Break Me (Brayshaw High 5)

Brielle steps back, looking to the others.

Neither of us misses the way Maddoc watches her, the others, too, but they’re more chill about it where Maddoc wants her little ass to know where she stands—in motherfuckin’ limbo until he knows what she’s about.

It’s good, she needs to feel that divider between us and her, ‘cause it’s big.

“All right, we’ll head to the crates,” I tell him.

Maddoc nods. “We’ll meet you in here after the fight.”

Before I can respond, Brielle takes a step toward Maddoc, unaware of how Raven moves with her, pregnant and all.

“Wait, fight?” she asks.

Raven smiles now. “Wrapped knuckles, but no gloves, no gear. Just sweat and blood, like animals.”

Brielle starts to shake her head, her mouth opening as she turns to look at me, but then her expression goes slack.

“Okay,” she says.

“No, no.” Now I’m the one shaking my head and stepping toward her. “Don’t.”

She frowns. “Don’t what?”

She knows what I’m saying, but since she wants to play dumb, I lay it out for her.

“Don’t close your mouth when you’ve got something to say. Don’t back down when you’ve got an opinion, and don’t let what someone else thinks, likes, or wants have any fuckin’ lead or sway on what you do, got me?”

Her neck grows red, a small fire lighting in her eyes. “I thought you wanted good little soldiers who fall in line?” she dares.

Irritation burns under my skin and I move closer, bending to get in her face more. “You’re not a soldier, little Bishop. You’re too soft, but we’ll harden you up in time. Not sure you’ll ever get there, though, if you can’t even share what pops in that pretty little head of yours.”

“I can speak my mind fine and don’t need any coaching to do it.”

“So why bite your tongue, baby girl?”

She steps into me, tipping her head with both brows lifted. “Because there’s a difference in backing down and choosing not to be disrespectful.”

“It’s called weakness. Fear of backlash.”

“It’s called not being a dick, and what kind of privileged asshole are you to think I have to share a single thing that happens in my pretty little head with you or anyone else?”

“That,” I snap, a slow grin following. “Is more like it.”

Her eyes fly to mine, holding, and a small laugh leaves her. “So which is it, Playboy, you want me to play the lamb or the lion?”

My muscles flex beneath my shirt. “How ‘bout my lamb, the world’s lion?”

Wait, what?

I’m about to take it back, erase the line from the universe but then she fails to hide her smile.

She looks away. “You’re impossible. And kind of bipolar.”

“Nah,” I drag out. “I’m a fuckin’ cake walk.”

“Maybe I hate cake.”

“Maybe you’re lying.”

She laughs.

“I think we’re gonna enjoy this wanton, Playboy,” Raven says, pulling everyone’s attention to her. “I kind of like you guys’ foreplay.”

Maddoc shakes his head with a smirk while Brielle looks ready to walk away.

Or apologize.

Or maybe deny.

Wait, did she say foreplay?

Raven turns to her. “For real, though, do you not wanna watch the fights?”

“I can’t watch people getting their heads... beat on,” Brielle admits with a hesitance that has me pausing.

“It does get ugly,” Raven’s honest. “But it’s stopped before any real damage is done.”

“You can’t know that for sure.” Brielle’s tone is clear, her voice strong.

I expect myself to snap at her, but it never comes, a completely different train of thought slipping in.

There you go, Tink.

Raven’s eyes tighten at first, but she appreciates someone who speaks their mind and smirks next. “Guess we can’t, can we?”

Brielle offers her a small smile, tension lining her eyes and hiding something deeper behind them as she turns to me.

“Mind if I stay inside?” she asks.

Asks.

After all the push back just now, she’s doing what I wanted, recognizing I’m the fucking gatekeeper and asking for permission.

Not running off or demanding or telling me what she will and won’t do.

Not fighting, but showing a hint of obedience, what we’ve chased for years.

What my brother fought fierce and wild for with Raven only to share it in the end.

What Captain created in the bedroom when his woman wouldn’t budge.

Not that this shit’s any kind of the same, she ain’t mine like they’re theirs.

She’s a job, I’m her boss, and she’s asking for my permission, as she should.

I should be kissing my own ass ‘cause good shit, right?

I didn’t even have to fight her for it.

So, why the fuck am I annoyed, ready to tear at her?

I don’t.

I keep my face blank, shrug my shoulders and I motion for the bartender, not bothering to spare her another glance. “Fuck if I care.”

I know she doesn’t look away. I sense her trailing my movement as I grab the half bottle from the bottle boy rather than the single glass on the tray.

I take a swig and walk toward the door.