5. Drew

"Fuck him," I spit for the eighth time, then huff in a wheezy breath. I'm battling a raging hangover, but that doesn't stop Avery from dragging me back across campus like the devil is on our heels. "Who the hell does he think he is, anyway?"

"The most senior active officer at this school," my twin snaps back. "A living legend, who needs an extra locker to house all his medals and ribbons. And the man who has us by the balls, in case you missed that part."

"Hmm," I murmur, amused by his twitchiness. Avery is usually buttoned down so tight, he looks like a one-dimensional version of me. Drew Locke, minus any evidence of a personality. "Here I am thinking about slitting his throat, and my baby brother wants him to juggle his balls."

Avery sends me a haughty look. "And you weren't gulping down his pheromones like a scent addict? That flush in your cheeks says otherwise, brother."

It's true. All alphas smell like iron, but York has an edge that makes me think of a top-shelf liquor aged in a fancy oak barrel. Not that we're able to get our hands on the good stuff very often. Mostly we drink from the well of other students' charity, which goes down like shards of glass - with a side shot of shame.

"Wait a minute." I jerk Avery to a halt, my hangover almost forgotten in my excitement. "York said he got us an hour's pass, right?"

"Yes. And we've used twenty-three minutes of it so far."

Trust Avery to know that without even consulting his watch. He's probably counting the minutes off in his head. "Well, that gives us time for a little detour."

His brows instantly pinch together. "He also said the bag is being delivered right now. If we're not there to collect it…"

"Well, it's not technically in our care until we physically receive it, right? We're not responsible for something while it's still in transit, are we?"

"I suppose not." He chews on his lip, watching me cautiously from behind his glasses. "What are you thinking?"

With a victorious grin, I grip his shoulders and turn him towards the building at the top of the rise. "Breakfast. And not the usual cardboard crap we have to choke down. I'm talking bacon, eggs, waffles, pancakes… And bottomless cups of fine roast coffee."

I feel him twitch at that. My brother has many obsessions he can't satisfy in our current circumstances, but good coffee is up at the top of his list. "Will they even let us in?"

I point to a group of students entering the dining hall. They look like they might have hangovers, too, but they stroll inside with the confidence of entitled regulars. "Look. No code. No special handshake. They just get to waltz on in, like pigs lining up at the trough."

Avery's mouth tightens, but I can see the longing in his gaze. I can also feel the bones of his shoulders through his ratty blazer. He's got less bulk than I do – since he refuses to stoop to my levels to keep us adequately fed. "It can be a celebration, Aves," I tell him softly. "We do this job for the colonel, and we'll be getting a very nice payday in a week or two. It's a win-win."

His jaw flexes, since we've been arguing about the arrangement since I dragged him out of bed. It takes my twin a while to warm up to risky situations, especially when there are unknown components. Where I tend to just throw myself in head first, he insists on standing back and weighing his options. Not that we ever have many. And he knows as well as I do that opportunities like this rarely come along, especially when your reputation is as trash as ours.

"But what if it was delivered to the wrong house?" he demands, his scent sour in my nose. For an alpha, Avery usually smells gooey sweet, but right now, his anxiety is sky high. "Is a good meal worth risking that payday?"

I watch a beefy senior student walk out of the dining hall, wiping the grease from his chin on the cuff of his sparkling new blazer. "Yes," I say resolutely. "Because it's ours . No one is giving it to us. No one is threatening us. We get to forget all this shit for a while and just enjoy ourselves, like every entitled prick in this place."

Avery's eyes widen at the bitterness in my tone, but then his hand comes up to grip my shoulder. As much as he prefers to toe the line, he hates the leash around our throats as much as I do. "Fair enough. Then let's go stuff ourselves until our stomachs hurt."

Exactly thirty minutes later, we're huffing back towards our residence, weighed down by greasy goodness and bottomless cups of coffee. We even managed to stuff our pockets with enough dinner rolls and donuts to brighten up the rest of the week. But my hangover comes roaring back when we reach Bleak House, the unofficial name for our residence, and find a scowling shadow waiting in the doorway.

