Chapter Three

Maddie

"It's not fair."

"Totally not fair."

"You've gotta do something about him."

"He'll get his comeuppance." Jacks crowed for the second round as I sat in Abernathy House surrounded by my over-supportive housemates.

I wanted to crawl into my room and hide, but that would hurt their feelings more than mine, so I stayed.

"I appreciate you guys. Thanks." I didn't believe the words, and from the looks on the three girls' faces, neither did they. I spent the last two days filling them in on the cold-as-hell ex and his demonic twin brother as well as our bet. Or game. Whatever he called it.

Jacks, Harper, and Dove were my housemates. Dove, our Maltese contingent of one, owned the house. At least her father did. There were some rich pricks on Bramwell campus, but one day she would be the wealthiest of them all, a billionaire in her own right. And that was before she tested her own intellect, which was considerable.

She raised her gray eyes that matched her name to meet mine. "It's okay. I struggle with being given things, too."

"Like compliments," Harper Conway supplied in her Aussie accent, twisting her well-formed words into an obnoxious twang at the end.

"Or birthday presents," Jaqueline "Jacks" Martine, our French girl, muttered, reaching across the coffee table for the wine bottle.

She drank the last of it to a chorus of groans. I picked it up and added it to the row lined against the end of the coffee table, counting the bottles there with one eye shut. "How many standard drinks was that?"

Somebody on the opposite side of the seashell-encrusted table snickered.

"It's double if you use both eyes at the same time," Jacks smirked.

"Nope." I shook my head. "No chance unless you're getting me a bowl."

"Ugh. Americano," she muttered under her breath.

"I'm English," I protested.

"Eh. Same thing."

Each of us hailed from a different country, a small international colony within a private university, though we lived off campus by a whole block, technically speaking. Dove's father wanted her to have freedom and space outside of the dean, who was rather strict in his outlook of non-US based students, regardless how much money he injected into the mini-ecosystem that surrounded several old buildings and forty-five acres of lawn.

Bramwell U supported the richest of the rich, and said nothing about it. Bragging wasn't encouraged at the level of wealth these select families enjoyed. Money became a taboo subject, which suited my British side just fine, seeing as I didn't have any. The university ran differently to other elite institutions. Excessive behavior and sponsorships were discouraged, mostly because there was simply no need. The truly wealthy at their level didn't need to display their good fortune and labors. It was only the semi-wealthy and millionaires who appeared that gauche. Or people with no money at all, like me.

"Can scholarships please be added to that list?" I grabbed for the overflowing wine glass Jacks topped up with a bottle she pulled from God knew where, and downed a gulp before she could grab it back.

"Hey!" she snorted, and waved her hands. "Fuck it. Have at it."

Harper snorted and disappeared into the kitchen, and was back a moment later with two more unopened bottles.

"Do we have a wine cellar I didn't know about?" I asked.

Harper shrugged and topped up everyone's glasses to the brim, her attention lasting until she got to Jacks's which flowed over the lip.

Jacks leaned forward and caught the first drip on her tongue, sucking it off the top of her glass with finesse.

"Girl's got skills." Harper chortled.

"You know it." Jacks winked. "Oh, I hear there's a party next weekend at the Henchmen's frat house."

"Do I want to know what that means?" I transferred in at the new year halfway through my degree, though my two years with Lennox Deitrich threw up several red flags for how cloistered I'd been.

Hell, I'd barely seen these girls enough to call them friends, though they accepted me into their circle without reserve. Dove was right. Being given their acceptance wasn't in me to take, either culturally or pride-wise. But right now it felt really good to have friends, especially when my ass was plastered all over the campus.

For a scholarship student, I was surprised I hadn't been called into the dean's office for misconduct.

"Don't ask. But she'll tell you all about her skills after enough drinks," Dove interrupted, smiling in the sweetest way while she evaluated us all.

I wondered if anyone else noticed.

Aussie Harper grinned as she tipped her drink back and winked.

Yup, they saw it.

