7. Travis

"Tell me his name."

We haven't even reached the end of the landing before I have the little weasel shoved up against the wall. I spend a lot of time with my hand around Drew Locke's throat, mainly because he's as slippery as a snake. A pretty boy who dances the line between school outcast and Mr. Popular. I've heard girls gush about his golden locks and his sexy smile, while their boyfriends slander him behind his back for being the son of a traitor. But they invite him to their parties, and he's never short of a warm body to fuck. Everyone knows he's in Bleak House for a damn good reason, but that doesn't stop them from treating him like some kind of freakish pet.

But I see under the smirks and jokes. At his heart, Drew Locke is a sad little boy who'll do just about anything to belong.

Including drug and kidnap an innocent girl because some asshole officer told him to.

I ram him against the wall again. "Tell me his fucking name!"

"Why?" He huffs, not even trying to pry my fingers off his throat. Like I said, he knows the drill, and fighting back will just get him tossed down the stairs. But that doesn't stop him mouthing off at me. "What are you going to do about it, Travis? It's not like we can just march into the mess hall at dinner and demand to know why he put a girl in a box."

"No, but I can wait until he's asleep in his quarters and stick a knife in his thigh. Pretty sure he'll tell me then."

He rolls his eyes at me. "Well, before we go around maiming senior officers, let's look at what we're dealing with. Someone – a powerful someone – drugged and detained an omega and then made her our problem. Why would he do that? If she works for him, he could've just dealt with her quietly on his estate. And if she's somehow involved in the military side of things, he has a platoon of loyal soldiers who'd get rid of her without question. So, he must want her alive. Alive but sedated, and squirreled away in Bleak House." A scowl flickers over his face. "He knew I'd open that locker and freak out. That's why he put all those syringes in there. He wanted me to keep her locked up. Probably thought I'd double-dose her, shove the box in a corner and forget all about her…"

My knife is against his ribs before he can draw his next breath. "You try locking her up again and I'll bury you in the woods."

"Understood." He holds my gaze, probably trying to prove how sincere he is. But then his eyes flick towards the ceiling. "But you know I'm not like our housemate in the attic. I don't torture people for kicks."

I grit my teeth at the reminder that the twins aren't the only loose cannons in the house. Assuming Cutter is home and not out raiding a missile silo, he's no doubt lurking somewhere above our heads. Hell, he's probably got his eye pressed to the floor, watching us right now… I direct my next comment towards the moldy roof beams. "If Cutter tries to go near her, he'll get the same treatment."

"Agreed. And while we're not locking her up, we're not letting her roam around on the loose, either." At my gritted snarl, Drew waves a hand in my face. "Think about it, Travis. She's in trouble, but because of her memory loss, we don't know why or how bad it is. If we let her go while she's still foggy, she could walk right into an even bigger pile of shit."

I think it over and give a grudging nod. We need to talk to Jane some more and find out what she knows. But we're not pushing her to tell us. She's been through enough. Right now, she needs rest, so that bump on her head can heal… My vision flickers red when I think about the way she flinched under my fingers. "But if she doesn't remember by tomorrow night, you're giving me his name, even if I have to tear your tongue out to get it. Got it?"

He shrugs. "Sure, but if you want to know why he did this to her, I'm as clueless as you are."

I curl my lip at him, but he doesn't look like he's insulting me. It's hard to tell with Drew. He has the kind of face I want to punch most of the time, and then he opens his mouth, and I want to punch him even harder. "Until we know more, no outsiders in the house. That includes Lawrence. You want to party, you do it somewhere else."

That gets him hot under the collar. "And how am I meant to do that exactly? You know I'm under curfew."

The rest of the campus operates like a normal university, with night curfews for lower classmen, but not much else in the way of restrictions. But the rules for Bleak House residents are different, and except for our formal classes and approved extracurriculars, we can't take a step outside without setting off an alarm.

"You'll work it out," I tell him with a patronizing smile. "And if you don't, think of all the extra study time you'll get by keeping your dick in your pants."

"Fuck you, Travis." But there's not much heat in his voice, and we start down the stairs, both drawn by the rumble of the service truck pulling up outside our residence. It's a stripped-back military-style Jeep, used by the maintenance crews to lug around their tools and supplies, which explains why our groceries always smell like sawdust and diesel fuel.

