Illicit (The Wrong Alpha 3)

The implication of Ant’s words didn’t help, either. If Ant was named his teammate’s next-of-kin, that meant fake-Anthony didn’t have a family—or a mate.

But that piece of knowledge only made him greedier for more. Liam wanted to know more.

He wanted everything. Every piece of information about him.

Every piece of him.

Chapter 20

Days passed.

Then weeks.

Then months.

Liam had been angry in the first few days, but that anger had been mixed with relief that they weren’t actually brothers—and hope. For the first time since he’d realized that he had inappropriate feelings for his brother, he’d actually had hope that their relationship could be anything but a disaster. But as the days turned into weeks and then months, that hope had gradually faded, and another emotion, something hollow and achy, found its way to his chest and settled there, poisoning his thoughts.

You never meant anything to him.

He never cared for you.

He isn’t coming back.

The latter part was getting harder and harder to deny. It had been nearly two months. Ant had said his friend had been shot in the stomach. Considering the level of modern medicine, if he had survived long enough to get medical treatment, that kind of wound should have been healed within weeks.

So if he wasn’t back, that meant he’d chosen not to come back.

He never really cared for you.

He isn’t coming back.

***

Despair soon turned back into anger.

Fuck him, Liam thought viciously, ignoring the ache in his heart.

He refused to mope because of that asshole. He had his pride, dammit.

So he threw himself into his social life. He danced, he smiled, he laughed. He accepted compliments. Life was good. He was having lots of fun.

“Li, do you want to talk about it?” Jules said carefully. He was always so careful around him these days, as if Liam was something fragile.

Liam smiled. “What about?”

Jules gave him a long look and sighed. “Never mind. Just… you can always talk to me, you know?”

Turning away, Liam grabbed the invitations on the table. “We’re invited to the Duchess of Embery’s ball tomorrow. Are you going?”

“Do you… do you want me to ask Devlin if he can find out something about him? He has been incredibly busy lately, but…”

Liam froze, his back to Jules. It stood to reason that as the crown prince, the Duke of Westcliff would have the clearance to know about a top-secret intelligence organization of his country. He could maybe make inquiries about an injured agent of that organization. Find out his name. Find out why he hadn’t returned.

But everything in Liam hated the idea of asking such a favor of Westcliff—not after the way he’d treated Liam like an empty-headed thing not worthy of respect. Liam tolerated Westcliff for Jules’s sake, because the arrogant prick clearly loved Jules and made Jules happy. It didn’t mean Liam liked him. Or wanted to owe him anything.

No. He’d rather die than owe anything to Westcliff.

Besides, Liam shouldn’t have to go looking for him. If fake-Anthony really cared for Liam, he’d return to him without being bullied by the crown prince.

“No,” Liam said flatly, walking away.

And that was that.

Later that night, as he lay in his cold, empty bed, his eyes wide open, Liam wondered if his pride was worth it.

But if he forwent his pride, what did he even have?

He had never felt so alone. Jules clearly pitied him, and being around his happy, besotted self was unbearable. At least Jules wasn’t around often because of his approaching wedding. Eric was Eric, lost in his computers and video games. Anthony was—Liam didn’t like being around him.

Not that he disliked Ant, per se. He just didn’t like looking at his face. He really looked a lot like him: at a glance, it was easy to mistake them, and then Liam’s traitorous, stupid heart would start beating faster only to drop somewhere to his feet again when he realized that it was the wrong alpha.

The right alpha, Liam corrected himself, beyond frustrated. The only consolation was the fact that he didn’t feel even a flicker of attraction toward the real Anthony, no matter how similar he looked. In fact, the mere idea turned his stomach. It was just gross. Revolting. Now he understood Jules’s disgust at the idea.

He didn’t even like being scent-marked by Ant. The first time his brother had attempted to do it, Liam had jerked away and pretended that he didn’t see it. He knew he hurt his brother by not accepting him as his alpha, but he could do nothing about it. He hated his brother’s scent—hated it for stinking up the entire house and slowly erasing… erasing all other scents.

Liam seemed to be the only one having an aversion to Ant, though. The staff acted as though it was totally normal that another man now called himself Anthony Blake and had become the master of the house. None of the staff had even vaguely mentioned the strangeness of it, which made Liam extremely uneasy. He didn’t think NDA worked that way, but what did he know about it, really? Maybe it truly didn’t bother anyone that a different man replaced the one they had called the master of the house for more than a month. Even Jules and Eric seemed to just roll with it, and acted all brotherly and shit toward Anthony 2.0. Liam felt like the only sane person in the entire house.