Nathaniel #2
Darkness is bleeding from the ground and rising like a vicious ocean.
And Landon? Oh, god, I wish he weren’t so horrible because he looks delicious like this. Wide, fearful eyes and trembling lips against my skin. He’s flushed, so adorably so, as his eyes shift into a glowering heat and anger.
“Do you understand now?” I ask him, my voice low. “Do you recognize the power imbalance between us? How I could fucking destroy you?”
Now, I normally don’t play with my food. But not only do I not have my equipment on me, but I seem to be trapped in this spot. In his glowing eyes.
Landon’s hand lifts, swatting mine away. I risk letting my hand fall back to my side, sure that I can stop him again if he attempts to entrap me in another wicked command.
“Who are you?” he asks, his voice a fierce thing.
“I’m your worst nightmare, little Lanny.”
The nickname is meant to demean him, to sound condescending and cruel. It has its desired effect as he flinches, glaring even harder now.
“Fuck you,” he snaps.
“Oh, you fucking wish,” I throw right back.
And then it’s silent. As the room returns to its original reality, we stand pressed to each other, panting and plotting each other’s demise right here, right now.
But I can see it there, in his eyes. In my line of business—and I’m not talking about being a chef—I have to be able to read others at the drop of a hat. And Landon? He’s as regretfully attracted to me as I am to him.
Beneath the hate and the fear, there is a silent streak. Something submissive and defiant at the same time. I knew it from the moment he batted those thick lashes; this man is a total brat. My fucking favorite.
Too bad he’s the worst kind of man; the kind I break down and swallow with no hesitation.
“… more of a muscle—” Julian’s voice dies as he steps into the kitchen.
I can sense him, sure, but my eyes are locked on Landon’s with no intention of looking away. On the one hand, I need to observe him. To find his weakness. On the other hand, it is no hardship to stare at him.
A shocked, feminine gasp resonates throughout the room, and Landon—who clearly had no idea we have company now—whips his head to the side.
“Shit,” he hisses, sliding out from between me and the island.
With his warmth gone, I can think more clearly.
“You’re Barfred?” the girl next to Julian asks. “I was expecting a super old guy, but you’re like, super hot!”
I finally rip my gaze from Landon, taking in our attendee and his friend. The girl has long red hair and bright eyes, her mouth hanging open as she stares at me.
And poor Julian is staring between Landon and me, in pure shock, as if he’s never seen his friend in such a powerless situation before.
“Good morning, pleasure to meet you. I’m Nathaniel Barfred.” I walk a few steps and extend my hand to the girl, who shakes it eagerly.
“I’m Susie, Julian’s best friend. Well, one of them, but it seems like you’ve already become acquainted with the other.” Susie’s knowing smirk tells me she doesn’t know what just transpired between Landon and me.
Not at all.
“It seems that way,” I reply, my eyes shifting back to Landon. “Your tea is ready, Mister Julian.”
But I don’t hear his response, as I’m transfixed by Landon’s panicked, fearful gaze as he watches Julian grab the tray from the counter.
“What were you two talking about?” Susie asks.
I can’t help it—I grin, narrowing my eyes at the panicked man as I say, “We were just discussing the morality behind choice, isn’t that right?”
“Uh,” Landon stutters out, his wide eyes still stuck on Julian.
“That’s an odd thing to talk about,” Susie comments.
“Your friend here has an interesting take on it. Care to share again, little Lanny?” I push.
He didn’t necessarily say his opinion as much as show it, but it still counts. The man is a devious thing, willing to manipulate and brainwash whoever he pleases to fulfill his own desires.
As if he isn’t handsome enough to just ask.
“No,” Landon rushes to say. “Julian, let’s go now, okay?”
The panic inside of him is building quickly, his eyes drilling into the attendee pleadingly. He looks… scared.
“Oh, I see,” I say quietly.
And I truly do. I see it so clearly. Landon is in love with Julian. His opinions and his reactions are heavily important to Landon. Some part of me is immediately irritated. Was he not just batting his lashes at me?
Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Not only is it my job to bring this man to justice—not my bed—but Julian can’t love him anyway. Not when he’s so obviously infatuated with Atlas.
“Good luck, then,” I add as Landon’s eyes snap to meet mine.
He glares, his eyes narrowing on me like he wishes I’d catch a deadly plague or fall off the cliff out back.
And with that, I turn and leave the kitchen, the memory of his blazing stare trapped within my skull.
My phone rings as it’s pressed to my ear as I stare out the window of the second-floor landing, watching Julian and his friends drink tea and talk amongst themselves. Watching Landon.
“Hey, Nate,” Calum answers, his voice muffled.
“Hey. I have someone you need to look into.”
The immediate sound of a keyboard clicking can be heard through the receiver as he says, “Name.”
“Landon. Not sure of the last name, but he lives in California and is insanely entitled. I’d bet it’s a daddy’s money thing,” I explain.
“No last name?” Calum sighs, typing faster. “What does he look like?”
“Brown hair, green eyes, buff. I’d say around mid-twenties.” My eyes linger on Landon as he stands by the cliffside, his hair wind-blown and his hands tucked into his pockets.
I refrain from adding handsome.
“Did this Landon work for a Burger King last year?” Calum asks, and my brow furrows.
“Why the hell would I know that, Cal? He’s a target, not my buddy.”
“Just wondering,” he mumbles. “Do you know any of his actual friends?”
My eyes widen, shifting to stare at the man next to Landon. “Yes, actually. Julian Walsh.”
“Julian Walsh,” Calum mutters, most likely to himself, as he types away.
Our organization has an extensive database. It’s kind of a large community, one full of all sorts of powerful people. And I don’t just mean rich.
“Okay,” my colleague suddenly says. “Landon Presley, twenty-two years old. Definitely comes from daddy’s money—the Presley empire in California. He’s got an older sister and is set to start working for his father any day now. Just sent you a pic.”
I remove the work phone from my face, opening his new email. And yeah, that’s Landon, alright. With his expressive eyes and charming grin.
“That’s him,” I confirm, pressing the phone back to my ear.
“Want me to send out a repressor?” Calum asks, and as I stare at Landon from a distance, I make my decision.
“I’ll handle it. I need a plane ticket and a hotel close to his house. Send me the details.”
“Are you sure?” he asks. “You’re working now, aren’t you? Someone else can handle this.”
“No,” I insist, unable to tear my eyes from the window. “I’ll be the one to take him down. No one else.”
“Roger that. I’ll send the details later.”
And then the call ends, and I remain where I am, absolutely frozen.
Time to observe Landon on his own turf, then devour him whole.