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“Care to explain what your insignificant presence is doing here?” His suave British accent echoes in the empty space like a lullaby.
This is what I’ve hated about the bastard ever since I met him that one time when he was vandalizing my cousin’s car. He has a natural way of sounding haughtily elegant while delivering cold-blooded threats.
I’m ninety percent sure he’s emotionally checked out and has no link whatsoever with the human side of himself. And while I don’t give two fucks about his relationship with his feelings, it makes it tricky to deal with him.
My cousin Killian is in the same category and possesses the emotional IQ of a goldfish, but at least he likes me, so I don’t have to be on guard when facing him.
The same can’t be said about Landon.
Not only does he not like me, but he also wouldn’t hesitate to teach me a lesson just to get back at Kill and Niko.
His fingers tighten on my arm and I swallow the wince before it manages to pass through my lips. Dad always taught me to never show weakness in front of enemies, even when I’m in pain, even if every fiber of my being demands to release it.
Some monsters get off on your reaction to pain more than the fact that they’re inflicting it, so never put yourself in a position where you’re someone’s source of entertainment.
My father’s words echo in my head as I stare back at the monster of the day.
What? There have been so many of them in my life that I’ve stopped counting.
“I asked you a question.” He squeezes again until pain pulses all over my arm. “Where’s your answer?”
Fuck you, asshole.
But since I can’t say that, or anything, actually, I just continue staring.
I could sign, but he’d figure out my identity immediately. Besides, it’s not like he can understand me anyway.
So I purse my lips further and attempt to shake my arm from his grip.
Huge mistake.
His fingers dig in so hard, it’s like he’s attempting to break the bone.
My eyes widen. Wait…is that what he wants to do?
All of a sudden, he becomes taller and broader, nearly eating up the horizon with his build.
It’s clear he has more height than me, but at this particular moment, he seems like a wall.
One that’s covered by wires and glass shards. Was he always this muscular? Did his shoulders strain against his tailored tuxedo jacket a minute ago?
Or maybe I’m just becoming super aware of his presence to the point of hyperfixation.
Landon is a tall man, at least six-foot-four, with a lean, muscled body and a perfectly straight posture. To make things worse, those superior physical traits are topped by his natural charisma.
He carries himself with frightening assurance and a blinding ego. He’s frustratingly confident, antagonistic to the point of bagging enemies everywhere he goes, and has an arrogance that could bring Narcissus to tears.
But there’s another side of him I’m currently discovering.
He's…frightening.
And I don’t mean in the way some wannabes try to look scary. He doesn’t puff his chest out or raise his voice. He doesn’t try to be terrifying by modifying anything in his demeanor.
All he has to do is let his true colors show through. The long fingers of his free hand wrap around his mask and he casually lifts it.
The moment I see the entirety of his face, my theory becomes fact. All Landon had to do was remove the mask so the real him could shine through.
His face is logically gorgeous, model-like in its symmetry. He has a high, straight nose, defined cheekbones, and a jaw so sharp, it could cut through stone.
