Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High #4)(114)

I nod and slowly move away, watching as he pulls the jacket from his face and slips the mask over.

Only when he stands, having hidden the proof of who these men are, do the others come forward.

They look nowhere but at the bodies, lift them, and carry them away without a word.

Victoria sighs, her hands moving to her head as she lets out a heavy breath.

“What the hell?” comes from Raven and we turn to find her staring at Victoria. “What is that?”

Victoria frowns and then her eyes lower, and ours follow.

My muscles freeze and we look to each other.

A deep crimson rushes up her neck and her hands lower, prepared to cover what we’ve now already seen, but then they drop.

Her shoulders square and with a deep breath, Victoria grabs her shredded shirt in her hands and pulls it over her head.

“Holy shit,” Royce whispers.

Scar after scar line her abdomen in no particular order and of no common size, cut after cut, but none so deep the skin is bubbled, though each is lifted enough to touch.

But that’s not what Raven saw or where our eyes are frozen.

Just beneath her bra line, in the most elegant of cursive, a line is engraved into her skin, thick solid letters, each word as clear as the next.

It starts on the far right, and like a wave, it rises and falls in perfect sync with her curves, stopping at her breastbone.

Family runs deeper than blood.

My eyes fly to hers, my feet subconsciously pulling me closer.

Her smile is small and tight, unsure.

She licks her lips. “When I was little, I had no knowledge of who I was or why I was alive. My maid and my teacher called me Girl, Mike called me Garden Girl.” She laughs, but it’s sad.

“He was the boy, the friend you had there who talked to you through the wall, wasn’t he?”

She nods. “I didn’t know until later, but Mero had planted Mike at the Graven Estate, hoping he’d find me and he did, came to live with us a couple years later, once Mero was sure he had all my trust,” she shares. “Even when he did he, he still called me what he knew me as.”

“Perkins,” I say. “He said before Mero you had no identity...”



She licks her lips. “The day he came for me, on the drive back to his house, Mero said to me, ‘everyone has a place in the world, and you’ve just found yours’.” Her eyes gloss over, and she lifts them to lock with mine. “He told me his name, and then he gave me mine.”

“He was Brayshaw when he left...” Maddoc draws out, looking from her tattoo to me.

“In Mero’s mind, that’s all he ever was.” Her eyes bounce between mine. “Even when he pawned off his own son to Graven for them to raise. Even later, when he tied himself to them even more by taking me.”

Everyone has a place in the world, and you’ve just found yours...

“Brayshaw,” I whisper. “He gave you his name, our name.”

She nods. “He said I had to earn it for it to be true, so I did, and then I came here and realized I was everything opposite of what it meant to belong in a place like this. My purpose changed overnight, and nothing had ever felt more... right.”

Suddenly I’m in front of her, my knuckle on her chin, but I don’t have to lift, she does it for me, staring me straight in the eyes.

“I knew you were meant for me,” I rasp, my fingertips skimming across the tattoo.

“It shouldn’t have been so hard to get here,” she whispers, her palms flattening on my chest.

“Yeah.” I nod. “It should have. We don’t love without a little bloodshed.”

Her muscles tighten, and I push closer. “Guess you don’t want me to be your Brayshaw anymore?”

She smiles, shaking her head no.

“Good.” I sink my hands into her hair, my eyes falling to those lips I’ve fucking missed. “I don’t want to be your Brayshaw, I want to be your man.”

She pushes onto her toes, aligning her mouth with mine. “But, Captain… we can’t always have what we want,” she whispers my words. “Now can we?”

“We’re Brayshaw, baby. We want, we get.”

No exceptions.





I fill the cup to the brim, slowly pouring it over Zoey’s head and she laughs.

“Waterfall!” She smiles, reaching across to grab the floating baby doll from the water, and stands.

“You ready to get out, princess?”

She nods, so I set the cup on the counter, grabbing her towel and wrapping it around her as I lift her from the bathtub.

I kiss her hair as I carry her into her room and get her dressed in her pajamas.

“Rora!” she shouts.

I look toward the door and there Victoria stands.

She leans against the doorframe, her eyes on us.

Zoey sits at her little vanity, handing me her brush.

Victoria chuckles, but her breath lodges in her throat when I hold the light blue comb in the air.

Slowly, Victoria walks into the room, taking it from my hands as she steps up behind Zoey, and I behind her.

My hand covers hers, one on the brush, the other on the tiny chair, and my head falls into the crook of her neck.

She guides, and together we brush my daughter’s hair.

“Rora, you know what?” Zoey asks her.