Boys of Brayshaw High (Brayshaw High 1)

It’s kind of annoying when you’re the one they’re staring at but you’re not privy to what’s happening on the inside.

They have the same look on their faces – a look that gives you nothing. But there’s something rolling around in their minds, a thought not spoken but understood among the three.

I will admit, it’s hella cool how they’re connected on a deeper level then what outside eyes can see, they seem to know exactly what the other is thinking.

This must be a part of why they’re loved and feared. Or secretly hated, but respected nonetheless. Because in the company of others, they work as one.

They’ll speak, mull over how to move forward from here.

But not in my presence.

Because who am I?

Just the latest trash dropped on a rickety doorstep with not a soul’s back to lean against. Forever the unwanted outsider, something I’ve always told myself I was okay with.

A click sounds, so I try the door again and it opens.

I grab my bag and don’t look back, headed for my bedroom window.

I slip inside undetected and change my clothes. I hit the bathroom and rinse what I can with the sink water turned on low so it doesn’t wake the entire house – showers aren’t allowed after lights out or I’d hop right in.

When I exit the bathroom, Maybell is standing there with her little nightlight in hand and I freeze, but she only nods.

“Go on to bed now, child.”

I don’t bother making up a lie. I have a feeling she knows more than she leads on.

I step around her, heading back to my room, and slip into bed. I turn on my flashlight, plug my headphones in and blast the music. I reach for my knife, place it in the hem of my shorts and stare at the door, waiting for sleep to force my hand.

My eyes just start to close when a figure flashes at my side. I quickly flip open my switch blade, my arm lifting to block the person’s hand when it reaches for me.

The blade makes contact with skin and the figure jolts back.

I scurry across my sheet to grab my flashlight, and point it on the person.

Maddoc is in front of me, glaring down at his shirt, a red spot forming just above his hip.

His eyes fly to mine. “You fucking cut me.”

“What the hell are you doing here?!” I hiss.

He ignores me and lifts his shirt over his head to inspect the wound.

And fuck the wound ... hello abs, and son of a shit, those hip bones. Thick rooted veins offering the perfect path to follow with my tongue, starting a few inches past his belly button and disappearing into grey joggers. Joggers that do nothing to hide the size of his package as it fights against the smooth cotton.

He’s thick.

I bet with the tiniest of tugs, his drawstring bottoms would slide right down, granting better access to the prize he’s clearly packing.

When a deep rumble leaves him, my eyes fly back to his.

Oh right, I kinda cut him.

I scoot across the mattress on my knees before standing in front of him. I lick my finger and swipe across the wound to remove the blood and he twitches.

“Chill. I hardly broke the skin, can’t hurt that bad.”

He shoves my hand away when I dab at it. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

My hands fly in the air and I drop back on my bed. “I’d say my bad, but it’s yours ‘cause you snuck up on me.”

He licks his lips, staring at me, his shirt hanging in his hand.

“Why you here?”

“Making sure you are.”

“You dropped me off, did you not?”

“That don’t mean shit.” He shrugs.

“So you wanted to know if I was really here or if I snuck into someone else’s bed for the night?”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t confirm it either.

“Well I’m here, guess you can go now.”

He ignores me and moves to grab my knife, but I yank it back.

His eyes flash. “Why do you have that?”

“Habit.” Not a lie.

His fixated stare makes me nervous and I force myself not to fidget.

That’s definitely new and not at all ok.

“Why do you sleep with it?” he asks.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Your mom’s boyfriends?” he guesses and my nostrils flare.

“Don’t pretend to care.”

“I’m not.”

“Then don’t pretend interested in the answer,” I snap, a hollowness taking over my stomach. “Get the fuck out.”

He makes no move, trying to keep his frown in place, and while he’s sly, I’m observant – he’s looking me over, inspecting the damage done. Not that my scrapes and bruises would cause him pause but still.

“Fine. But hear me, Raven, you will not fight for Bishop again.” He hops out the window.

I lean against the frame. “You gonna tell me to stay away from him too?”

He glances at me over his shoulder, those eyes as unrelenting as ever. “Don’t ask stupid questions you already know the answer to.” My eyes fall to his mouth when his tongue pokes out to skim across his lips.