Travis Wake is the definition of grumpy asshole. As his glare lands on my face, it strikes me that if Colonel York had a younger brother on campus, this is what he would look like. Big and brooding, with suspicious eyes and the kind of dominance usually reserved for Elite Corps Alphas. Not that they'd ever recruit him, given his ‘enemy of the state' status. "Nice of you to greet us at the door, roomie, but we've actually worked out how to use our keys."

"A delivery arrived for you," he growls, ignoring my sass. "Next time, carry your shit inside yourself."

"Will do," I promise, ducking past him and looking around. "Ah, where did you put it exactly? It's a care package from our aunt, and we wouldn't want her peanut cookies to set off your allergy and blow you up like a balloon."

He gives me dead eyes. I'm pretty sure he's on the verge of throat punching me most hours of the day, but he just jerks his head. "It's upstairs."

Instead of heading back to his room, which is conveniently located in the basement, he trudges up the creaky staircase, careful to avoid the cracked and loose steps. The campus maintenance team has been promising to fix them, but it's just one of a long list of repairs they've yet to get to. The whole house is a crumbling safety hazard, but what can the offspring of terrorists and traitors expect for their non-existent tuition money?

"There it is," Travis says, pointing inside the door of my room. "Your aunt must really like to bake."

I raise my brows at his cryptic comment until I round the landing and see the delivery at the end of my bed. "That's a footlocker."

"And it weighs a fuckton." Travis folds his arms. "Open it. I want to see what kind of ammunition I'm sleeping under."

"Ammunition?" Avery is gaping at him. He usually does his best to avoid our surly housemate, but I think he's too stunned to hold back. "Why do you think that?"

But Travis' scowl just deepens at the squeak in my twin's voice.

"He's just kidding around," I say quickly, nudging Avery out of the firing line and over towards my desk. "Travis knows we'd be shot at dawn if we were found smuggling weapons onto campus."

"Forget waiting until dawn," he says in a threatening rumble. "You fuck around with that shit, and I'll slit your throats in your sleep."

That wipes the smirk from my face. "Get the hell out of my room, you psycho."

But Travis has heard a lot worse, and just leans against the doorjamb. "Open it, Locke. I'm not leaving until I know it's safe."

"What's safe?" Law sticks his sleek, silver head around Travis' shoulder. He has pillow dents on his cheek and hickeys on his neck. I know he didn't go to sleep until after three because he shared my bed, but he still looks fresh as a goddamn flower. "Because it's definitely not the wiring in this mercy-forsaken place."

"You can always fuck off back to your fancy legacy accommodation," Travis rumbles, earning a cocked brow from our guest.

Thankfully, Lawrence Michaelson III has skin as thick as Travis' knuckles and barely bats an eyelash as he asks, "What weapons are we smuggling where, and who's getting their throats slashed?"

I glare at Travis. "Fucking hell."

Law is now peering curiously down at the footlocker. "This is new. Although it smells quite… musty. What is that scent?"

"Mothballs?" Avery suggests.

I shrug. "Boot polish."

"It's soldier," Travis grunts. "Metal, oil, and musk. How are you all this fucking clueless? You do realize this is a military academy, right?"

I shrug, since it's not like we're star cadets. We wear the uniform, and take some of the military classes, but we're more spoils of war than soldiers in the making. "My aunt must have got it in a yard sale."

"Move out of the fucking way," Travis growls, since I've stepped protectively in front of the colonel's package. "We're opening it. Right now."

"Wait! Just... give us a minute, okay?" It's not like I can really stop Travis if he won't take no for an answer. Somehow, despite living the same deprived life we do, he is all hard-packed muscle and gorilla arms. "We have an email with instructions on what to do with the contents…"

Law looks up with a quiver of glee. "You mean like a bomb-making kit?"

"No! For fuck's sake, Law. It's not ammunition, or explosives, or anything dangerous. It's just something we're looking after for a few days."

Travis sneers at me. "That's what every bomb-toting terrorist tells the dumbass as he hands him a backpack."

