Break Me

by Meagan Brandy

Where she would thrive with them.

  Based on Brielle’s comments, she thinks this was our doing, that we only wanted him, and she was trash we threw away.

  So big brother couldn’t handle breaking little sister’s heart.

  It’s cool, maybe I’ll do it for him.

  “Why am I here?” I repeat her question, my smirk slowly growing. “I’m here to learn more about the girl who’s been hidden away.”

  I imagine it’s unexpected and uncontrollable interest that has her sitting up and slipping her fingertips into her silver shaded hair.

  Oh, yeah. Too easy.

  I relax, draping my arm across the back of the seat. “So what do you say, little Bishop, you in?”

  Brielle

  I stare at him, wide-eyed, not that he can see mine, and the cockiest of grins covers his lips.

  I fight it as best I can, but it’s to no avail, and my cheeks fill with air, a laugh spitting out of me in the next second.

  His sheath of confidence falls as quick as it came and a heavy line forms between his brows.

  “Oh my god, you’re serious.” I drop against the door. “Are you serious?”

  He sits perfectly still in his seat for a long moment before finally leaning forward in full-on slow-mo mode, nothing but the sound of his hands dragging along the cheap leather filling the car.

  Such a well-practiced playboy.

  He pauses when he’s directly in front of my face. “If I was?”

  “Then I’d probably say something like, I’m pretty sure you think I’m this little, guarded, overnight bumkin child of some kind who doesn’t recognize a wolf when she sees one, but I do.”

  “Good.”

  His instant and darkly delivered response is surprising and causes a hint of zing to run along the base of my neck.

  Suddenly the door at my back opens.

  I fall back with a yelp, but I’m caught against a crotch.

  I look up to find the driver, Mac, he said his name was, standing there.

  He grips me under the arms and tugs me to my feet as Royce climbs out, positioning himself in front of me in the same second.

  I’m now sandwiched between two mounds of muscle and abs, the ones at my back flexed and firm, the ones at my front... tight and toned.

  Cool, yeah. No big deal.

  Neither is the perfect shape of a pistol Mac must have tucked into his waistband.

  My pulse leaps, my awareness spiking, but it’s not uncommon around here for people to carry.

  Not that they’re from around here, but I imagine it’s more than common where they come from.

  I wonder how far down the tattoo on Royce’s neck leads?

  “Ask and I’ll show you,” he teases with a measured grin. “Got a habit of speakin’ out loud?”

  “One I wasn’t really aware of until, you know... today.”

  “Keep it up, it’s good for my ego.”

  “Mm,” I tease, tilting my head. “I feel like your ego is really well-fed.”

  Humor lines the edges of his eyes, but no other part of his expression gives any sign of fun.

  He rolls his tongue between his lips. “Give me your phone.”

  “Ask nicely.”

  His mouth forms a firm line, but I think it’s to hide a smile.

  Maybe.

  I’m not sure because his stare is still that angry, annoyed squint he keeps giving me.

  I frown when my phone is lifted over my shoulder, Mac having dug it from my bag.

  Royce turns it to me, so I put in the password and after a few short seconds, his vibrates from within his pocket, the one pressed against my abdomen.

  His pocket reaches higher than my pelvis.

  I’m legit child-size compared to him.

  I mean, the height difference could be super interesting, right?

  A single, dark brow lifts before me, and I wince.

  “My bad.” I should have guessed not even my thoughts would be safe with the likes of him.

  In my peripheral, I catch a flag blowing in the morning breeze, and realize he brought me to school.

  “I’m late,” I remember.

  Royce pushes his body firmer into mine, ignoring me, locking me tighter between him and his consigliere.

  I tip my head back to get a better look into the eyes of the infamous playboy as he towers over me, all strong and confident like.

  He stares a long moment before his gaze pops up, and Mac releases me, the soft clunk of a car door closing seconds later.

  Royce draws himself in and whispers, “Can you keep a secret?”

  “I could say yes and you would never know for sure.”

  He rolls his tongue over his bottom lip, giving a slow nod.

  Reaching behind him, he opens the front passenger door, slips in, and closes himself inside.

  He leans through the open window, holding my phone out for me to grab.

  I step closer, and as soon as my fingers wrap around the plastic case, his free hand shoots out to grip my wrist.

  My eyes fly to his.

  “Be smart,” he says as he slowly lets go.

  I’m pretty sure he’s wanting a response of some sort, so I bend down, careful not to put weight on my foot, and glance past him to his buddy.

  I answer his earlier asked question with a major overkill smile. “My last name is Bishop, by the way.”

  I spin on my one good heel, hobbling away with Mac’s laughter following me, but as I get a few feet farther, closer to the entrance, something prompts me to stop and glance back.

  I do, finding the little white car still sitting idle in the red-painted no parking zone directly in front of the steps of the school’s double doors.

  Mac is leaning back, biting into a burger with his phone in his hand, while Royce remains exactly as I left him, half hanging from the window, eyes on mine.

  “You can go now!” I shout loud enough for him to hear.

  “I’m good.” He cocks his head, drumming his long, resilient fingers against the frame, the tattoos on his forearm shifting and coming alive with each small twitch of his muscles.

