Page 9 of Brutal Game

And it was more than that. He smelled like—well, I couldn’t describe what he smelled like, but whatever it was, it wasgood. Like my own personal temptation. His mouth had been warm and hard and punishing, the grip of his hand on the back of my neck menacing, but I got lost in him, anyway.

Until I’d wrapped my arms around his waist, slipped my thumb into his pocket—and felt his wallet.

A wallet that—just as I’d guessed—contained his ID card.

An ID card that probably had 24/7 access to the arena and locker room.

It had woken me up out of my Jack-Feldman-lust-daze. Here was my best shot. And sure, I hadn’t planned for it, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to take advantage of the opportunity.

Also, I was pissed at myself for getting sucked into his current. So I’d bitten his lip, used the distraction, and ran. I could still taste his blood in my mouth. It tasted like rage and desire.

Something was seriously, seriously wrong with me. Maybe it was time for me to see a counselor, too.

Another block, and I’d reached campus. For a moment, it felt like there was someone behind me, watching me. Butwhen I turned around, the only shadows came from the trees.

A text popped up on my phone. It was from Asher.

How’s the first week back?

I swallowed. That was just like him: Even though he was struggling with his own pain, he still checked in. Still cared about my life, about making sureIwas okay.

I felt guilty for lying to him about where I was. He had no idea I’d transferred; I’d hidden any paperwork at the house and had kept it off social media. But he didn’t need to know. If he did, he’d be worried, and demand I stop. And I wasn’t going to stop. I wanted him to have his life back. Coach Jensen had made sure Asher couldn’t get a hockey scholarshipanywhere.No way for my brother to start over.

I responded.

Fine. Same as always.

I paused, then added.

How’s therapy going?

Fine. Same as always. #twinning

He was teasing, but I could feel his sadness through the phone. But what was there to say? At least he was going. I’d hated leaving him alone, but knowing he had a professional working with him made it a little easier.

Good. Let me know if you need anything, okay?

Dots appeared and disappeared as he typed. Finally he responded with:

You got it, kiddo.

Kiddo.It was our running joke. Even though I’d been born a minute before him, he liked to pretend he was older. He was trying to alleviate my worry, but I was still worried.

Which was why I had to stay focused on Plan A.

I pulled open Reina U’s app on my phone and tapped on the map so I could figure out where the hell I was going.

During the day, Reina’s campus—with its beautiful old brick buildings, covered in ivy, archways, and perfectly cared for grass, blanketed with leaves signifying the beginning of fall—was intimidating. At night, it was menacing, unearthly. Statues of founders and board members and other semi-famous, dead white men loomed above, casting shadows over the path. I hurried on my way, focusing on the plan. I wasn’t positive that the coach would have recordings in his office, but I had to try. If not, there might be a spare set of keys to his house somewhere, or some other incriminating evidence. Although I really, really wanted those videos. They’d prove everything, without Asher having to say a word.

After our parents were murdered in a robbery gone wrong, and I’d gotten my scar, Asher had become everything to me. Great Aunt Gladys had taken us in when none of the wealthy Golds would even talk to us, and I was grateful to her. But after she died, it was Asher and I against the world. His wellbeing was my everything—and anyone who fucked with that…well.

I wasn’tactuallygoing to commit murder, but I was goingto destroy Coach Jensen’s life. And anyone else’s who’d stood by and let him harm Asher.

With that thought, I reached the arena. It was huge, and dark, and locked—until I tapped Jack’s ID against the card reader.

With a click, the door opened.

As I strode down the corridor, lights flickered on, one after another. It smelled like sweat and ice and victory, and I hated it. It was too much of a reminder of the way Asher had beenbefore, when Aunt Gladys and I had saved every cent to finance Asher’s dream. He had been going somewhere in his life—wasgoing somewhere, and I was going to get my brother back.

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