Reign of Brayshaw (Brayshaw High 3)

I shift my glower to the green strip of grass ahead of me.

“How about for not seeing Leo and Vienna coming? Or for letting Raven take off in the Graven house for too long, and having to drag her ass out with the help of Gio while she kicked and screamed, trying to convince a Graven to live instead of die?”

“Stop.”

He scoffs, looking away. “Then don’t fucking thank me, man.”

After a second, I ask him, “Where’s the body?”

“Got it to the crematory, quietly. They’ve got it ready and waiting in case she wants to bury or burn her. And she will.”

“She wig out?” I ask him.

Bass shakes his head, looking to the grass. “Nah, man. She held it all in, hid everything like the soldier she is. Her first crack, Royce was there for, thank fuck. She’s holdin’ on, but not by much at this point. She doesn’t know what to do. Her moves were easier before, helped all of you. She’s having to think now, and we both know that’s not the way she works, so she’s lost. She wants you, man, but she has guilt, a sense of debt.”

“Cap would never hold anything over her head.”

“Nope. He wouldn’t. But she thinks he gave up everything for her, and you? You plain gave up. What’s she supposed to do with that?”

I run my hands down my face, dropping my head against the tree.

“Fucked up shit, yeah?” He takes another drag, speaking with a held breath. “I’d’ve told you to fuck off and walked if I thought for a second you’d leave her after you put me on her tail.”

He meets my glare. “Yeah, well some shit happened after that, asshole.”

“Oh, I know. She tried to do what she thought was best for you. Handled things quietly, out of your faces.” He swings his head toward me. “Every fucking body here knows she’s never been good at decisions, but when she moves, make no fucking mistake, she moves with you in mind.”

“Yeah?” I snap. “Every move she makes, huh?” I mock.

He eyes me a long moment before looking away. He flicks his cigarette before jumping to his feet. He stares at the hospital building behind us.

“Donley mentioned a video when we were there, proof of something.” His eyes come back to mine.

Perceptive asshole.

He pushes from the ground, offering me a hand so I let him pull me up.

I eye him. “I’d bet she won’t be going anywhere for a while.”

He shakes his head, already knowing. “Then neither am I, man. And heads up, your brother’s coming.”

I nod, looking behind him when Royce steps around the small walkway, headed right for me.

Royce makes sure to knock his shoulder into Bishop’s as hard as fucking possible, but Bishop ignores him and makes his way back to Raven and the others.

“I’m tired of the silence. How is it I’ve been here and don’t know shit? Tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on?” Royce demands, crossing his arms angrily.

“She’s pregnant.”

His brows jump, not at all expecting that. He gapes at me, and the longer he stares, the more it sets in. Tension lines his forehead.

He steps forward, eyes hard, but he wraps his arms around me in a hard pat.

An apology. Pity maybe, but I take it, hugging him back.

He doesn’t say anything, but what could he say? It’s been two fucking months she’s been married to my brother.

Were we supposed to prepare for this shit?

“I’ve been needing to get fucked up and fucked off for a good minute, so how’s about a drink, brother?”

“How ‘bout a few?”

He scoffs, stepping back and we had for his SUV.

He pulls his phone out, putting it up to his ear. “Mac money, find me a honey,” he jokes into the line. “I need a solid distraction and Maddoc needs to be put on his ass. Party pad in twenty.”

With that, we leave the hospital, ready to forget for a little while.

Let’s hope this time it works.

Royce’s twenty minutes turned into an hour. We took a detour home so he could change, but I couldn’t even drag myself from the SUV.

It’s not until we get there, we remember it was being gutted and redone.

The spill-proof leather sofas we had against the walls are gone, replaced with larger, softer ones. The black curtains are now a light blue to match the fucking rug laying on the floor and the fake flowers sitting on the new, white kitchen table.

There’s a small dollhouse against the west wall, a tea set alongside it, right where the beer pong table used to be.

“Maybe we should—”

“No,” I cut Royce off, spinning back to look out the door when the crunch of tires against gravel alerts us Mac’s here with a few more from the crew.

He steps out first, walking straight for us while they slowly hit the trunk of his car.