Funny how the quiet ones were often the most underestimated—or the filthiest, in my life experience. Which would Dove end up being, or would she tick both boxes? I resolved to keep an eye on her, for entertainment value if nothing else.

"Are you a stalker yourself?" I asked, referring to my own peeping Maxom as I shifted my attention to the quiet house owner.

She turned her wineglass between delicate fingers. "I'm just observant."

"You gather things," Jacks said after a moment's pause. "People, information, names … phone numbers?"

"Or boxer shorts?" I put in.

"All the toys!" Harper added.

Dove muttered something under her breath in her native language about the Virgin Mary and involving a naughty cat. "I shouldn't have said anything." See? The filthiest minds ever. She paused, sipping from her glass. "But you need to do something about your stalker. And I'm glad you're away from his brother. They were weird."

"You're telling me." I shook my head. "Both of them are in that huge mansion, off campus, and even with all the staff in the world they're basically living on top of each other the whole time. There was no privacy."

"So, you didn't…" Jacks wiggled her eyebrows. "You know, twins?" She looked at me expectantly.

I choked in the middle of a deep slug of wine, trying to catch her up. "Oh, God, no. You can't be serious."

"How does that work anyway?" Harper asked. "Like, both in one hole, a hole each…"

Images assailed me, one repugnant, the other arousing. I didn't stop to decipher which was which. "No twins. Not now, not ever." I faux-glared at Harper over the rim of my glass. "Understood?"

"Understood." She snapped to attention and spilled wine.

"Taxi!" Jacks squealed.

Dove tilted her head to one side as Jacks and Harper teased each other mercilessly. "So, what are you going to do about him? It was your idea to make him scream." She paused. "What did you have in mind?"

"I have no idea." I shook my head. "It seemed to be the most humiliating thing I could think of for a man like him who values pride above all, and it just slipped out."

Dove nodded slowly, a wicked grin curving her lips. "I might have an idea."

****

The boy's locker room stank. Pheromones, hormones, boy sweat. Stale scents, little filtered air, enclosed spaces, and old sports equipment. Enough said.

Maxom Dietrich was the only reason I walked into said room at the Bramwell gym, knowing I had a good half hour of freedom, assuming no one else came in while the twins were busy outdoing each other on the weight equipment.

Part of me hated that I knew so much about their routine, but the twins stuck together, mostly. Where one went, the other followed. Harper's comment about having both at once rippled through my system as I finished my run on the treadmill, pretending not to watch them work out from the corner of my eye.

Lennox was pale all over—no body hair, white skin, a lean, ripped body by nature rather than design. Even his eyes were a pale shade of blue, which shifted with his mood. When he was at his coldest they turned the gray of an overcast sky. Pristine white hair that would have made fresh snow jealous was razed to one side. Think cocaine chic with a touch of European model, and that was Lennox Dietrich.

Maxom was blessed with the dark horse genes of his family. Dark hair, blue eyes the color of deep ocean water, a fine smattering of dark curls across his chest. I discovered that when I walked in on him in the shower once, and backed out in a hurry, muttering apologies and wondering why he couldn't use the en suite in his own room. Managing to keep my eyes above the belt level—mostly—kept me out of trouble for that day at least.

Mostly.

But I still saw enough to know that both brothers were not blessed with the same package.

I made sure to be extra loud that night with Lennox, hoping Maxom would hear me, and not realize I was trying to overcompensate for something that wasn't my problem from the start. Or maybe the sex was my problem. That was the job as girlfriend, right? But now that job was over and I had new goals.

I padded quietly along the plush carpet—who laid expensive carpets in a locker room?—and ran my fingers along the rows of lockers. Theft wasn't a problem at Bramwell. I mean, who the hell were you going to steal from when everybody had more money than they could ever use to buy whatever they wanted? Items weren't important, while power play was the common currency.

And power, it seemed, was what our little gray Dove had been bred on. That, and a few other less decent tricks.

I grinned at that thought as I traced my fingers along the numbers, stopping at the sixteenth locker. The boys had matching towels, and seventeen was Lennox's lucky number. Just as in everything else, they were side-by-side again.