"Enough!" Avery grunts, rubbing his head like he's the twin with the hangover. But anxiety is his curse, and I imagine all this tension is giving him an aneurysm. "I have the instructions here." He holds up his electronic tablet, which is part comm unit, part laptop. All the other students get shiny new computers, but we have one old unit to share between us and our access is severely monitored. Lucky for Avery, he's a tech genius, and created his own top-of-the-range device from scraps that other guys tossed. "Just let me read them to you, and then we can decide what action needs to be taken."

"Give it here." He's barely logged in before Travis is snatching his tablet out of his hands. The big goon scans the screen, his face screwing up in a menacing scowl. "What the hell? It's all gibberish."

Avery watches his tablet like it's an abducted child. "It's military code. A basic cipher."

"Sure it is," Travis growls, his neck flushing red as he tosses the tablet on my bed. "It's probably your algebra homework."

Avery blinks at him, confused. "You can't tell the difference between algebraic equations and military code?"

"You do realize this is an academic institution, right, Travis?" I deadpan, smirking into his red face. Not sure why I like riling him up so much, but there's something about the way he sets his feet and cracks his neck that makes my insides warm.

"Um, gentlemen." While we've been squabbling, Law has dropped to his knees next to the locker and has his ear pressed to the metal. "In case anyone is interested, there's a strange sound coming from inside..."

I grab him under his arms, dragging him behind me and shielding his body with my own. Last thing I need is a lord and legacy blown to bits across my bedroom. "Fuck. Is it ticking?"

Travis' eyes bulge out of his head, but Avery holds up a hand. " Quiet! That's… not the sound a bomb makes."

We all freeze, staring at my twin, but Law is nodding vigorously. "That's what I'm saying! It's claws. I swear, there's something trying to scratch its way out!"

"It's a fucking animal ?" Travis fumes. "You locked a dog in a box and pretended it was peanut cookies?"

I ignore his outrage, and grabbing the tablet off my bed, toss it to my twin. "Tell us what it says, Aves, before I have a fucking aneurysm."

My brother swallows hard but nods, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as they scan the screen. "Okay. Well, applying the most obvious key, it tells us… there's to be no contact with the contents at any point, but if it's necessary to open the footlocker, we must keep it out of sight at all times."

"What. Is. It?" Travis grinds out, his jaw white with anger.

"Well… it doesn't specify. But it does say a medical kit has been provided in case the subject becomes agitated or tries to bite…" Avery looks at me with huge, troubled eyes. "Pets are against the accommodation guidelines, Drew."

"Not to mention my allergies," Travis says with a sarcastic sneer. "Alright, give me a second." We all watch as he grabs my hoodie off my bed and wraps it around his bulging forearm. When he's done, he braces it in front of him, like a matador tangled in a half-assed cape. "Okay, I'm ready. So do something useful for a change, Locke-boy, and open the thing."

I toss him an eyeroll but drop to a knee and inspect the locks. They're the old-fashioned kind, with big brass bolts instead of a combination, and they screech as I force them from their fittings. Rubbing my sweaty palms on my trousers, I move into a crouch and grip the lid in both hands. Avery is keeping a safe distance, but Travis steps closer, with Law peering excitedly around his shoulder. Colonel York's scowling face flashes through my mind and a shiver snakes down my spine. This is definitely disobeying a direct order, but that bastard can go screw himself. He never said anything about keeping wild animals in our room.

Sucking in a breath, I yank the locker open.

"What. The. Fuck? "

It's not a dog, but a girl. Late teens, maybe a bit older. Although it's hard to tell with her tucked up tight, her head curled down to her chest, and her legs bent sharply at the knee. She's sleeping – unconscious, maybe – but there are claw marks on the underside of the lid, so I'm guessing she must have been awake at some stage.

Avery takes a rapid step back, but Travis curses and digs a medical bag from beneath her feet. She's not wearing shoes, and her toes are small and dirty – for some reason, that just makes me feel worse. And Travis looks as grim as I've ever seen him as he yanks the medical bag open. We all stare in silence at the neat row of syringes until I can't take it a second longer. "Sedatives," I murmur. "To keep her quiet…"

Travis turns so fast, it's like being swept up by a tornado. I don't have a hope of stopping him from dragging me across the room and smashing me into the wall. My head bounces off the old stone, my hangover sharpening and spreading until I can taste acid in my throat. "What the fuck is this, Locke?" he roars. "You trafficking people now, you greedy little shit? You pay some bent asshole to ship you an omega to fuck with?"

