Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(119)

I hold her as close as possible, an uncontrollable eagerness firing off my every nerve and soaking up any alcohol left inside me. I’m stone-cold fucking sober and staring into the soul that’s bound itself to mine.

“Trust me, Tink. I know.”

She brings her mouth closer to mine, right against my lips. “Make it up to me,” she breathes.

I take her lips as mine.

Because they are.

And so is she.

All fucking mine.

After a moment, she pulls back with a smirk. “Do you get it now?”

“Get what, baby?”

“You can’t push me away. I’m inside you and you know it.” Her voice lowers and with it, my throat bobs. “You couldn’t claw me out if you tried.”

“I will never try again.”

I know nothing is ever so clean and clear, that there’s no such thing as good without a bit bad, no love without heartache, and I’m aware love only grows off the roots of pain, but that doesn’t have to mean it’s fucked.

Loneliness is what brought Brielle here, pain is what drew her to me, and longing is what bonded us together.

Need recognizes need.

Her and I, we need each other.

But the universe decides we’re not in the clear yet, that there’s another mountain to climb, a massive wave to ride out before we can breathe, and it comes in the form of the roaring engine of a 1969 Mustang Fastback.

I grab her hand and tug her to the porch, an apology in my eyes.

That’s when she hears it and hers narrow.

“Is that...”

“Boys will be boys, baby girl.”

“Royce.”

“Stay back.”

“Is this necessary?”

“It’s inevitable.”

Her glare is sharp and flying over my shoulder, and then my dad comes out of nowhere, wraps her up, and carries her inside.

With a deep breath, I nod my head and spin around, right as the old muscle car whips into view, screeching to a stop not five inches from my shins.

Here we go.





Bass is out of the car and in my face in four seconds flat and tossing a stack of papers in my face. “You got a message for me, Brayshaw? I’m here. Serve it up.”

I ignore his bullshit, hold my arms out, and the motherfucker doesn’t hesitate like every other person in this place does.

Nah, he takes his shot, catching me clear across the jaw.

I welcome it, knowing damn well I deserve it, but he’s far from innocent, too, so he’ll get his just the same.

I spit, lick my lips, and grin at the punk.

Jet black hair and jacket to match, he stands fucking tall. Bold.

“Bass fucking Bishop.” I creep closer and his fists clench tighter at his sides. “Welcome back, motherfucker.”

My right hook flies forward, sending him against the hood of his pretty-ass ride behind him, but not before his foot kicks out, knocking me on my ass at the same time.

I roll to my feet as he does, sliding in to connect with his gut as he catches me in the ribs. Both of us cough, but neither slows down.

Blow after blow, we keep the same pace, trade punches and break through skin. Blood drips down my lips while his flows from above his left eye.

We go in for more, but I switch shit up knowing we could go all night, and when we did tire, it would be at the same damn time.

I would know.

I trained the motherfucker.

I knock him in the ribs, first right, dodging his uppercut, and connect with his left next. He allows himself a single second to breathe, and I use that second to bend my upper body back, twist and spin around him, wrapping him into a headlock.

His next move is to give me all his weight, but I drop us both to the fucking ground before he can and scoot my ass back until the passenger side door meets my back, offering more balance.

Bass growls, his hands locked on my arms, his legs fighting for dominance he won’t get.

But then my hair is pulled from above and my head darts up to meet the Malibu fucking Barbie hanging half out the window.

“The fuck?!” I shout, banging my head against the door to jerk myself free, but she digs her claws in deeper.

“I said stay in your fucking seat!” Bass shouts.

“I’m in the fucking seat, you said nothing about the window.” The girl smirks and his growl turns into a groan.

“Hey, Pamela Anderson’s spawn, get your fucking hands off me or you’re gonna have problems.”

“Oh.” She fake pouts. “I’ve got plenty of those, what’s one more?”

“How ‘bout one that ends with a knife in your side?”

Our heads jerk toward the porch to find Raven, Victoria, Maddoc, and Cap all standing there.

Raven flips her knife open, running it along her index finger, her eyes popping up. “Been a while since I’ve got to use this baby. Give me a reason to.”

A rasped, mocking laugh leaves the girl but Bass cuts her off quickly.

“Cut it, rich girl. Let the bitch go.”

I tighten my hold, digging my knee into his spine and he jerks, trying to reach back.

He manages to slip around, and then we’re rolling again.

We jump to our feet, his grip tight on my stretched collar, until he has my chain locked in his fist.

The motherfucker meets my eyes, and a fire flares in mine.