, she’ll write you a note on her phone. Oh, and she happens to be the best I’ve played in chess after you.”
Did he just say after you?
Mr. Whitby, I was just building you an English gentleman shrine in my head, but how dare you place me after this asshole?
“After me, huh?” Landon echoes, and I swear a light glows in his eyes, making them brighter and more sadistic.
“Yes. She’s such an intelligent young lady and a formidable opponent. I wish I could stay to watch you two play.”
“Now, I’m intrigued.” The bastard, who definitely doesn’t resemble Bran in anything but looks, smiles again. How could he make something as simple as a smile drip with unhealthy charm and satanic voodoo?
I reluctantly sit at the vacant table in the corner. The biggest part of me wants to flee and reconsider devil worshiping to curse the man in front of me, but if I do that, it’ll only look suspicious.
Besides, there’s no way Landon knows I’m the one who humiliated him in front of his pretentious wannabes.
Still, my movements are stiff as I sit opposite him. So much for relaxing and shutting down my mind.
It’s safe to say this whole situation is failing sideways.
I busy myself with pushing the white pieces exactly in the middle of the tiles.
“We meet again.”
I slowly lift my head, only for my gaze to crash with his sardonic one and that taunting smirk at the corner of his lips.
Keeping my expression the same, I type on my phone, “Who are you again?”
The moment he sees the words, he bursts out laughing. “You’re an interesting little mouse.”
“My name is Mia,” I type and show him.
“Mouse is a more accurate description. You love going unnoticed and leaving crumbs of havoc, no?”
Fuck this asshole.
What are the chances of me kicking him and not being thrown out by the fanboys and fangirls currently watching us from their seats?
Also, does this mean he suspects me?
Still, even if he does, he has no proof and, therefore, can’t accuse me of anything.
I push my first pawn and stare at him. He stares right back as he glides his own pawn across the tiles. “I must say, you have above-average acting skills.”
I raise a brow.
“To be able to meet me and stay calm and even pretend you don’t know me should earn you a round of applause.”
I type and show him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did we meet? When? In your dreams, maybe?”
“My dreams?”
“Wow. I was really in your dreams? I know I’m pretty, but you can stop drooling.”
His lips twitch. “Someone is certainly drooling here, but it’s not me. And no, we didn’t meet in my dreams. I’d have to give a fuck about you to allow you access to my subconscious, and I’m not known to do that. We did, however, meet when I ruined your cousin’s car.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“How about when you called me a fucking tool, then proceeded to teach me how to curse in sign language when I called you a mute? Do you remember that?”
My blood boils at the reminder and I’m tempted to flip him off again just because, but, instead, I move another pawn and then type, “No. I meet a lot of tools in my life and it’s impossible to remember all of them. Good for you for having a strong memory for useless encounters, though.”
There. K.O. The best way to get back at egotistical jerks with a god complex like Landon? Make them feel like they mean nothing.
“Hmm.” His gaze slides from the phone to my face. “And here I thought I would apologize for the mute remark, but it turns out, there’s no need.”
I narrow my eyes but quickly conceal it. The damn prick nearly trapped me.
What is he playing at? Apologizing? People like him don’t apologize.
If they do, they don’t mean it.
And if they do mean it, there’s an ulterior motive.
“Since you have a memory lapse.” He wraps his fingers around the bishop’s neck and meets my gaze. “I don’t suppose you’ve been around my place lately, no?”
“I don’t even know where your place is,” I type.
“Funny.” He leans forward. “Because I saw footage of my brother inviting you over.”
Shit.
“Oh! I didn’t know it was your place.” I smile sweetly as I show him my phone.
“Just like you didn’t possibly suspect that my identical twin—who literally looks like a copy of me—might be, I don’t know, my twin?”
“I did suspect it when I met you just now, but it’s rude to talk about someone’s family, don’t you think?” I smile again as I knock off his knight.
Guess someone will be right after me today, not the other way around.
“It is, which is why I prefer not to show footage of your twin sister making a fool of herself with one of my guards that night.”
I freeze, my cheeks turning into hot flames.
“That’s right, mouse. I know both of you trespassed on my property and bathed me in pig blood. Now that we’ve gotten the dull pleasantries out of the way, shall we discuss that further?”
5
LANDON
I’ve never played well with others.
Yes, I might use my charm, but it’s only so I can gain a favor here, a connection there, and a shag everywhere.
It’s by no means to gather superfans and dreamy-eyed girls.
In fact, I’ve only ever played with others so they’d fall into the exact spot on the chessboard where I want them to be.
Force is for brutes who don’t have the capacity to use their head. And while I relish the occasional bursts of violence, it’s not truly my modus operandi.
Trapping a certain mouse in a corner, however, definitely is.
The insolent, insignificant little troublemaker who managed to bathe me in blood in my own house sits opposite me in a position that’s an excellent imitation of a Greek statue.
Or, on second thought, maybe a Roman one. Those are more stilted and pack more of a punch in the details.
One difference, though—her eyes. They tell a different story from her posture. The muted blue is worlds apart from mine, nearly explosive in its color. Fierce, too, like a volcano that’s buried in the depths of the ocean.
While it might remain dormant for years, it’ll bring on a deadly tsunami the moment it erupts.
Or maybe they’re the color of deep-blue wildflowers. Crushed by harsh nature but defiant. Proud and pretty yet temporary.
Her skintight dress offers a modest view of the curved slope of her round tits. Add the illegal amount of ribbons and the glasses on top of her heads, and she looks like one of Satan’s favorite fangirls.
A goth Barbie without the pretentious makeup.
The rook remains suspended in midair as if the world has hit Pause.
Only, it hasn’t. And I get to watch the intriguing change in her expression from arrogance to absolute horror.