Winding a stray lanyard around my hand, I flicked through the contents of the locker and found a pair of clean black jocks. Grimacing at the thought of touching another man's underwear that I wasn't sleeping with, I slipped out the little vial of habanero dust and applied it liberally to the inside of the man's knickers.

The dust was superfine and I doubted he would see it before he put them on, but Dove assured me I'd hear his scream from the parking lot. I didn't stop to ask how she knew that.

Filthy Dove.

I cleaned off the front of the locker and turned on my heel, a smile on my face. Job done.

I was halfway to the door when it opened and the wrong brother stepped through. Maxom slowed his pace and stopped just inside the door, staring at me with assessing eyes as I slid the little bottle into my gym bag and pushed it behind my back.

"I thought I might find you in here," he murmured, still watching me.

His intense stare was unnerving. "Did you?" I strode forward, never breaking my pace as I tread a direct path around him.

His hand whipped out, catching my waist, and halting my pace.

The open door yawned a few steps away. My exit strategy just went to pot. I looked at it longingly for too many seconds. When I glanced up at Maxom, slapping ineffectively at his arm, his knowing smile sent a shot of fear through my body.

"I don't think so." He stepped closer until the heat from his body brushed against my core.

"I'm leaving." I shoved at his arm, expecting him to fall on his ass again. Twisting around him, I made for the door, then realized he had slipped the gym bag off my shoulders. The gym bag that had my tiny vial of evidence within its depths. My stomach tightened. "Give that back."

He shook his head, the gym bag dangling from his fingers. "No." He gave me an easy grin, and raised a hand to push sweat-soaked hair from his face. Deep-blue eyes stared into mine as he held out the bag like an offering, retreating further into the locker room. "Come and get it."

I launched forward before he could get too far, grabbed for the strap, and missed. Stumbling a few steps, I righted myself halfway to the floor and came face to crotch with him. Again.

"How delightful."

"Asshat," I grumbled, flipping my ponytail over my shoulder.

"You know…" Maxom's eyes swept over me in a quick assessment. The smile that twisted his lips was nothing short of sinful. "I think I prefer seeing you in my brother's clothes."

I blinked. "What?"

Maxom backed up until he leaned against his locker and reached into my bag. "Let's find out what you have in here that you don't want me to see."

"You're such a freaky little stalker." I broke through my trance and into his space to snatch the bag from his grasp, surprised when he let go so easily.

"I'm the little stalker? What are you doing here?"

"I thought I left a watch with Lennox. I wanted to see if maybe he picked it up here at the gym."

It was a shitty lie, and we both knew it.

"You thought he'd bring your watch here and not tell you?" Amusement raised both eyebrows along his forehead. "You can do better than that."

"Anyway, I checked. No watch." I raised both bare wrists. "So, I'm good to go."

I edged backward, aiming for the door but unwilling to take my eyes off the man I tried to sabotage. If he caught on to what I'd done and I was still here… Welp. I really needed to leave. Fast.

"Yes, you are. Bye, now."

I studied the strange smile on his face. Something was not right. "Why were you at my house that night?"

His eyes narrowed as he took me in. "What did you have in the bag that you didn't want me to see?"

"Feminine products." The lie shot between my lips before I could stop it.

That same smile sent something very different than fear rippling through my system.

Need.

Oh, my God. I'm perving on my ex's brother.

Well, that likely had been happening for a while, but this was the first time I admitted it to myself. The first time I knew I wanted him. Something was horribly broken about me.

"You're a terrible liar, Sutcliff." Maxom turned his back, dismissing me.

I took the offering as a moment of grace and disappeared through the door before Lennox found me and I had to deal with them.

It wasn't until I reached into my bag once I was outside the gym, searching for my phone, that I realized a little vial of chili powder was missing. The smarmy bastard knew what I'd done all along and played me. Again.

Nor had he answered my question about why he was at the house or taking pictures that night, like a sneaky perv.

There were questions, and I needed answers. I wouldn't stop until I got them.