Break Me (Brayshaw High) - Meagan Brandy Page 0,55

I wiggle my brows.

His frown is instant, and I laugh, climbing up on the barstool.

I scan the room quickly, a sliver of disappointment seeping in before I give all my attention to Royce again.

“Give me some credit,” I tell him. “I get it, I’ve been here for a day, but I’m not sitting here pretending to know how your world works, but I want to learn. I want you to teach me everything you’re capable of teaching.”

His features pull, but he looks away as the bartender sets down two drinks.

Royce pushes one my way, but I push it right back.

I smile at the guy, but his face remains emotionless.

“Do you have just... a cold beer?”

He nods, walks a few feet over and comes right back with a Shock Top in hand, pops the top and hands it over with a wink.

“Thanks.” I grin, turn to a frowning Royce and take a quick drink. “And since I’m willing to learn from you, you need to be willing to learn about me.”

“Maybe I don’t want to learn about you.”

“A good boss would want to know a little something about the new hire hanging around.”

“Might hate what I find.”

“Then you hate what you find.” I laugh lightly. “Who cares? At least you’d know for sure.”

His gaze narrows as if he was expecting a different response.

He’s quiet for several seconds. When he decides to ask his question, it’s in a flat tone. “Why you care if I know you or not?”

I lift a shoulder, suddenly a little uneasy under his cavernous glare.

“I mean... would it hurt?”

His tongue slips out to wet his lips and he pulls his bottom one in a bit.

He shifts until his body is fully facing away from mine, downs his drink and pushes to stand.

He walks away, but not before I catch a low mumbled whisper, “It might.”

Royce

The warehouses can be a badass place to be, the perfect place to chill and escape the assholes trying to squeeze in where they haven’t earned, especially since the remodel.

That, or it’s the complete opposite.

It can be a fucking nightmare, a pit of Bray wannabes and club chasers—depending on who you go with, who you let in, and where you hang out.

Andre does good work, decides who comes inside and who doesn’t, and for the most part, it’s only those who work for us and a few extras here and there.

Tonight, inside we’ve got a solid mix of people, half Brayshaw payroll and the other half Brayshaw High students, outside though, it’s a fuckin’ pit of random.

People who lay low in town but don’t disrespect it, people who run things, people running from things. Fuck-ups and future fuckin’ state senators.

Here, no one is more than the other.

Here, they’re equals or they’re out.

Raven steps beside me.

“So Bass Bishop’s little sister.” She tests the words on her tongue, her eyes moving to Brielle across the room.

She sits at the poker table, cards in one hand, beer in the other.

I nod. “Bass Bishop’s little sister.”

Raven does her best to read her. “She’s been looking around all night.”

“I know.” I turn my head toward Brielle with a nod. “Not sure why yet.”

We meet each other’s gazes only to look right back.

Brielle sets her beer on the tabletop, turning to laugh at something the star of the fucking night says from the seat to her left.

She responds, and Enoch leans over to whisper something near her ear.

Dumb fucker.

My eyes lift then, meeting Micah’s a space behind her, and he takes the cue, moving right in.

No hesitation. Good.

He leans forward, reaching from one side of the table to the next to say what’s up to someone, drawing attention to his right hand, making everyone laugh like the smooth son of a bitch he is, all while his left quickly skates across the longneck of a bottle—she had to go and trade out her cup.

Micah’s swift, slick, and backing away in seconds.

Raven knows this kind of shit too well and recognizes the play instantly, stepping closer.

I finish off my drink, my eyes sharp and on Brielle.

She faces forward again, smiling at the punk beside her, her hand blindly reaching for the beer she left out of reach and out of sight for no more than ten, fifteen seconds tops.

She wraps a hand around the bottle, and fuck me, my blood pumps heavy in expectation I have no business waiting for.

My eyes are glued to Brielle’s fingers as they tighten around the glass, my awareness heightening, pricking at my skin as