Break Me

by Meagan Brandy

  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?

  He’s right, I shouldn’t believe him.

  I unlock it anyway.

  Royce wastes no time tearing it open and dipping inside with angry, jerky movements, but it’s with gentle hands and a soft grip that he scoops my body into his arms, and lifts me out.

  Chapter 21

  Brielle

  I’m far from broken and bruised, but when Royce carries and sets me on the edge of the still open trunk of the SUV he pulled the bat from, I don’t argue.

  He tosses the wooden weapon to the side, quickly tearing out a first aid kit.

  I keep my mouth shut as he does this, focusing on getting my heart rate down so the pressure in my head will settle and leave my sight alone.

  His frown darts up to mine, and he dares to glare, but his eyes don’t match his touch.

  His hands are slow and soft as far as grip goes, but from the pads of his fingers to the base of his palm is textured evidence of his years of basketball, and more, a calm roughness from hard work put in.

  The carefulness in which he wraps his hand around the back of my calves, twisting and turning to inspect the tiny little cuts is unexpected. It’s as if he’s almost cautious, afraid to push the little shards of glass in deeper, maybe?

  I can’t imagine he’s ever put his hands on anyone with restraint, be it for pain or pleasure.

  Royce is far from controlled, but when he touches you... it’s with purpose.

  To test or tease, to scare or scar, want or warn.

  From what I’ve gathered in the time we’ve spent together, it’s understanding the intention that can be tricky.

  He gives nothing freely, but if you look close enough, it’s there, hidden under thick lashes and deep, dark eyes.

  Eyes that lift to meet mine.

  Not five seconds later a sharp sting has me jumping, and when he looks down, I do too.

  A teeny-tiny, thin piece of glass sits between his fingertips, and he bends, finding another.

  He looks up and I nod, smashing my lips together as he pulls it out as well.

  As he plucks out the third, he asks, “Why do you do that with your eyes?”

  I tense, and his eyes pop to mine. “Do what?”

  “Blink like crazy, squeeze them closed, pat on your eyelids like you did when I found you outside at your aunt’s?”

  He notices?

  I look down, twitching when he goes for another shard of glass. “My vision...” How much do I share? “It gets foggy sometimes, doubles, but it always comes back.” For now, until the nerves give completely, and all that’s left is darkness.

  His features harden as he stares at the cuts on my legs, and I know he wants to ask more, but he changes the subject. “How often do you and Bishop talk?”

  I sigh. “We used to talk almost every other day at the least, but the last few months, it’s been a lot less.”

  “Has he said why?”

  “No.” I hate how my voice lowers.

  “What did he say the last time you spoke?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  He frowns. “You want to fuckin’ talk or not?”

  I try to jerk my leg from his hold, but his grip tightens, holding me there.

  It takes a second of neither of us giving in for him to finally scoff and get back to fixing me up.

  “When did he wreck his car?”

  Royce hesitates and then says, “Months ago.”

  “Months ago. Wow.” While the sting in my chest is real, I don’t show it, but I couldn’t hide the bitterness that seeps into my next words if I tried. “Must be Brayshaw related.”

  His eyes slice to mine. “Don’t act like you don’t know more than you should.”

  “Don’t insinuate my brother is the reason behind that. He’s not.”

  He drops my leg from his hold. “You’re real damn protective of someone who left you behind.”

  “As if he had a choice.”

  Royce’s frown deepens as he clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t say anything when it’s so obvious he wants to.

  I push up on my hands more. “I love how you keep telling me to say what I want, but you hold back every time you can.”

  “Trust me, there’s a difference.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” I snap. “You clearly have an issue with my brother. What do you care?”

  “It’s Brayshaw—”

  “Brayshaw business?” I say at the same time, cutting off his last word. “Is that not why you brought me here, so I can learn more? Did I not pass your little drug test? Help your family with Enoch? Were you not about to use me today?”

  “Watch it.”

  “Why am I even here, Royce?!”

  “I said watch it.” His tone is an icy black that has me biting my tongue. “You wanna know what happened?” He gives in. “Your brother almost got his ass fuckin’ hung and hung tight. The only reason he’s still breathing is because he stood with and protected Raven when we weren’t in reach to do it. Why weren’t we in reach, because the motherfucker went behind our backs to help where she needed it.”

  Betrayal? All my brother ever talked about was loyalty. Honesty.

  I swallow, a queasiness swimming in my stomach. I barely get my next words out. “He turned his back on you guys?”

  Royce’s jaw flexes and shakes his head. “Every ounce of his loyalty was rooted in our grounds, in our name, and then Raven came along. She became his friend before any of us knew she was a part of us, so when word dropped she was of Brayshaw blood, hidden away for eighteen years only to come back with a fuckin’ bang, he was already all in. His loyalty shifted to her.”

  My shoulders fall, and I turn my body to face his better. “Was that wrong of him?”

  His eyes cut to mine and he releases me. “Was it wrong to do and be whatever the hell she needed of him? No. It wasn’t. Not even a little bit.”

