Break Me (Brayshaw High) - Meagan Brandy Page 0,32
tossing my backpack onto the black leather seat. “Get in.”
I suck my stomach in, cutting a quick glance at the driver in the front seat. “Why?”
“Because you want to.”
My eyes fly to his, and his head falls back lazily, almost daring I challenge his statement, yet somehow confident I won’t.
Because I want to.
Do I want to?
Questions knock heavily within my mind, but they’re a jumbled mess of half spurred thought.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
I look inside the dimly lit space and back to him. And then I slide inside.
It’s not until we’re pulling up at an airstrip where Mac stands outside of a small plane with the airstairs open and waiting, that I remember I’m the underdog, locked in a car with the top dog.
My head snaps to Royce, who watches me intently.
My mind races as I stare at the stranger in front of me, at a guy I was warned about, and for some reason, my head decides to nod when not a question was asked.
Satisfaction flashes across him, but it’s gone as soon as he blinks and slowly, he steps out, helping me right behind him.
Royce’s eyes move between mine. “Hope you’re ready, little Bishop.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Ready for what... exactly?”
He looks up at the plane that has his last name printed large and proud on the side with open eyes and an answer that steals my voice. “To come home.”
A harsh and fast breath slips past my lips and my palm flies to my stomach, in an attempt to settle the somersaults going strong inside it.
Home.
As in to Brayshaw.
I think I’m going to puke.
Chapter 8
Royce
I spent the last twenty-four hours going back and forth with myself, but if I’m real, I knew before I even made it home I’d see her again and why—to bring her home with me.
Like I talked to the girls about, I don’t know what happened to any of the people we didn’t bring into our group homes, but I do know what happened to this one, so I’m going to fix what was fucked.
It was on the word of a punk who believed he knew what was best for her that we sent the girl away in the first place, but now I know that punk was wrong.
All this time she could have had a team behind her, a brother next door, a life to fucking live, but instead she’s been alone in the dark when darkness is what he wanted to shield her from. A different form of darkness, sure, but still. The girl was stuck with an aunt who hated the mere sight of her. She was a personal little Ms. Fuckin Fix It, had a cousin who treated her like shit, in a town she wanted nothing from because she knew they’d never accept her.
He’d understand all that if he spent ten minutes there, which is exactly how I know he hasn’t.
If he were smart, he’d realize he left her with nothing.
Nothing but a curious little mind.
Who better to open it up for her than me?
This worked out perfectly, really. I’m giving her a chance at a life that was taken from her and I get to use her to spite Bass while doing it, all in one move.
A smirk finds my lips.
I’m going to give the girl the opposite of everything Bass wanted for his baby sister, make her realize exactly why big bro wanted her far, far away... once she realizes it was he who made the call.
In the end, it’ll all be Bishop’s fault.
He chose to shelter her when he should have put some fuckin’ time into her, teach her how to eat up and spit out assholes like me. And he could have with ease. She’s got fire, that’s easy to see, but nobody’s fed it.
Lucky for me, he didn’t, and now I get to have my cake and eat it too.
Mac pulls me from my thought when he takes the seat across from me, glancing down the small aisle where Brielle is taking a second to breathe.
“So she agreed.” He keeps his voice low.
I pull a bottle of Crown from the center pocket between the seats, offering him a shot as I pour my own. “She didn’t refuse.”
He raises a brow, taking the small glass and bringing it to his lips. “If she had?”
I laugh, keeping my gaze on his as I reach inside the console again, lift and set down a third cup.