I cock my head to the side and study him closely. He’s the spitting image of his asshole brother. But I guess it’s the personality that makes all the difference.
Bran is such a posh boy and what I imagine a well-bred and educated English youth to be like. His eyes are welcoming pools of pure blue, his jaw appears less sharp than Landon’s, and his lips are neutral and by no means a weapon of terrorizing grins.
Oh, and their only real physical difference is that Landon has a tiny mole at the corner of his right eye. A small detail that I noticed the first time I saw them together.
I remember thinking Landon needed to be brought down a peg or two, and I can proudly announce that I’m still of the same opinion.
Hell, maybe he should be locked up for the travesty.
It’s impossible to mistake the two brothers for each other, and I don’t think that has to do with my being an identical twin myself and, therefore, skilled in the business of differentiating.
The truth remains, one is always calm, and the other is the definition of a shit-stirrer.
Besides, I don’t feel threatened in Bran’s company, whereas I’m always in fight-or-flight mode in Landon’s presence.
“What is it?” Bran asks when I continue watching him. “Is there something on my face?”
I type, “I was just thinking how different you guys are.”
“Just like you and Maya are different, no?”
“She’s not a psycho.”
“Touché.” He laughs and takes a sip of a ginger lemon soft drink. “Still, I’m impressed with what you did the other day.”
Thanks, but it’s backfiring and causing me so much stress.
“He said he’ll make me pay,” I type and then show him my phone.
Bran gauges my expression. “Did you by any chance…challenge him?”
“How do you know that?”
“You shouldn’t have done that, Mia. It’s the easiest way to get on his shit list.”
“Well, he’s also at the top of mine.”
He smiles, but it’s sad at best and pitiful at worst. “Confidence is good, but no one has ever been able to win against Landon after he sets his sights on them.”
“There’s always a first. But hypothetically speaking, how far can he go?”
“You already know what he did to Killian because he pissed him off and to your brother because he was merely part of his plan. What you don’t know, however, is that he was probably behind the fire that destroyed half of the Heathens' mansion, just because they proved to be an annoyance.”
My lips part and I scribble furiously. “I thought the Serpents did it.”
“They did, but he’s the one who supplied them with the information they needed. Then he sat back and watched the entire show unfold from the sidelines. He’s that dangerous.”
That freaking bastard. Either I’m going to kill him or he kills me. No in-between.
I stuff my face with food and swallow without much chewing. I choke and start coughing, the obstruction blocking my windpipe.
Brandon reaches over and pats my back, then offers me a bottle of water. I gulp half of it down and do the “Thanks” sign.
He understands some of the basic sign language, and he’s really been putting an effort into learning more lately. That’s how much of a good person he is.
“You okay?” His eyes dip at the corners with genuine worry.
Why aren’t there two of him instead of that evil Landon?
“I’m fine. Thanks, Bran. Not only for this but also for covering my back with Niko the other day.”
He reads the words and I think I imagine a tic in his jaw before he nods. “I figured you could use some help.”
“But how did you know to answer correctly about Maya?”
“I suspected that if he was asking about her, then it regarded the two of you.”
“Smart.”
“I know, thanks.”
And there it is, a hint of his brother’s overwhelming arrogance. Though Bran’s is more subtle and definitely not overpowering.
“Were you in trouble with your brother?” he asks, looking at me from beneath his lashes.
“Nah. It was just Niko being Niko. He said not to get involved with you guys, considering the whole rivalry thing with the Heathens. He wasn’t hearing it when I told him you’re different, because he’s a hotheaded mule. Anyway, these games and meetings will have to be our secret wherever Niko is involved.”
His eyes flicker as he reads the text. “It’s not like I’m acquaintances with your brother, so you have nothing to worry about.”
Is it me or did he sound a bit too restrained just now?
“Bran!” A third presence barges through the gaming room door. “Have you seen my red Jordans? I swear to fuck one of these fuckers is hiding them and my lordship is going to break all hell loose…” He pauses upon seeing me and his expression transforms from annoyed to flirty. “Why, hello there. My day just got a whole lot better.”
“You were literally just threatening violence,” Bran retorts.
“Now, hush, Bran. Don’t be rude in front of the lady.” He offers me his hand and I shake it. “I’m Remington. Everyone calls me Remi, or your lordship for short. I have an aristocratic title and a fortune that can last for generations. May I know the name that goes with the beautifully graceful face?”
“Her name is Mia,” Bran says to him. “She can’t speak, but she can hear you just fine.”
Usually, people’s expressions either change to awkwardness, or most often pity, but this guy’s smile remains the same.
He’s a bit taller than Bran and has a straight nose and an easygoing, pleasant presence. “Why have you been keeping such beauty to yourself, Bran? I thought we were friends.”
“Leave her alone,” Bran says. “You’re not her type.”
“Unless she’s a lesbian, I’m everyone’s type.”
I smile and type, “I like this guy.”
“See?” Remi says with glee. “I’m the model of every girl’s dream man.”
It’s arrogance, but, again, it’s not the same as Landon’s.
Why the hell am I searching for a type of egoism that fits his?
It hits me then.
I’m trying to find arrogance that’s not equally intimidating and terrifying. Obviously, it’s an epic failure.
“Get over yourself,” Bran says with a shake of his head.
“That would be such a waste to the universe. Anyway, what are you guys doing here? Can I join?”
“Do you game?” I show him my phone.
“More in real life since I’m a basketball god, just saying, but I do play with Bran sometimes when he’s being a loner.”
“Join us, then,” I type, then smile when he reads it.
“That’s not a good idea,” Bran tells me. “He’s loud and a hopeless amateur who blames the game for his failures.”
“Hey. Show some respect, peasant.”
“Aren’t you supposed to find your shoes?” Bran asks. “Lan probably hid them to mess with you.”
Remi’s disgusted face must match mine. I knew I liked this guy. “That little fucker is always out for trouble. He needs to chill for a second.”
“More like for a lifetime,” Bran mutters under his breath.
Seems I’m not the only one who’s done with Landon’s shit. His own brother and friend don’t seem pleased with him either.
I offer Remi some of my calamari. He accepts it and scoots a chair over.
“Has he always been like that?” I type and show it to them.
“For as long as I can remember,” Remi says, stealing Bran’s drink. “This one was always the pacifist, and Lan, the anarchist.”
That’s such a stark difference. Maya and I have our own personalities, but we’re both troublemakers in our own ways.
“He doesn’t fit into a mold, and he’s extremely proud of his twisted, individualistic view of life.” Bran stares in the distance as if he’s reliving a faraway memory. “He has antisocial tendencies that he tames enough to make him appear charming instead of threatening.”
“Tell me about it.” Remi sounds personally offended. “That little fuck keeps getting all the pretty ladies even though he has the attention span of a fly.”
“He’s a genius at what he does, so the girls make sense,” Bran says. “What doesn’t make sense is them knowing he refuses any form of commitment but still flocking toward him anyway.”