  Royce speaks with unrestrained anger, but the boy is right beside me, and his tells are clear.

  His heartbeat is heavy as is his mind, his fists tight but shaking, his breaths deep and harsh, but aching.

  Anger is only the outer layer, front and center for all to observe, to fear, while something much deeper suffocates behind it.

  I can guarantee I’m not supposed to understand the difference.

  He bleeds on the inside too.

  His glare is a guard, an impenetrable piece of armor that serves him well.

  He has no reason to question his most practiced protection, but pain recognizes pain.

  “It wasn’t wrong of him... but it felt like it.”

  He grinds his teeth and looks away.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  He scoffs, licking his lips as he focuses on the sky. “I don’t even fuckin’ know you.”

  He says it, but his tone tells a different story. He says he doesn’t know me, but he feels as if he does, and maybe it scares him a little. So, I tease.

  “Sure you do. You’ve been watching me, remember?”

  He keeps his head facing forward, but lazily slides his gaze to mine. “Took Polaroids too,” he jokes.

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” I laugh lightly, and he lets a hint of a grin tip his lips. “One thing my brother did tell me was how nothing is ever buried or unreachable, nothing is off-limits, and no one can do a damn thing to stop you.”

  “Me or my
family?”

  “I thought he meant all of you.” I lift one shoulder. “But now I’m kind of wondering if he did mean you.”

  He eyes me a long moment and then turns his attention to the bent plate at my side.

  He leans over, picks it up, and taps it against his free palm.

  I study his profile, the doubling tension framing his eyes.

  He wants to talk, a true conversation, but he’s unsure... and he hates it.

  Like me, he has no one of his own to trust, not with anything real or unscripted.

  Pain recognizes pain.

  I reach out, swiping my hand along the dust of the blue stamped letters and he holds it out, revealing what’s beneath it.

  “Lame for a custom.” He stares.

  I nod, tracing the number four with my middle finger, and decide vulnerability is only fair when it’s coming from both angles. I don’t talk to people either, but talking to him somehow feels right.

  “It was the gift my sick mother gave her casted up son a day after she begged him to lie to the doctors when, for the first time, he couldn’t be ‘fixed’ with time, a forced shot of Jack and a handful of ibuprofen.”

  Royce’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t look away from my hand. “Your mom was sick?”

  I sigh, leaning against the window. “In the head.”

  This time he does glance my way, and I offer a tight smile.

  “I mean, she’d have to be, right?”

  I try to hide the inner sorrow the irrational question brings, but if the sudden and unexpected bleak look in his eyes means anything, I failed.

  A heavy strain falls over his forehead and his chest inflates with a deep inhale. “Tell me what happened,” he mimics my words.

  I hold my hand out and reluctantly, he slaps the license plate into it.

  I stare down at the bold letters, the stamped number four, and our last name.

  4 Bishop.

  “I was sitting on the back patio, admiring the sky and trying to recognize a new constellation of stars I was studying when I heard my dad’s car pull into the driveway. I jumped up as fast as I could and ran up to my room before he even managed to get the front door unlocked. His norm was to ransack the kitchen first, watch the Warriors highlights, and there was hope he’d pass out in the process, but not three minutes after the latch of the door rattled the house, his boots were stomping up the stairs. He went straight for Bass,” I remember.

  “I tore my door open as quick as I could and ran for him, but my mom flew from her room the second she heard me step from mine and grabbed me around the waist. She held me back, so I yelled—something I never did—and she yanked my hair for it. But Bass...”

  “He told you to be quiet.”

  “Without speaking a single word.” I nod. “He met my eye for a split second, and I about swallowed my tongue.” I scratch at the red printed California at the top of the item and jump ahead. “My mom was on her knees at my brother’s side when my dad was done with him, but not to cry and hold her son. She was crying, but her tears were in fear of what would happen to my dad, to her. She sat there and pleaded with Bass, and only when he agreed to lie when asked, did she allow me to help him into the car so we could take him to the hospital. I had to grab an old shovel from the garage to balance me out.” I scoff, shaking my head. “She wouldn’t even help me get him to his feet.”

  I turn to Royce, who hasn’t looked away yet.

  “Bass told the people at the hospital he fell down a hill riding his bike when really my father drug him out his bedroom window and rolled him off the roof into the long bed of his stupid El Camino.” I swallow, sharing the last, maybe even worst, part. “All because Bass had left the back door open.”

  Tension lines Royce’s face as he pieces it together.

  “Day or night, we weren’t allowed outside in the summer, and we were never allowed to leave doors open and risk the neighbors hearing what went on inside our walls.”

  “Summer,” he drags out.

  “My dad’s favorite season.”

  “No school.”

  He’s getting it.

  “No school, no reason for restraint... no swimsuits that would show our family’s secrets.”

  His eyes slide between mine. “Bass, he told you that night wasn’t your fault.”

  I sigh, looking out at the stupid car my mom bought him.

