Break Me (Brayshaw High 5)

A low, drunken laugh escapes him. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He grabs my hand, salutes the brother, and tugs me behind him.

“Yo, Jenson.”

The guy pauses in the doorway, so that must be him.

We look over and Mac’s shifted closer.

He stands there, face blank. “Might not wanna step out there.”

Jenson chuckles, and out the door we go.

He releases me as we clear the last step of the porch and turns to me with a smile.

And then he’s punched in the jaw.

I jolt backward, my eyes snapping up.

“Oh my god, Royce!” I shoot forward, but then hands are around my waist and words fall on my ears.

Mac’s voice is calm. “Told him not to come out.”

“Mac, what the hell?!”

His words are closer, more hushed. “Stop talking. Your voice will only make it worse.”

“My voice?” I shake my head. “How?”

“Quiet, trust me,” he hisses back.

I focus forward when a deep, half-rasped, and not at all humorous laugh leaves Royce.

Royce begins rounding all creepy and Joker-like while Jenson, as Mac called him, hops up, fists tight and ready, but he realizes it’s Royce.

His hands lift into the air and he takes an instant backward step. “Hey, man—”

He’s caught by the throat.

The veins in Royce’s forearm pop out with a vengeance and his hold grows tighter.

Jenson’s eyes fly to mine in accusation, and I mouth, ‘I’m sorry,’ but just as the last word shapes on my lips, Royce turns, catching it, too.

He chuckles, but it’s malicious and then he’s tossing the five-foot-eleven dude aside like a rag doll and coming right for me. Mac’s arms fall and then it’s just us.

He glares.

I glare.

He opens his mouth, and I shout.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?!”

His lips clamp shut.

The yard grows silent, so so silent.

A fire builds in Royce’s eyes, but they’re so bloodshot, he’s so far gone tonight, it could be easily missed. I don’t miss it though because they’re staring intently into mine.

Anger and heavy frustration, but who is it for? Me or him?

I’m not sure he knows.

He speaks, but only for me. “Why was he touching you?”

My head tugs back, my mouth opening, but it takes a second for words to find their way out. “Are you serious?”

“Brielle.”

My arms lift with my shoulders. “Because I was his diversion.”

A foul laugh leaves him, and he slips closer, licking his lips. “You weren’t, won’t be, are fuckin’ not, his anything.”

“I meant—”

Wait, what?

I eye him and slowly explain. “You said keep it clean, to find a way. That’s what I did.”

“So that’s how you play, huh?” He creeps in, hands covering the exact spot Jenson’s had been. He squeezes and I inhale. “Like to use this body to do what needs done? To get what needs got?”

No. Never that, but I repeat what I already said. What he said first.

“Find a way.”

His grip tightens and then he’s walking me back, leading as he pleases until we’re surrounded by darkness. Still, he keeps forward, driving me backward.

The summer night wind whistles through the trees, blowing my hair into my face, sending a shiver down my spine, and obstructing my view. Of him. Of the moonlight.

I go to push it back, but he does it first, his pinky skating along the soft, sensitive skin of my temples. I tense when he grows closer to my scar, but he doesn’t dive deeper into my hair.

“I asked you to keep it clean,” he says, his shadowy eyes locking on to mine. “What part of that made you think touching someone else was allowed?”

Someone else.

Someone else?

“I don’t understand.”

A scoffed laugh leaves him, and he drops his gaze to my neck. “Yeah, you wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He slips his fingers beneath the strap of my tank top and slides them down to where the end meets the cup of my bra and tugs.

I slap his hand away and his glare snaps up to mine.

He gets in my face, and I don’t realize I was sliding backward until my shoulder blades meet a wired fence.

His arms stretch out beside us, and he leans in. “It means you aren’t here to whore out.”

“Excuse me?!” I try to jolt forward, but he’s a wall of weight, barricading me in. “Get away from me.”

“Don’t want to.” He frowns, one of his hands coming down to skate along my fingertips. “Why you let him hold your hand?”

I swallow, but snap, “If that pisses you off, then it was damn good you weren’t in the house when we were.”

Trying a wolf isn’t smart, but caging a fawn isn’t either.

I may be ‘new’ here, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be a still target.

He shoves even closer, so close my chest has no room to inflate with my heavy inhale. “Fuck’s that mean?”

“It means I know what the slope of his muscles feel like right before they disappear into his jeans.”

Oh my god!

Why’d I say that?! Like he cares—