Page 75 of Break Me (Brayshaw High 5)

“Shit.”

I try again, my hand tapping furiously against my knee. “Come on, Bass. Where the hell are you? Pick up the phone.”

This time it doesn’t even ring, and a low growl leaves me.

“What are you doin’?”

I scream, swiftly reaching for the door and yank it closed, locking it only seconds before Royce’s hand slaps against the outer handle, and I jump over the seat into the back.

“Unlock it.” Royce’s voice is calm, controlled. “Now.”

I cut a quick glance over his shoulder, at his family who stare at the car rather than the crazy girl hiding in it.

“There’s no way in hell.” I look back to Royce.

Royce’s entire face hardens as his hands grip on to the roof and he leans down to steal my focus. “I will bust this fucking window the rest of the way, and every other one on this thing. Get out.”

“Get away from me.”

He hits the old metal with the base of his fist, and I jolt.

“Fuckin’ funny, girl.” His eyes narrow slightly, quickly flicking to my legs. “You’re bleeding. Don’t fucking move.”

With angry, heavy steps, he makes his way around, but I quickly lock this side door and his palms come down on the window.

“Where is my brother?!” I shout, hardly recognizing my own voice. “This is his car. There’s blood. He wasn’t at the warehouses when we were, he hasn’t been at the house since I got here, he’s not answering my calls. Where is he?!”

Royce’s body straightens, his hands falling to his sides as he eyes me.

My pulse begins to pound heavily against my temples and I try to calm myself, to slow the blood rushing fiercely through my body, but I can’t focus on anything other than the unknown.

“Where is he?!” I scream, the pressure in my head doubling.

Shit, I squeeze my eyes shut, and when they open again Royce’s face is a little fuzzy, my vision threatening to abandon me, but I can still see. And Royce’s frown, it’s taken an entirely new form.

“Royce.” Raven steps forward, but she has a hard time looking away from the car, and her hands fall to her baby bump.

Royce licks his lips, not bothering to turn toward the others. “Go. We’ll catch the fucker tonight.”

Oh my god, I found out their secret and now he’s going to kill me!

Micah steps closer. “Brie—”

“Don’t make me chop your fuckin’ junk off, Micah.” Royce cuts him a glance, one that has Micah dropping his eyes and jogging away, Andre on his heels.

His family goes next.

It’s just us now.

“Wanna talk, open the door,” he says.

“Why, so you can add my blood to this, no need for a cleanup crew if it’s all mixed in the last mess, right?”

“Take that as a no.” He turns and walks away.

I lean forward, grabbing on to the seat to keep my eyes on him.

Royce pops the trunk to the black vehicle closest to him, and within seconds, he’s coming back, a bat hanging from his hand.

He swings it in a circle, tipping his head at me, and my heart races as I clench the leather as tight as I can.

“Your call, little Bishop. How we doin’ this?”

I feel along the edge of the seat, my fingers finding something cool and hard, and I stretch the slightest bit to wrap my palm around it. “The glass will fly at me.”

“I know.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“You sure?” He brings the bat down for a hard knock against the hood and I jump—I can only see shades of him now, black and whites, and swift movements. “I’m thinkin’ no, since you feel the need to lock yourself in there. Weak move, by the way. A smart girl would have run, but a brave one would have grabbed the crowbar you’re reaching for at your feet”—shit — “and took it to the windows of the house while we were still inside.”

“I’m not weak.”

“Then ask me.”

Ask him?

Okay, fine.

“Did you hurt my brother?”

“Nah.” He grins as if this is some sick joke. “My brothers wouldn’t let me.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?”

“Open the door.”

“Why should I believe you?”

I trail his shadow around the side of the car and he crouches down to bring us eye level.

I blink several times, taking a deep breath and when I open my eyes his are right there.

He glares. “You shouldn’t.”

I really shouldn’t.

It would be naïve to think I could, to believe I know him, if even just a little bit, when he’s so good at hiding.

The world around him sees what he wants them to, but I can’t help but think I see more.

The change in his eyes, the thought behind them.

It’s hard to say for sure, but something tells me he might be aware of it.

If he is, he hates it, and if he is that would make me dangerous.

All the more reason to be rid of me, isn’t it?