  As if the gods realize one of their own is among them and his presence needs amplifying, the sun breaks through the clouds above, shining down on him. A heavy gleam flashes, exposing the hint of silver curled around the back of his neck, the chain hiding close to his chest.

  As my gaze glides lower, seeking out the form beneath his T-shirt, his palm slaps against the doorframe, pulling my attention back to his face. “Go on, get to class Brielle Bishop, I’ll be right here when you get out.”

  I grip my bag tighter. “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  I look at my phone and back to him. “It’s nine o’clock. You’ll be waiting hours.”

  “Got time.”

  “Do you, though?” The thought of him out here all day has unease clogging my throat. “Shouldn’t you be in school or something, or did you drop out? Or maybe, since your high school is named after your family, you don’t have to apply yourself at all at Brayshaw High, so here you are, bored and at mine.”

  What in the... what’s wrong with me?!

  I know what this well wrapped, rich Robin Hood is capable of.

  “Maybe.” Royce licks his lips, spinning the matte black band on his right ring finger. “And maybe, smart-ass, you should turn around, show me that ass again as you walk it to class, unless you want me to play your shadow all day.”

  I might blush if the thought of him following me around didn’t make me want to vomit, because hell no! That would make my life worse. This school and everyone in it, we have an understanding—I’m the odd outsider they refuse to accept, and I let them. It works perfectly, makes them feel empowered, and I’m not forced to share my story. Add this guy into that equation and into the gutter that goes.

  The questions will once again be whispered, and my aunt will punish me for it—oh, what a scandal it would be for our family secrets to be spread among the town.

  A
s if her reality isn’t enough of a reason to judge her.

  I pretend I couldn’t care less, pop my hip out and go with, “My boyfriend wouldn’t like that.”

  I wait, watching for a hint of oh shit or anything that indicates I’ve thrown him off or, you know, something.

  The guy doesn’t even blink, so I try again.

  “Are you really going to sit here all day?” I ask, but it seems he’s done talking.

  Left with nothing else to say, I head into the school, doing my best not to overthink each step.

  Only once I’m through the doors do I pause to take the first deep breath since approaching him in the back yard.

  He’s hunted me down, asking I keep a secret when I know as well as he does, he has no trust I’d do it.

  I have no doubt he threw out the little question with purpose, but he’s the fool if he believes my spending the last several years miles and miles away erases the fact I was born where he was. In a place where loyalty is vital, trust is as highly sought out as it is hard to come by, and family is the key to all.

  I know full well how, to them, family has nothing to do with the one you’re born into but centered around those you’d be willing to ride for, to hurt, and sometimes die for.

  None of this means I’ve adapted to their ways, but I am aware of how their world works.

  He thinks he’s cunning, testing me without testing me.

  He’s wrong.

  “Get to class, Ms. Bishop.”

  I glance to the right and offer a small smile to our campus security guard.

  As I pass, he calls me to a stop. “Ms. Bishop?”

  I already know what he’s about to say, my muscles coiling as I glance over my shoulder. “I have a migraine.”

  “Those seem to be coming more often.” His solemn expression gives him away—he doesn’t buy my headache stories. “Your aunt take you to get that doctor’s note we asked you for about these frequent… migraines?”

  Got to love small towns, everyone knows who you belong to.

  “Not yet.” She’d have to care enough to realize the swelling is coming more often for that to happen, and I’m not about to tell her—not that it would make a difference if I did. The woman can hardly look at me, there’s no way she could handle an entire forty-five-minute doctor’s trip.

  George gives a tight grin. I know he wishes he could pick and choose what school rules to reinforce and when. He’s a good man like that. “Then I’m afraid the dress code stands, Ms. Bishop.”

  I nod, and for his sake, make sure to smile wide. “Sure thing, George.”

  I slip my glasses from my face, slide them in the front pocket and continue to class with a limp as heavy as my sigh.

  Another day in is a day closer to the out.

  Why is it getting harder and harder to remember this?

  Chapter 3

  Royce

  I bite into my burrito, finally looking at Mac who has been waiting for my attention, and he doesn’t miss his chance.

  “Burrito cold?” he teases, food half-chewed in his mouth.

  I laugh. “Fuck off. This bitch is hitting the spot, even at nine in the morning. Ask what you wanna ask, dick.”

  He grins, digging his fries out of the bag. “What’d Bass Bishop do to push you into coming all the way out here to pay his baby sister a visit?”

  “The motherfucker crossed a line when he forgot his place.” I shrug. “We hired him to keep the assholes in the group home in line at the school, run bets, and bring in fighters at the warehouses. He had no business mixing himself into deeper-rooted Brayshaw business.”

  “You mean with Raven?” he asks about one of the newest members of my family.

  The one and only person I’d give my all to, should she ask me for it, my brother’s new wife, and the last remaining bloodline of the Brayshaw name.

  Everyone knows my brothers and I were adopted into the reigning family of our town as infants, mine and Captain’s fathers having died for the name not long before that, and Maddoc’s the one left in control. Maddoc’s dad became ours, and since then, we’ve earned our place. Raven just happens to be a larger piece of the puzzle we didn’t know was missing.

