Page 83 of Break Me (Brayshaw High 5)

Why you nervous, baby girl?

I don’t have to wonder long, a drink is held out in front of her only seconds later. A cup.

A cup, cup, as in an open top, drink already inside it, red Solo cup, cup. From the hands of someone who isn’t me.

Jonah’s face comes into view and I’m pretty sure I’ll rearrange it tonight.

When her smile lifts to meet his, I’m positive of it.

Fuck him.

Fuck her, too.

Her eyes come back to Grace. “It looks like I’ve got one, but we can go get one for you?”

Grace laughs, stands and doesn’t look back. Off they fucking go.

Raven waits for them to be out of earshot before she starts teasing. “Oh, man. How’s it feel, Ponyboy?”

I grunt, kicking back in my chair and downing my water bottle. “Pretty limp, if I’m honest.” I grin, turning to her. “Wanna check?”

She smirks, shaking her head and Maddoc flips me off. “You straight lost a piece of ass to the newest, nicest one in town.”

“You ain’t lyin’, RaeRae.” I push to my feet.

My family’s eyes pop up to mine.

“What are you doing, brother?” Maddoc watches me closely.

“Distracting myself. When it’s time, we deal and get the fuck out of here.”

“Yeah, and when we do, we takin’ Brielle with us?”

I grin as wide as I can.

“Nah, bro. She’s not with us. She stays.”

“And Jonah?” he pushes, knowing damn well what he’s doing.

Forcing me to face it, to feel it, the motherfucking gasoline as it seeps down my throat and waiting for the match to light me on fire. It’s coming.

I know it.

They sense it.

I hate it.

“If she’s yours.” He lowers his chin. “Let them know.”

I choke on a chuckle, rubbing at my chest and walk backward, away from them. “Yeah.” Another laugh, but this one hollow. “And who’s gonna tell her, huh?” Laugh. Ache.

Why’d I say that?

I shake it off and bring that fake little lip curve back, even though I know it fools none of them. “She ain’t mine, Madman. She’s nothing to me.”

“She’s behind you.” Raven’s eyes tighten, and I whip around.

Brielle stands there, an unopen beer bottle in her hand, fresh water bottle in the other.

With a tight-lipped smile, she waves the water out for me, a fog dimming the color of her eyes, like she told me ‘happens sometimes,’ but this is different.

This is hurt.

Did my words hurt, baby?

She blinks and it’s still there.

I don’t like it. I want to see them bright and wide. Alive.

Stimulated.

She thrusts the water toward me. “You finished off the one you had, thought you might want another.”

I might want you.

Fuck.

Virgin!

I take it from her, slide closer, and wrap my hand around the one holding the beer bottle. I bring it to my mouth and pop the lid off with my teeth.

The corner of her plump ass taunting you to taste crooked lips twitches as her chest inflates and it pisses me off.

I don’t know why, but it does.

“Thanks,” she says quietly.

“Get away from me.” My face hardens, and I slip past her, squeeze my eyes closed and when they open, it’s with a sharp snap. A wild fucking tic and I know I’ll be no good to my brothers, not for the safe laid plan.

So, fuck it.

End goal, yeah? That’s all we need?

The devil hears my pleas—the man of the hour slips through the door.

I spin to face my brothers and flick my eyes toward the entrance.

Party’s here.

They look and I turn back around, stand tall and proud, putting on a fucking playboy smile, cause that’s all I am, right?

I slap a hand on his shoulder. “What up, Enoch? How ‘bout a shot?”

He grins and follows me into the kitchen.

Stupid fucker.BrielleIf the plan Mac, Maddoc, and Captain went over with me and Micah this afternoon is still the one they were going with, things are far off course.

Mac said he’d text us if things changed, but he hasn’t.

All we were supposed to do was show up tonight, linger around, hear what might be said or catch looks of suspicion. Basically, we’re to blend as lookouts while they did their Brayshaw thing and brought the hammer down.

None of what we were told matches what’s happening now.

Tonight’s plan didn’t involve any inkling of alcohol. In fact, we were told to hold a drink in our hands, toss it after thirty minutes when no one was looking, and grab another. Consuming none, yet Royce stands at the kitchen counter, pouring shot after shot, taking shot after shot, Enoch, Jenson, and Mac at his side.

Royce’s voice is growing louder, his shoulder slaps and ‘playful’ shoves, harder, stronger.

A heavy sigh is released beside me, and I look to find Raven.

“He’s picking a fight.”

“Yeah.” She squeezes her lips together. “He is.” Her eyes come to mine, a crazy gray in color, and focused. “It’s what he does when his head’s too heavy for him to hold up.”