God of Ruin (Legacy of Gods #4) by Rina Kent

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I watch the show with my mouth agape. This must be what Bran meant by “You’ve never seen Lan in action. He can be the most charming or the deadliest depending on his mood and goals.”

Now, I see it. The other side of Landon that I’ve only heard about but never had the misfortune to witness.

He captures people’s attention with ease. It’s clear that he’s a natural at this and can’t possibly be challenged at his own game, let alone beaten.

The worst part is that people flock to his presence with the suicidal tendencies of a moth to a flame. In no time, I’m the only one who’s standing outside the circle, an outcast through and through.

Mr. Whitby clears his throat and manages to break the circle from around Landon.

Suddenly, I’m back in Prince Not-So-Charming’s field of vision. Somewhere I definitely don’t want to be after I single-handedly destroyed his party the other night.

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Whitby says. “Landon came to play, so how about we let him do that?”

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.