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I know it’s his car, because I saw it at the Elites’ mansion once. A special edition, matte black McLaren with a unique shine material on the side.
It looks as elusive as the asshole himself.
He releases me, then removes the hoodie and his sunglasses. I often forget how illegally attractive he is, even in casual wear. He has a regal presence. Toned body, broad shoulders, lean waist, and the right height.
Everything is perfection—from his tousled hair to the slight stubble on his strong jaw. Even his only imperfection, the mole on the corner of his right eye, adds more to his penetrating charm.
An illusionary charm that he wears like a permanent mask.
Or maybe it’s not so permanent. He certainly didn’t waste any time in coming after me and showing his true colors following my fabulous blood bath plan.
“Why did you bring me here?” I sign.
“I couldn’t exactly stay in the Heathens’ territory for long or some spy would point your brother and cousins in my direction and there would be carnage. For them, not me.”
“Stop being delusional. You could never win against my brother, Kill, and Jeremy.”
“But I already did. Countless times. I can do it all over again if you need tangible proof that I’m stronger than all the Heathens.”
“And yet little ole me managed to give you a refreshing bath in pig blood.” I smile sweetly, matching his savage energy with mine.
“A one-off.”
“I can make it a two-off if you don’t back the hell away from me and my family.”
“Your provocations are a turn-on, so unless you’re in the mood to get on your knees and choke on my cock, I’d suggest you refrain from making them so casually.”
He points at the small tent in his pants as stark evidence of his words. My cheeks feel as if they’ve gone up in flames.
“You’re a sick bastard.”
“So everyone keeps telling me. Don’t be part of the herd. It’s both boring and pointless.”
“Ever thought that there’s some truth in it if everyone keeps saying that?”
“Definitely not. Everyone tends to be stuck in a neurotypical, empty cycle that I thankfully don’t belong to.”
I pause, my mind going back to the times all those therapists tried to mold me into a normal person. I refused to comply. I still do.
I fucking despise therapists and their holier-than-thou attitudes. I despise how I felt in their presence—small, abnormal, and not fit for society.
Is that possibly what Landon feels when he clashes with the world due to the way he’s wired different?
Hating myself for thinking of his perspective even for a moment, I glare at him. “Are we done?”
“Far from it. We haven’t even gotten started.”
“You told me to walk with you and I kept my part of the bargain. So we’re done here.”
“Not yet.” He unlocks the car. “I’m taking you somewhere.”
“What makes you think I’d go anywhere with you?”
He appears disappointed as he tuts. “I thought you were smarter than this. Don’t make me give you an ultimatum again. We’ve been there, done that, and it didn’t exactly work out well for you.”
I’m going to bash this bastard’s head in and watch him bleed to death.
I shelf that thought for another day and say with fake mockery, “I feel sad for you.”