Malcolm, the big beta who has the job of delivering our weekly food allocation, is leaning against the Jeep, covered in paint. He's unclipped his overalls and his white t-shirt is grimy with sweat. "Get the rest out of the truck," he tells me as he shoves a couple of grocery bags at Drew. "I need a smoke."

Drew disappears towards the kitchen while I grab the remaining four bags and a cooler of frozen dinners. My ankle monitor starts beeping before I make it back to the porch and Malcolm hides his smile behind his cigarette. Most of the betas get a kick out of seeing an alpha of my size caged up like a zoo animal, but Malcolm usually keeps the chuckles to a minimum.

"Got another of those?" I ask when I've dumped the sacks and cooler inside the door for Drew to sort out.

Malcolm looks at me in surprise. "Didn't think you smoked."

"Well, they don't include them in our grocery allocation, so I got out of the habit."

Malcolm looks slightly chagrined as he hands one over. I'd like to pocket his lighter, but he insists on lighting it for me and then tucks it away. "Yeah, that must suck."

We smoke in silence for a while, the buzz of nicotine snaking through my veins. When I was in high school, I smoked a pack a day, and the smell of tobacco still reminds me of home .

"You know our stairs are still fucked up," Drew says as he joins us on the porch, his fingers twitching for my cigarette. I ignore him, and Malcolm digs another out with a sigh. "If we had access to some tools, we could fix it ourselves." He gives Malcolm a wink over his lighter. "I got a distinction in woodworking, just so you know."

From the smooth-ass shine on his palms, I'm betting Drew has never lifted a hammer in his life. But Malcolm is shaking his head at him for a different reason. "Yeah, I bet the admins really want the Bleak House Freaks all tooled up. You'd probably build a bomb in the basement."

Drew waggles his brows at me, since that's where my room is located, but I ignore him. "Forget it," I tell Malcolm. "The stairs can wait for the next inspection report."

Drew seems to remember why it would be a bad idea to have a bunch of maintenance workers trudging through our house, and nods vigorously. "Um, yeah. It's no big deal. But if you can get me another bottle of that moonshine, I'd be a friend for life."

I curl a lip at how little shame Drew has. He's got deals going all over campus, even though we don't have a dollar to our combined names.

But Malcolm is glaring at him now. "Fuck off! Not out in the open, freak!"

He looks like he's about to storm off, so I step in his path. He's big, but he's still not tall enough to look me in the eye, and his muscles are turning to fat at the edges. Not to mention I'm an alpha, while he's an out-of-shape beta. If it came down to one of us getting pitched off this porch, it definitely wouldn't be me, and from the way his face pales, he knows it. "Hold up. Got a different question for you. Do the big brass ever bring their maintenance guys onto base?"

He frowns at me, squinting suspiciously. "Why would they? We take care of the college side of things, and they have their own crews for their vehicles and stuff."

"What about domestics? Say they have a special cleaner or cook or something. Do they ever bring them out here from their estate? Maybe set them up somewhere on base?"

A slow, shit-eating grin spreads over his face. "You after some omega pussy, Wake?" I don't bother denying it, and he punches my arm. "Nah, the only officers who would have that kind of pull are colonels and above. And they're either in the city pushing paper, or out on the frontline getting another shiny medal pinned to their ass. "

I nod, since it's what I expected, and step back so he can leave. But as soon as he reaches the Jeep, he gives me a crafty look. "If you're looking for pussy, though, I might know someone who can help you out. For a price, of course. And I can't promise you an omega, although some of those domestics spend as much time on their knees sucking cock as polishing floors, if you know what I mean…"

Fury ripples down my spine and I'm suddenly vaulting over the porch railing and tossing him up against the side of his vehicle. The thing with alphas, our bodies don't always work in tandem with our brains, but right now I'm laser focused and in perfect sync. Especially since Jane's face is flashing in front of my eyes, pale and foggy from drugs. "If I hear you're peddling omegas, you slimy prick, I'll nail your balls to the wall."

"Calm the fuck down!" Malcolm squawks, trying to wiggle out from under the arm I have shoved against his throat. "I'm talking willing females, okay? Whores, basically. Why would I force a chick when they're happy to do it for pennies and a pat on the head?"

"I'd stop talking right about now," Drew says from the porch, blowing lazy smoke rings into the air. "You're basically just poking the beast."

