Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High #4)(23)
It’s growing louder by the minute out there, several people now crowded around the smaller makeshift rings, watching the opening match while others wait by the larger one, securing their spots for the fight of the night.
A small smile finds the corner of my mouth as I glance around.
My kind, their kind, all together for some late-night debauchery, not that it’s any different than normal out here, but I haven’t had a night out or away in a long ass time. It’s rowdy and wild, yeah, but it’s a good ass place to chill out, people watch.
A great place to find leverage.
My features tighten at the thought.
That’s the kind of shit that got me into the trouble I’m currently in, but my brain won’t stop. It’s what I’m good at.
Movement to my right catches my eye, and I shift to find Royce stepping up.
He winks, but it’s ugly and malicious as he pushes the sliding sheet metal doors open all the way, allowing those outside to see into the newly remodeled building.
Only months ago, all that was in here were a couple chairs and crates lining the walls. After bets took place, the guy who used to run this place, Bass Bishop, would slip in here. Maybe to count or store the money, I don’t know, but it was a wasted space for sure—dust and cobwebs, unused.
Maddoc, though, he knew how much Raven liked this place and wasn’t okay with her being out in the open constantly, so he had it redone.
While the outside is still old and beat down looking, stepping inside is like entering some sort of black cards club.
Walls have been put up, thick, black and white stripes covering three of them, a large wolf head painted across the center, black where the white stripe is, white where the black is.
The fourth, the longest back part of the building, is rich, royal blue, thick white lettering above it reading The Wolves Den.
There’s a bar stretching along it, leaving about five feet at each end, where matte black curtains are hung. They curve outward, forming a crescent-like shape, hiding whatever is beyond them.
Each corner of this place holds something different, couches that match the color of the back wall are grouped to the farthest right, surrounding a giant TV mounted high, ESPN playing across it while the outer left has a poker table set up and ready to go—Captain sits at one of the tables, must be where he plans to spend his night.
The front left is plush leather chairs and mini tables, another TV, while the front right, where I’m standing by the door, is a long row of lockers. Where they expect people to leave their shit maybe?
I glance back when I notice Raven stand, an oversized jacket swallowing her small frame, to hide her stomach still, I’m guessing. Maddoc is already on his feet, leading her behind the hidden area on the left.
Royce’s phone pings in his pocket and his eyes slide back to mine. “That’s the church bell, VicVee. Time to be kings for peasants.”
My mind spins, but I don’t have to wonder what he’s talking about long.
“Royce!” a bubbly voice squeals.
I’m almost knocked back when long, thin arms fly past my face to wrap around his neck.
“Ladies, come in.” He shifts to the side. “Victoria here is channeling her mama tonight,” he says and I grow stiff.
As far as everyone around here knows I’m nothing but a handout kid, parentless and living in a home for ‘free,’ a group home girl.
Thankfully, these girls are more interested in Royce himself and not his words at the moment.
“She’s playing maid lady tonight. Whatever you need, she’s your girl.” He smirks like a dickhead. “Put your phones in one hand and purses in the other.”
Wow.
“Oh, boo, but I wanted to Snap some pics tonight,” one girl says, her voice coming out completely whiny and desperate, but she sticks her lip out like it’s supposed to be cute and flutters her lashes as if he cares.
He doesn’t, and he doesn’t do desperate.
He nods his chin at the tall, intimidating dude with braids who stands just outside the entrance.
Dude slides in, wraps an arm around her shoulder and spins her on her heels.
“Hey, wha—”
“Don’t make it worse, girl,” he whispers as he leads her out.
Royce turns to the others, all three standing wide-eyed and unsure.
“Trash is out, ready to party?” He grins, unfazed.
Three words from him and their fourth friend is forgotten.
They swiftly pull their phones from their bags as instructed and step toward me.
I roll my eyes, holding my palms out without so much as a pause and Royce steps back with a smirk.
The last chick takes forever to pass off her stuff, applying what must be a fifth coat of gloss to her lips.
“Oh my god, Amber, hurry up!” her friends complain.
“What?” She shrugs, finally handing her bag over. “I need to be all shiny and plump. I heard Captain likes that.”
My muscles lock.
Royce was waiting for it, and his grin grows a little deeper, a lot nastier.
So these girls are their entertainment for the night, this is why Captain wanted me here.
A sick burn races up my stomach and into my ribs, but I’d never show it.
“Ladies, let Victoria know what you want to drink, she can deliver it to us.” He wraps an arm around two of them. “Make it quick, Rora. We’ll be behind the right curtain.”