Trouble at Brayshaw High (Brayshaw High 2)

I eye her. “You good? You seem a little on edge.”

“Huh?” She looks back then smiles. “Oh, yeah, I’m good. Hey, you wanna take a quick smoke break? I’ve got one rolled.”

I glance at the locker room doors. The coach for sure will give a solid you fucking rock speech and Maddoc said they had to do interviews.

“They’ll be a while.” She laughs lightly.

I shrug. “Sure, why not.”

I rise from my seat, nodding at Bass on my way out.

He frowns, looking from me to Vienna but I keep walking.

“It’s crazy how you and Victoria are cool now.”

“Why do you say that?” I glance around, following her lead and stepping around the corner where no one can see.

She doesn’t respond, instead pulling out a joint and lighter, but fumbles with it. She drops the joint twice, her thumb slipping from the clip of the lighter.

I study her, taking in the way she keeps fidgeting. “Are you on one?”

Her head pops up, eyes widening. “What?”

“You know what, I’m good.” I change my mind, lifting my hands in my jacket pockets while backing up. “I’m going to wait inside.”

I turn and walk back, but she shouts out.

“I’m sorry!”

I let out a deep sigh.

This is why having friends is low on my list!

I turn back but she’s right there, and when my arm burns with a prick, my eyes fall to the spot just in time to see her jerk a needle away.

My other arm shoots up, gripping her neck and tears instantly fall from her eyes. “What the hell was that?!”

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, her hand shooting up to grip mine.

I squeeze, but my hold doesn’t grow tighter.

I shove, but she remains standing.

I move to swing, but nothing happens.

My knees give, and I fall forward, a fog taking over my vision as dark shadows bounce in and out of focus. Feet pounding against pavement echoes in my ears and I try to speak, but nothing comes out.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them, a flash of blue appears before darkness takes over.

“It’s okay, Rae,” Vienna whispers. “It’s just a little Special K. And he promised not to hurt you.”“She’s stirring, should I inject her again?”

I frown, my eyes slowly fluttering open. It takes a few moments for me to regain focus and when I do, my eyes land on a window at first.

I blink a few times, but it doesn’t do much to help.

My head starts pounding and I move to lift my hand to it in reflex, but it doesn’t budge.

Right then, a deep chuckle hits my ears, and my eyes dart around, spotting a silver-haired man sitting opposite of me, a Stepford wife look-alike at his side, but when I blink she becomes clearer.

Collins’ maid?

I try to tilt my head, that’s when I realize I’m lying flat, my back parallel with the seat as they sit right side up.

I move to shoot upward, but my limbs won’t work.

“Where the hell am I? Who the hell are you?”

The man grins, his age showing in the crow’s feet framing his eyes. He tips his head. “Well, hello to you, too.”

“Sir, shall I inject her again?”

That has my eyes snapping down, looking over my body I spot someone sitting by my feet – another man.

“Was I unclear?” the silver-haired man asks in a firm voice. “I told you, bare minimum, I need her speaking.”

“Where the hell am I?!” I shout, but it comes out muffled and sluggish.

He speaks to the man again but keeps his eyes on me. “Continue, Doc.” He grins, folding his hands in front of him. “You’re in the back of my limo, of course. A bit cliché, if you ask me, I prefer a town car, but I needed the space for today’s adventure.”

The man, who’s maybe mid-fifties, leans closer. “Do you know who I am?”

“A piece of shit.”

He lifts his hands as if he agrees. “My name is Donley Graven, and this is the less than spectacular and of no importance or strength, Estella Graven.” He motions to the woman at his side who doesn’t speak. He sits back in his seat and lights a cigar while the man pulls the needle from my arm and situates himself.

“Collins’ maid,” I rasp.

Donley nods. “Yes, and his mother.”

“He got less than he deserved.”

The woman says nothing but Donley chuckles. “I bet.”

“What do you ...” I swallow past the dryness in my throat. “What do you want from me?”

“Confirmation,” he says flatly.

The thin man by my feet drops down to his knees beside me and I stare as he pushes up my sleeve, ties a knot just above my elbow, and slides a needle into my arm with ease.

My breathing speeds up as blood spills into the tube at the end.

“Don’t panic,” Donley tells me. “It’s just a little blood, Brayshaw. If what I heard is correct, you are quite fond of it on a normal day.”