Page 121 of Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High 4)

He grips his hand.

“I’ve got ya’, old friend,” he says.

Perkins’ face tightens and he blows a hard breath from his nose. “He’s...” He tenses in pain. “He’s okay?” he asks, his eyes on mine.

I look to Captain, whose eyes begin to flutter behind closed lids.

I nod and he nods back.

“Good.” He swallows, his blinks slowing.

“It, uh...” He stretches his leg out. “It’s cold out here, huh?”

I look to Maddoc when he drops beside him. He nods lightly, hanging his head as he props his arms on his knees. “Yeah, man. It’s cold.”

It’s not cold.

Royce lowers next, sitting at my side, but nobody says a word.

Perkins gives a small laugh, but it turns into a wheeze and then a small cry and I force my eyes to the grass.

“It might...” Our stares fly to Perkins. He tries to swallow, tears falling from his eyes, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. “It might mean... mean nothing to you but I… I’m proud” —his voice cracks— “so proud of who you are.”

We follow his line of sight straight to Captain.

Captain, whose eyes are open and cloudy, locked directly with Connor Perkins, the man who just gave his life to save his, a boy who vowed to never claim the existence of the man before him.

They hold each other’s gazes, father and son, as Perkins takes his last and final breath.

He dies in Rolland’s arms.Chapter 37CaptainRaven pulls the sweater from over her shoulders and drapes it over Perkins’ body as my dad lays him flat on the ground.

My eyes fly to the pool house entryway, and Royce pops up, jogging inside to check on Zoey.

My head falls back into Victoria’s lap and she offers a broken smile.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

I shake my head, lifting my hand and her forehead comes down to meet mine. “This isn’t on you, baby.”

Her eyes fall.

“Maddoc,” I call, lifting my hand.

She pulls back, pushing to her feet as Maddoc yanks me to mine, holding me there a moment until I’m steady.

“You good, man?” He eyes me. “He knocked your ass out with the gun and then you hit your head on a rock when you went down.”

My eyes slide to Perkins’ lifeless legs beneath the thin cotton and I swallow, looking away. “Yeah.”

I let go of him, walking over to Mike’s body, my eyes zoning in on the gunshot right between his eyes.

I look to Maddoc and he nods.

He pulled the trigger.

Tires squeal around the front of the house and Maddoc’s face falls, but Royce rushes out, shouting, “It’s Maybell!”

He jogs over to us, his eyes moving between the bodies. “She’s coming to play with Zoey, keep her busy inside while we… clean up.”

Dad pulls his phone out. “I’ll call James, he has men for this.”

“No,” Victoria says, and our eyes swing to her. “James isn’t in charge anymore.” She looks to Royce. “They have someone to call.”

Royce frowns, but then a nod follows, and his cell is in his hands. “Hey, Siri, call Mac,” he says as he walks away.

It takes less than twenty minutes for Mac to roll up, Andre and a couple others just behind him.

They wait at the edge of the grass as he walks over, but he doesn’t look to us.

He walks right up to Mike’s dead body and slips an all-black ski mask over his head.

Mac stands and moves to Perkins to do the same, but I find myself sliding in front of him, and his eyes fly to mine.

“I, uh.” I swallow. “Him, we’ll bury.”

Mac gives a curt nod. “I’ll make sure he gets where he needs.”

I nod and slowly move away, watching as he pulls the jacket from his face and slips the mask over.

Only when he stands, having hidden the proof of who these men are, do the others come forward.

They look nowhere but at the bodies, lift them, and carry them away without a word.

Victoria sighs, her hands moving to her head as she lets out a heavy breath.

“What the hell?” comes from Raven and we turn to find her staring at Victoria. “What is that?”

Victoria frowns and then her eyes lower, and ours follow.

My muscles freeze and we look to each other.

A deep crimson rushes up her neck and her hands lower, prepared to cover what we’ve now already seen, but then they drop.

Her shoulders square and with a deep breath, Victoria grabs her shredded shirt in her hands and pulls it over her head.

“Holy shit,” Royce whispers.

Scar after scar line her abdomen in no particular order and of no common size, cut after cut, but none so deep the skin is bubbled, though each is lifted enough to touch.

But that’s not what Raven saw or where our eyes are frozen.

Just beneath her bra line, in the most elegant of cursive, a line is engraved into her skin, thick solid letters, each word as clear as the next.