Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High 4)

I scoff and she purses her lips.

“Maybe keep your guard dog close,” she mocks me. “If you don’t want hands near you.”

Raven fluffs the hoodie out more so it doesn’t form to her shape. “I’m pretty sure my face screams don’t fuckin’ touch me.”

“It’s just what people do when someone—”

“Keep it the fuck down,” Maddoc snaps, his tone low but threatening.

“Fine, sorry,” Chloe whispers. “It’s true though, they want to feel the baby move.”

“I haven’t even felt the baby move,” Maddoc and Royce say at the same time.

Their heads snap toward each other, Maddoc with a glare, Royce with a wide grin.

Captain and Raven chuckle, sharing a look and I force my eyes away.

That right there, that’s when shit’s hard to handle.

I admit, it’s the subtle, simple things between the four of them that I envy the most—the quick glances and side grins. Conversations without words and selfless decisions.

When the chair across from me scrapes the ground, I turn my head back.

Mac drops into the seat a space from me after Chloe takes the one at Captain’s side.

Why wouldn’t she offer that spot to her man?

“Somethin’ sour coat that filthy little tongue, VicVee?” Royce calls me out.

I leave whatever the hell slipped over my features, and shrug, not bothering to take my eyes off Chloe’s.

Chloe looks from me to Captain, her head tipping in question as her eyes brighten. “Ohhh… what drama did I miss?”

I give a slow blink, sitting back. “Please.”

Her head draws back, and I know she’s ready to talk some shit, but then Mac leans over, whispering in her ear and she clears her throat, offers a tight smile and then announces she’s going inside to grab a drink.

And conversations ensue as if this wasn’t my table they chose to take a seat at.

As if I’m not even here.

As if I don’t exist.

If there was a punchline here, I’d go as far as to say the joke would be on them because being ignored doesn’t affect me as I assume they had hoped.

I’m not new to blackouts, have gone weeks at a time without so much as hearing the voice of another person, let alone laying eyes on one.

The quiet treatment is hardly a punishment, especially when my Brayshaw speaks so loudly with his eyes, his touch, his calm.

It’s like they say, silence speaks the loudest, and his is deafening.

I hurt Captain Brayshaw.

You have to be inside someone to have that kind of power, and that’s a damn good place to start.

As if sensing my thoughts, his eyes skate my way, but then the words that were openly spoken with me sitting here catch my attention and I look to Mac.

“Fourth table, two to Victoria’s left,” Mac says, keeping his eyes trained on Royce. “This is the fourth time this week they’ve come across the bridge.”

Across the bridge, as in into Brayshaw territory.

These are Graven Prep students they’re talking about, guys who followed the family that’s now fallen. Assholes without a leader to set them straight... or knock some sense into them when they’re feeling brave.

“Bold little fuckers.” Royce’s jaw tics.

“They’re standing.” Raven speaks into her cup.

“They know why we’re here.” Captain licks his lips. “Shriveled up like punks the second I fuckin’ parked.”

Royce nods, slowly setting his phone down. “Grew a half of fuckin’ pair to try and play like mice.”

A sheath drops over Captain’s eyes as he falls into the situation, his mind is racing, running through every possible scenario second by second, and then his hand discreetly slides beneath the table.

My pulse ticks heavy in my ears, an unexpected thrill tightening my stomach as I wait for what I know is to come, the shine of the sun as it meets a heavy, solid piece of metal that has now slipped over Captain’s fingers. He closes his fist once, testing what he already knows is a perfect fit, his brass knuckles now sitting ready as he keeps his arm loose at his side.

Royce’s fingers wrap tight around the top edge of the chair he straddles, his eyes lasered on nothing, yet he sees everything, body bouncing as his leg jerks in anticipation.

These boys, they’ve been caged for too long.

“Raven.” Maddoc’s voice is deep and low, warning.

“I know, Big Man.” Her hand comes up to cover the keys on the table, her eyes popping up to mine.

That’s when they come forward, a group of six guys I’ve never seen, weaving through the crowd, forced to round our table—that or get trapped inside our circle.

Royce waits for the exact second their feet plant in the spot he wants them, and is on his in the same second, chair already spun and lifted, shit-whipping the front two with the ass of the cheap plastic.

The impact sends them stumbling into the next few behind him, blood pouring from their faces, and every person at our table is on their feet at the same time.