Break Me (Brayshaw High 5)

He studies me, slowly dropping back against the door. “And when the Bishops’ files came to you guys, you were only freshmen, so you took your dad’s word after a quick look inside. You didn’t read them.”

I nod. “Only read one, a report on assault charges against Bass to get an idea of how good his hands were.”

“You came here with no clue who this girl was or what she was about.”

“Nothin’ but a name and address, my man, and that shit cost a fuck-ton to get my hands on, so when I got here, saw the look-alike cousin, I told my ass that’s her, done fuckin’ deal.” I raise a brow. “I almost got got, bro. If the cousin didn’t give her up, I would have.”

“Nah, man.” He shakes his head. “You’d have figured it out.”

Maybe.

Not very Brayshaw of me to jump to conclusions without proof.

My brothers would whoop my ass.

Or they’d try.

Raven definitely would, and then maybe Brielle’s for fuckin’ with me, if she wasn’t pregnant with my brothers’ kid.

Maybe even then.

A small smile finds my lips at that, but even the thought of my family isn’t erasing the shit swimming in my head.

Mac sees it.

“That’s not what’s hot on your mind.” My friend knows me. “Lay it on me, man.”

I lick my lips, glaring out the window.

“Bass asked us to send her here because he said it was what was best for her then, that her family here loved her. Wanted her. That she’d have more here, a life. A future to build off of, like we were offering him.” I turn to Mac. “That the vibe you got?”

Like I knew he would, Mac shakes his head no.

When I decided I was headed this way, my only clear thought was to get here and toy with the little sister of the fucker who ticked me off, to tease or test her out a bit. After that, I’d leave, and with a spicy story to share with the punk the next time I saw him.

But then what was supposed to be our dirty little meet and greet turned into a twisted ass grab and go, and fuck man.

I don’t know.

My instincts are teasing at the trigger, screaming something ain’t right.

Her cousin and all the bullshit she brings, the school...

The ease surrounding her while in a car with a stranger.

How it was nowhere to be found inside the school.

“You’re staying.” He eyes me, but he didn’t ask a question and a response isn’t needed.

I pull a joint from the glovebox and relax into the seat.

“Thirsty?” Mac asks.

I grin, lifting the joint. “’Bout to be.”

Mac laughs, puts the car in drive, and off we go.

I flick on the lighter, pull it to the tip and puff until it’s hitting good, the smoke rolling from my lips.

Brielle Bishop.

Tiny.

Feisty.

In for a fuckin’ ride.BrielleRight when I thought the nightmare was coming to an end with the glorious sound of the final school bell piercing my ears, I remember the way every Goosebumps book I’ve ever read ended, with realization the problem isn’t really gone, but still very much lurking, like the tattooed bad boy straight ahead, for instance.

He leans against the car with his arms crossed over his chest, staring straight at me.

I release a heavy sigh and continue to hobble forward.

With each step closer I grow, Royce’s chin lifts.

I stop a few feet away from him. “You’re still here.”

“And you’re damn excited about it.”

A low laugh leaves me, and I cut a quick glance away, but I’m pulled right back when his arms drop.

“You lied to me,” he says as he pushes off the curb, reaching out to blindly tug the back door open. “Now you owe me.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.” The refusal flies from me before I realize it’s coming.

Royce’s hand pauses on the frame, my words freezing him there for a split second. Once he snaps out of it, he stalks toward me, confidence dripping with his every step, and he doesn’t stop until he’s a shuffle of his feet away.

He licks his lips. “That a challenge?”

I smother a laugh, shaking my head as I put some space between us. “Definitely not, but absolutely worth the mention.”

He scans me a moment. “Get in the car, baby Bishop.”

“If I don’t?”

He laughs, but it’s mocking and short. “Funny. You’re funny.”

That little bit of distance I created?

He erases it, closing in on me with a cautionary glare. “See, my telling you to, was me being nice about it—”

“An order is your idea of polite, got it. Keep going.”

His face hardens more, and his eyes flash with something else, a mulled question he has no intention of sharing, but wants the answer to nonetheless. “You can refuse all you want, smart-ass, but know that either way your ass ends up in the car. You climb in or I pick you up and put you in, but you might wanna avoid that since your boy’s got his little runners watchin’.”