Trouble at Brayshaw High (Brayshaw High 2)

Speaking of the warehouses...

I lean back in my seat when Bass walks up with two unopened beer bottles as a peace offering.

“What do you say, Carver?” he holds one out for me. “Can the help sit with the queen?” he teases, but there’s a softness in his stare he chooses to share, letting me know he’s standing here with genuine intent.

With a playful roll of my eyes, I snatch one from him and he grins, dropping his onto the coffee table in front of me.

He pulls out his lighter, popping the tops off both of our drinks. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees he speaks low, “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

I eye him. “For what exactly?”

“For putting the video shit on you and you alone. I should have come to you all, as a group.” His eyes bounce between mine, and I frown.

“Why do I feel like you’ve got more to say?”

He chuckles. “Because you’re smart and can read people.”

I smirk, taking a quick drink of my beer. “So out with it, Bishop.”

He nods, considering his next words carefully. “I’ve been around a minute now. I’ve seen what these people call Bray Girls – senseless girls who want a piece of power, even if it’s only on a bed for an hour once or twice. Those girls?” His brows jump. “They come and go, most of the time every few days. It was always expected. They knew they were on a temporary schedule. There was no respect, they were never included. They were just around so when it was time to hit the sack, they were near.”

My nose scrunches, and he smirks.

“Don’t like hearing that, huh?”

“I’m aware of how each of them plays.” I glance at Maddoc, who openly watches us from his spot against the wall on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed, biceps bulging, glare intact.

Heat spreads through my abdomen and as if he senses it, his lip twitches. “He’s mine now, so I don’t give a shit about what he used to do.”

I look back to Bass.

“Just him?” he asks bluntly.

“Just him, though, the other two are real close to catching up,” I joke and he knocks my knee with his, making me laugh. “Nah, Maddoc is...”

“You,” he says. “Maybe a little crazier.”

“Only a little?” I lift a brow.

He chuckles. “I’d bet you’re pretty fucking even.”

“He likes my crazy, and I want his madness. It’s pretty fucking simple.”

Bass nods. “Looks simple, natural-like, from the outside, too. I think that’s why people are trippin’.”

“What do you mean?”

He lets his tongue touch his lip ring before continuing. “The guys haven’t had a single Bray Girl since you came in. Not even the two free Brayshaws.”

“They fuck all the time.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “They fuck, but they don’t allow anyone extra time around. Not since you got here.”

“They would if there was someone they wanted to keep.” I grow protective.

“They want to keep you.” He dips his head. “They don’t want you to think you’re like the others. They’ve been trying to show you what you mean to them, the only way they know how.”

“This isn’t some big gang bang, Bass.”

He gives me a pointed look. “Trust me, I know. Maddoc is real fucking clear on who belongs to who, feel me?” He lifts a brow and I laugh. “All right, look. Everyone around here knows, without a doubt, nobody could stand with them, so nobody has dared to try. Behind, yeah. In the same circle, sure, but never beside.” He licks his lips and looks off. “You, though, Rae. You might just be able to stand a solid foot in front.” He meets my stare. “I think I saw that before they did. Maybe I even acted like a bitch about it.”

“What are you trying to say, Bass?”

“I’m telling you there is no one like you, Raven Carver, and we all know it. We see it and feel it and that’s some powerful shit, girl.”

I try to look away, but he shifts, keeping me in his line of sight.

“What, you thought not?” he asks.

“I’m tired of people saying that like it’s what I was looking for here. I mean, who fucking cares—”

“I care,” he cuts me off. “I care because you doubt your power over this place and I want you to find it.”

I eye him a minute and he frowns, his lips pinching together.

Huh.

Pulling my feet up, I sit Indian style on the couch and lean my forearms on my knees, dropping closer to him. “Why?”

He starts to sit back, but I tilt my head and lift a brow in challenge.

“Why do you want that for me? Why’s it so important?”

He curses under his breath, running a hand over his face quickly. “Because I need to know a girl who lived like me, fucked up mentally and cut off emotionally – to most, anyway – can fight her way from the bottom and come out with sharper claws, not broken ones.”