Omega? I peer through the sting of tears at the locker. From this angle, it looks a lot like a battered green coffin. "What? No! Of course I didn't…"

"Bullshit! The planning that went into this, and that cookie story? You're either an accomplice or a fucking idiot."

My mouth opens uselessly to defend myself, but it's Law who distracts him, asking with his usual disregard for Travis' temper, "How do you know she's an omega?"

Travis' hand tightens around my throat as he glares at Law over his shoulder. "Because she smells like spring flowers, you dipshit!"

"But you said she smelled like soldier," Law murmurs, creeping closer to the locker. "Her head's shaved, and she's wearing maintenance overalls. How do you even know she's really a girl?" He doesn't wait for an answer, because he's close enough to cup her cheek. "Mmmm. Soft as silk," he purrs, since Law, like most of the entitled legacies on campus, has no concept of boundaries. "And as for her breasts, looks like they're a perky handful."

Travis' face is flaming red again, and he drops me like a stone as he lunges at Law. Our housemate is the biggest student on campus, bar a few of the guys bred for the Alpha Elite Corps, but Law isn't exactly small. We're all around six feet tall, and while me and Avery have been starved down to an unnatural leanness, Law is like a sleek silver tiger. He's on the swim team, but he's also just blessed genetically. Big without being bulky, and disturbingly quick on his feet. But Travis picks him up like he's a kitten and tosses him into the hall. When he turns to us, black rage is bleeding into his irises. "Get the fuck out."

My lips twist that he's using my own words – and room - against me, but Avery pauses long enough to say, "Too much sedative will kill her. We need to be scientific about this."

Travis just balls his fists, so I grab my ever-helpful twin and bundle him into the hall. My bedroom door slams shut behind us, the lock sliding home, and anger prickles up my neck. Fucking Travis and his fucking psycho trigger.

With a sigh, I nudge Avery over towards the landing. Law is sitting on the top step, cradling his hand. At first, I think he sprained it when he was tossed into the hall, but then he waves it in my direction. "Smell this. She's definitely an omega."

I back away, pulling Avery with me. "Travis catches you sniffing your fingers, and he'll break them off. Slowly, and as painfully as possible."

But my twin is tugging on my sleeve. "Drew, why did we just leave an unconscious girl in a locked room with Travis Wake?"

I shuffle my feet, my hangover pounding, but Law is gazing up at me with a calculating glint in his eyes. "Isn't the bigger question why someone sent you a girl in a locked box?"

"Footlocker," I mutter. "And we weren't expecting… that. "

I clearly need to have a word with fucking Colonel York and his crazy fucking favors.

I wasn't holding out for cookies, but I thought it might be stolen military documents, or something along those lines. Which, I have to admit now, was probably my greed talking, because York is a national hero. Even when he mated his aide, the backlash was pretty tame. His men worship him, and the brass love to promote him. I've heard he'll make general before he's fifty. So why exactly did he send us a girl in a box?

And why us? Like he said, we're traitorous scum. The sons of captured military spies and terrorists. At least that's our rep on campus. The professors look down on us and do what they can to fuck with our education. The other students fear us, and most of them avoid us, which I guess makes our house a good hiding place. Except that it's currently occupied by four horny, red-blooded alphas – five if you include Law – and the girl is an omega. The shaved head and overalls suggest she's military, but drugging her and stuffing her in a footlocker points to her being an enemy of some kind.

So how does a girl that smells like roses and looks like a broken doll end up getting shipped in a box to Bleak House?

"Where are you going?" I ask as Law stretches and starts downstairs.

"Class. This is an academic institution, remember?" He waggles his brows at me. "But I'll be back once Travis stops marking his territory around your newest housemate."

He leaps down the rest of the stairs, annoyingly graceful for a spoiled legacy brat. When the front door slams shut, I turn and look at my pale-faced twin. "What the fuck have we got ourselves into, Aves?"