"Yeah, yeah. Look, no girls!" Malcolm whines. "I get it. And I'll put a rush on the staircase repairs."

I step back from him right as my ankle monitor starts to flash. I didn't even hear the warning beeps, but Malcolm gives me a sneer as he jumps into his Jeep. "Better get back inside, you psycho. No wonder you fuckers are on such a tight leash."

I shoot him the finger and climb the porch steps as he roars off. My ankle monitor stops flashing as I reach the top, and I bend to collect the cigarette I dropped in my haste. There's less than an inch left, and I scowl. But I'm more pissed at myself than anything. If the alarm gets to the flashing stage, a security guard is supposed to come and check in. Usually I'd enjoy going toe-to-toe with one of the college rent-a-cops, but with Jane asleep inside, I'm kicking myself for my recklessness.

"He's probably going to piss on our groceries next week," Drew says as he hands me his smoke to relight what's left of mine.

I shrug. "Might improve the taste."

Drew laughs, but the sound cuts off as Lawrence Michaelson III strolls into view. This guy is the epitome of the entitled frat boy in his tailored uniform and thousand-dollar haircut, and I have no idea why he spends so much time at our place. All the legacies have private apartments on campus, but Lawrence is a lord as well, which means his place probably comes with a butler and a jacuzzi.

"Tell me the scent of sweaty beta in the air means your groceries have arrived," he says in his lazy, posh boy drawl.

I flick the rest of my smoke at him. "Go eat at your own fucking place, Third."

Lawrence neatly side-steps my butt as he slinks up the stairs. "I'm not asking for myself , obviously. But it's hard to host a party in a house full of hangry alphas."

I turn and glare at Drew. "No fucking parties, remember? We're on lockdown until I say different."

Lawrence leans on the railing, stretching his long arm along the wood like a cat staking a claim. "You mean because of the girl in the box?"

"Shut your mouth!" I hiss, grabbing him and hauling him inside. I shove him onto the lumpy couch in the living room and dagger-eye Drew until he slinks in next to him. Folding my arms, I glare down at the pair of jackasses. "Listen very clearly, because I'm not repeating this. You don't look at Jane. You don't talk about Jane. And you sure as fuck don't bring anyone over here until she's back on her feet."

"Of course," Lawrence says promptly, then adds, "tonight's party being the exception to those three rules."

I feel a vein throb in my temple. "What?"

He gives me a sly look from his weird cat eyes. "I tried to tell them Bleak House was off-limits, but it's Sunday night and Carmen was insistent. She wants to party here and nowhere else. And you know that where she goes, the rest of them follow."

Drew gives me big, innocent eyes. "And that's kind of your fault, Travis. Carmen has been trying to get in your pants since freshman year."

I grit my teeth and rub my skull. Carmen Van Ness is one of only a few female alphas in our year, and she's smart, pushy, and doesn't take no for an answer. Yes, I'm aware she's interested in me, but since she's also the daughter of some bigshot scientist, I seriously doubt she'd actually hook up with me if I made a move. Which I have zero interest in doing, tonight or any other night.

I kick Lawrence's foot. "Tell them you'll host at your place."

But he flaps his hand dismissively. "They won't come. My apartment is a soulless box, according to Carmen. Everyone wants to party at Terrorist Central." Drew nudges him hard in the ribs and he seems to realize that mocking our fucked-up existence isn't going to get him what he wants. "Look, they're curious, but they're still sheep. Tell them Cutter is upstairs, and no one will dare step a foot out of line."

"Cutter probably is upstairs," I tell him. "Want me to call him down so you can ask him to your party? I bet he'd love an invite."

Lawrence tips his head back and studies the ceiling like he can see all the way to the attic. "I'm starting to doubt he exists. I've never actually seen him in the flesh, you know."

It's impossible to miss the fascinated gleam in his eyes. Is that why he spends so much time here instead of at his fancy apartment? Is he trying to stage a run-in with the resident psycho? "Trust me," I grind out, "you don't want to catch Cutter's eye."

Lawrence purses his lips like I haven't convinced him, but then shrugs. "Tell me more about Jane. She's obviously out of the box if you're exchanging names."

I grind my teeth. "Off. Limits."

He taps the side of his ridiculously straight nose. "Whatever you say, party host."