  “Oh yeah, but we both know that it was. I could have sworn I closed and locked the door, but I was in such a hurry to get up there without getting caught I guess I just... forgot. Bass said it happened how it was supposed to because it gave him the car.”

  My mouth twitches. “He’d tell me stories all the time how it would one day be our ticket out of there. He was only twelve when that happened, couldn’t even drive the damn thing yet.” I laugh, but it quickly dies. “It took me a while to understand why she’d give a child a car he couldn’t drive, but then I realized it was nothing but another wicked way to show us we were helpless. Like... here’s your car, but I’ll hang on to the keys while you dream of a way out that will never come.”

  I frown. “Bass was back in the hospital with a broken jaw a week later.” I lick my lips, glancing back to Royce. “The lies came easier after that.”

  “Yeah?” His eyes narrow in suspicion. “What was the incentive?”

  I knew he understood.

  “Come on, Playboy.” I run my tongue along my teeth. “Let’s not pretend there’s more than one answer to that question.”

  I pull my legs up, wrapping my arms around them only to wince.

  With jerky movements, Royce slides closer, bending a bit to get a better look.

  “I need to get these out.” He tilts my right leg before quickly double checking my left again.

  He drops to his knees in front of me, hooks my calf over his shoulder, his head now positioned between my legs, and only an inch before my kneecaps.

  This is one of those rare times I wish I had longer legs because oh my god!

  He’s a head dip away from my crotch.

  “Stop.”

  My eyes fly to his, but he keeps focused on the tiny pieces of glass shimmering in the sunlight.

  “Stop what?”

  That has him looking up. “Every muscle in your body went stiff just then. I can’t do this right if you can’t relax, if you can’t relax on your own, then I might have no other choice than to dip my head and help you out.”

  My hands come up to slap over my face and I drop my body all the way back on the folded down seat. “Oh my god, I hate myself.”

  I swear his smirk is clear in his words. “Are you gonna chill or not?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I take a deep breath and do my best to calm myself with Brayshaw’s only bachelor between my legs.

  “You stopped breathing.”

  Ugh!

  I manage to relax enough for him to pull the few out, and then he reaches over me to grab an alcohol wipe from the first aid kit he pulled out earlier. He dabs against the spot he’s just cleaned—the soft skin of my inner thigh.

  He dips his head, blowing along the area to help it dry.

  I pull in a breath and hold it.

  I know he feels them, the goose bumps as they raise, and not just where his warm breath reached or where his steady hand touches, but everywhere.

  All over.

  From root to tip, my body reveals me.

  Royce’s gaze pops up to mine, and either the sun shifts above us at that exact moment, or the brown of his eyes deepens before me.

  His thumb floats along the freshly cleaned spot in slow, back-and-forth motions, in the slightest of sweeps. It’s as if he’s hardly grazing the skin, maybe not even at all, his touch is so light.

  I could be imagining it.

  “That hurt?” he rasps.

  “Does it look like it hurts?”

  He pauses, but only for a split second, and then a low laugh leaves him.

  He lets go and I roll my eyes at myself, pushing my hair
behind my ears.

  I’d make fans out of my hands if it wouldn’t be completely humiliating, and not for fun either, but because I’m legit sweating right now.

  “My bad, that was embarrassing.”

  He chuckles, pushing to his feet. “Nah, all part of my superpowers.”

  I shake my head with a grin, but it smooths out as he watches me closely, indecision in his eyes.

  A slow breath leaves him as he looks away.

  “Our world is fucked-up,” he says as he puts the bat and first aid kit away. “It’s dangerous and always shifting. Right when things begin to calm, a wave of new bullshit comes in and it rolls on from there.”

  “Think it will ever stop?”

  “Not a chance in hell.” He shakes his head. “Ninety-seven percent of people want power, money, and the three percent who don’t? They’re the crazy fucks you have to watch out for, ‘cause they’re coming after your soul, your blood, your whole fucking world, and for no other reason than to say they took it from you if they succeed.”

  “People with nothing to lose.”

  “People okay with losing.”

  I swallow and try again. “Tell me what happened.”

  Royce pauses for a second and then reaches in to grab a bat once more.

  He turns to me and holds it out, so I wrap my hands around the grip.

  He walks toward my brother’s busted up car, and I follow his lead.

  Royce steps around the back of it, tearing the tarp off completely.

  A lost look covers his face as he inspects the car from the back window to the passenger one.

  He plants his feet there and stares inside.

  “My family was dealing with some straight Jerry Springer shit for a minute, fucked-up family members, connected bloodlines and things you’d never believe. Hit after hit until it all started to crumble. Your brother pissed us off, but when it came down to it, we trusted him more than anyone, so when the one person who meant as much to each of us as we meant to each other needed an extra eye, he was the only one who could do it.”

  I swallow. Raven.

  He puts his hand on the doorframe, leaning in to look inside with a tight frown. “Me and Maddoc were headed to see our niece when Captain was... unable. We came around the corner to find two cars in the middle of the road, one we didn’t recognize and one we’d seen a million times. Smoke and small flames, and the body of a girl on the ground was all we could see.”