Since I had access to the mansion yesterday, I managed to stack our weapon of destruction within the party’s main event.
All we have to do is go up and hit the button for all hell to break loose.
But before we can do that, we have to make sure what I planted is still in place.
To do that, Maya will check the power supply and I need to reach the trigger button.
There’s no need for any communication outlet because we’re the type of twins who feel each other no matter what.
If everything is all right, I’ll get a hunch before I push the button.
We slide our palms against each other and tap the back of our hands together in our special shake, then part ways.
I reach the second floor, and since everyone is busy with the pretentious assholes, I don’t encounter any of the invitees. But there are definitely guards and cameras, which is why I’m pretending to go to the bathroom.
Once I’m there, however, I hop on the sink and remove the vent cover, jump into the airway, and close it behind me. I’m slim enough to fit. Once I’m inside the tight space, I breathe deeper and start crawling.
You’re going to be all right, Mia.
This is not that place from ten years ago.
You’re just serving justice for Niko.
I’m so close to relapsing into my illogical panic, but I don’t. It takes me about five minutes to get to the other end. By the time I reach my destination, I’ve inhaled more dust than a vacuum and I’m sweating like a pig.
I slowly open the vent cover and once I listen in to make sure there’s no one in this bathroom, I maneuver my way out until I land on the sink, then jump to the floor.
Phase one. Done.
Maya should’ve gotten to the other side by now. She doesn’t need to do any jumping or crawling. Nor can I ever convince her to ‘lower’ her ‘sublime’ status.
She probably just needs to flirt with a guard if she encounters one.
I tap my mask to make sure it’s in place, then check my reflection in the mirror, smooth my hair, and dust my dress. Once I’m satisfied with my look, I exit the men’s bathroom. Anyone could walk in and ask what I’m doing here, but oh well, even if I’m caught, I’ll pretend that I got here by mistake.
All I have to do is reach the control panel at the corner and activate the timer.
The moment I’m out the door, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
However, before I can turn around and inspect the source of the intrusion, I’m pushed back inside the bathroom with a blinding force.
I’m too disoriented to focus, let alone try to stop the inhuman, raw power I’m handled with.
My back hits the wall and I groan, then lift my hand, ready to flip whoever it is a thousand fingers while kicking them.
All my plans come to a halt when my gaze clashes with dark-blue eyes.
Familiar eyes.
The eyes of my enemy and the target of my revenge.
Landon fucking King.
2
MIA
This isn’t part of the plan.
In fact, it’s so far away from the plan that I can hear meticulously laid-out scenarios crash like broken china.
I’m standing in front of none other than the Landon King. A charming god, a genius sculptor, and, most importantly, an insufferable bastard.
His hand squeezes my upper arm, pressing it against the wall with a power that renders me immobile.
My lips clamp together even as condensation covers the interior of the mask. Sweat trickles in the valley between my breasts and glues the dress to my back.
Any attempts to control my breathing end in epic failure. The air coming through my mask’s nostril openings wraps a noose around my neck—suffocating, nefarious, and as dangerous as the eyes staring down at me.
They’re all that’s visible beneath his white Venetian carnival mask that’s decorated with elegant golden lines. On other people, it would look tame, welcoming even, but on this man, it’s nothing short of a horror scene.
One distinctive feature gives him away. The eyes.
They’re a dark, shiny blue, like an ocean that’s twinkling under the silver moonlight. Deep, mysterious, and…deadly.
I’ve heard so much about Landon, but this is the first time I’ve believed he’s a lethal danger whose path I shouldn’t cross. Unless I’m in the mood to be drowned in his ocean so fast that no one will find a trace of me.
Too bad for him, I’m the type who likes swimming in open water.
I let my hand fall to my side, abandoning the flipping-off idea, but I lift my chin. I’ve been so looking forward to kicking this asshole in the face that I’m barely holding on.
Yes, his appearance has ruffled my plan, but it’s far from ruined. I just need to abandon his eyesore company and go on about my business.
“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.