Page 86 of Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High 4)

Captain chuckles, and it serves as the phantom to my dying opera. “I know, right?” His left foot hits the first stair, his gaze never even flicking in our direction. “Let me shower, and I’ll do dinner tonight.”

A shower… why a shower?

My stomach turns.

Royce’s eyes tighten, moving between mine.

I wait for him to call Cap out or at the very least put me on blast for ‘spying’, but all he does is reach beside him for a bottle of Crown, twist off the lid and take a swig. He passes it to me, answering Cap’s question even though he didn’t stick around to hear one, “Sounds good, brother.”

I take the fucking bottle, knowing I’d have to consume more than this thing can hold in order to get drunk enough to hide from the visions in my head.

I swish the golden liquid, eyes on Royce’s. “Got anything stronger?”Chapter 26CaptainMy tires crunch against the gravel, rocks flying around when I slam my brakes, but I don’t wait for the gate to be opened for me. I throw it in park, keys still inside, and hop the fuck out.

Andre meets me halfway through the crowd, but I don’t stop to let him talk and as quick as he was in front of me, he’s behind.

“She’s as bad as your brother’s girl, don’t listen for shit,” he shouts above the roar of the crowd.

“I’m aware.” I shove the door to The Wolves Den the rest of the way open, but I’m not seeing her or my brother anywhere.

“I wasn’t trippin’ much since your boy is with her,” he says. “And she seemed good when she got here, but uh… I don’t know about now.”

My head snaps toward his and Andre slips in front of me with his hands raised, nodding with a tense look in his eyes. “Right side room, my man.”

I rush for where he mentions, the room Victoria poured a drink on that Amber chick, reaching it right as the dude who makes drinks in here comes out with empty hands.

He quickly disappears.

I tear inside, and all heads fly my way—except Victoria’s.

“Out,” I snap, eyes on my brother who is laid out on the couch, legs spread, and arms draped along the back of it, joint in one hand, Victoria in the other.

The stray girls and guys rush by, and then it’s just us three and the music.

Victoria’s head is dropped back, so when she opens her mouth, Royce’s arm is able to curl right around. He cages her in as he slips the joint between her lips.

She inhales, holding it in as she leans forward, leisurely pushing to her feet, and takes the few steps to me.

She blows the smoke into my face on a slow blink.

“What are you doing?” I ground out.

The corner of her lips lifts with her hands and suddenly she’s dancing, eyes closed, goofy-ass fuckin’ grin in place.

“What’s she on?”

Royce tilts his head. “A pill or four to do the job alcohol couldn’t.”

“And you didn’t think to call me? Why?”

He chuckles, dragging his ass to his feet as he stumbles toward me. “Because she asked me, that’s fuckin’ why. I wasn’t so sure you’d care, brother. She’s just a little liar, betrayed you, right? Broke trust? Showed no loyalty? Did one of the worst fuckin’ things she could do?” He eyes me a moment. “That’s why you spent the last month fighting how she makes you feel right? Why we spent the last fucking month hating her, ain’t it?”

My head tugs back. “That’s why you brought her here?”

“To see if you’d come for her?” He lifts his arms out, head swaying a bit. “Yup, and you did.”

I study him, finding no hint of humor or sense of pride, nothing that shows his purpose for tonight was fulfilled by my showing up.

A sharp twinge shoots up my spine, stiffening my neck. “What’s wrong?”

He laughs, but it’s hollow, his hand coming down hard on my shoulder as he steps directly beside me, our heads turned toward each other. “Nothing, bro.” He eyes me. “Not a fuckin’ thing.”

His shoulder knocks mine as he makes his way out, and worry pulls at my brows, but I shake it off, turning to Victoria.

The lighting is low, the glow of the room a soft red and likely heightening her high.

I move toward her and with every step my heart hits harder against my chest.

She sways in ways I’ve yet to see, a snake-like rhythm I didn’t know she had.

My stomach aches as I watch her, a sick and twisted pain that plays a lot like guilt.

Beauty...

Her eyes pop open meeting mine, and all her movement stops, her hands fall to her sides like dead weight, and her head begins to tip, too heavy for her to hold up any longer.

That’s how med cocktails work, in spurts of energy, and then you’re like a fucking zombie to the outside world while living in your own twisted one.