  I nod. “When Raven showed up at our group home, we knew as much about her as we do the rest of them, little to nothing, but enough. She was in no way a part of us yet, so we gave no fucks about her friendship with Bishop, but once things changed, we told him to stay away. The fucker didn’t. He had her fighting in our rings, helped her run from us when she felt she had to protect us, allowed her to get herself into trouble and didn’t tell us. We could have lost her, and it would have been his head if we had.”

  “That’s a lot to risk for a guy like him,” Mac eases. “Came empty-handed, had nothing but what he earned under your name.”

  I know what he’s trying to say, and I get it.

  Bishop showed loyalty to Raven, same as he did us since the day he set foot on our grounds, and I’m supposed to respect him for that. For helping one of us when she needed it, for having her back when we weren’t there to do it, no questions asked, no consequence too big.

  But I can’t.

  To be real, I don’t hate the fucker. I can’t lie and say I didn’t think he would keep my sister-in-law safe, because I did. But it wasn’t his place, it was mine.

  Maddoc was fucked-up, Cap was laid up, and all that was left was me.

  And then he stepped in again, pissed me off and now I want to piss him off, and what better way to do that than play with the sister he thinks is out of reach?

  No one is out of my reach.

  Am I being a bitch? Don’t know or care.

  Sister for a sister makes sense to me.

  Maybe that’s twisted, maybe I’m twisted, but I never claimed to be the sane one, that’s Captain.

  Maddoc is the angry alpha, and me, I’m the fuckin’ wild one.

  The time bomb.

  Unpredictable and admittedly, unhinged.

  I see things a little different, through a haze of rage most of the time, and yeah, I hold a grudge like a champ.

  But I’d like someone to come to me, tell me how the fuck I’m supposed to respect someone who would risk himself like that, for a girl he hardly knows, yet ditches his own fucking sister without a blink?

  I know better than anyone blood doesn’t count, me and my brothers share none, but Bass loves her. That’s why he sent her away, to protect her from the big bad fucking wolves, right? From the darkness he said she’ll fall into, and claims she’s not meant for?

  The punk didn’t even have the balls to tell her straight-up he made that choice. That he’s the one who felt it was better for her.

  Fuck him.

  He wants to step into my family, insert himself where he’s not wanted. Touché, motherfucker.

  Consider me inserted.

  Brielle will know me and she’ll know me fucking well.

  “We’re not waiting out here all day, are we?” He smirks.

  “Nah, my man.” My eyes slide to the red double doors Brielle disappeared through. “We’re not.”

  Brielle

  With a water bottle in hand, I follow the flow of students out into the quad, only for my feet to cement themselves moments later.

  Is it possible to have a nightmare during the day... when you’re wide awake?

  The view in front of me screams yes, yes, it is.

  Royce stands in the center of the basketball court, passing a ball between his loosely planted feet with ease, shoulders strong, but in a careless kind of way, head tipped back and to the side the slightest bit—cocky and carefree. Assertive.

  An unquestionable alpha.

  I follow his line of sight to the group of five guys standing closer to the left side of the hoop, all with a different question written across their faces, and my stomach twists.

  These guys, they aren’t simply school randoms. They’re the starting five on the team, and Royce must have straight-up walked into the middl
e of their game, claimed their ball as his own, and they’re not happy about it.

  I look back to Royce.

  He’s standing off against a foreign group of males, in a school he has no pull at, a school where nobody knows the repercussion that comes with simply looking at a Brayshaw wrong, let alone squaring off against one. Still, Royce shows not a hint of concern.

  I slip my glasses on as the crowd shuffles me closer, whispers now floating through the manure-stenched air.

  It’s a bunch of “Who is that?”, “Is he new?” and “Look at those tattoos.”

  “Damn, he’s hot,” the girl at my side says, knocking an elbow into her friend. “Look at those lips.”

  I know, right?

  A wolf in a god’s body.

  A god in his own sense.

  An anomaly.

  It must suck, to be that enigmatic and now that I’ve met him, spoken to him, I know the mystery isn’t only on the outside, but woven within.

  He could try his hardest, and if he’s human like the rest of us, he may have a time or two, and still, he’d be incapable of getting lost in a crowd.

  Like the North Star in a dark night’s sky, he burns too bright to hide.

  How exhausting that must be.

  I, however, can blend with the best of ‘em.

  Or maybe it’s the worst of them since the beautiful, boisterous ones never could.

  My eyes glide across the old blacktop as Mac appears along the other side of it, doing his best to slip into the crowd. He gives a small, almost unnoticeable tip of his chin, and while Royce makes no move to look his way, my guess is he caught it.

  He tilts his head, baiting, and the guys across from him, they bite hard, finally waking up.

  “Give me the ball.” This comes from Micah, a guy I’ve had in English class the last few years, who might be the only decent person in this school even if he does only speak to me when necessary in class, but I get the feeling he’s not all bad under his armor of expectation.

  Micah takes slow forward steps, and his friends decide to follow.

  My heart hammers in my chest as I glance toward Royce, and what I find causes it to beat even harder.