Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(12)

I shake my head no again, and this time more confident than before.

Franky catches it and a harsh scoff leaves him.

“Brielle’s man?” he taunts, purposely loud for his peers. “You must be new. No one here would touch that.”

Franky begins pushing to his feet, but Royce’s large hand lands on his shoulder, and with what appears as no effort, shoves him right back down.

Head after head snaps from me to them, and I know their minds are spinning.

I can guess the question at the tip of their tongues.

How do I, the out of place charity case, possibly know him, a filthy god in the flesh?

Royce doesn’t pay them any mind, though, he uses the moment to put his skills to use.

He studies me, considering what I said about a boyfriend, my answer about the asshole on the ground, Franky’s response and question, and somehow finds the truth within it all.

And not just my truth, but Franky’s too.

I don’t have a boyfriend, but Franky wants from me what a boyfriend might get, even if he would never admit it and likely take it only in secret. We both know I’ll never give him what he wants, so he gets it from Ciara instead. It’s sad, but it’s true.

Royce brings a knee up, driving it into Franky’s spine and his shoulders bow with a low growl.

Royce steps around him with ease, and with a confidence not many possess as he turns his back to the boy he just made a fool of, complete confidence his friend will watch it for him should his senses fail him.

He slips right in front of me.

As if he can see beyond the impenetrable lens of my glasses, his eyes lock on mine, screaming play with me, but I’m not dumb and he isn’t the one stuck with these people on a day-to-day basis.

The fire in Franky’s words a few minutes ago was an indication of what I already know—Royce won’t be here forever, and soon I’ll have to answer to the ringleader on the ground.

I must stand still too long because the decision is taken from me.

From behind me, Mac’s arms fall, only for Royce’s to replace them from the front.

Royce is standing at his full height, so his hands barely reach the belt loop on my pants, but that doesn’t stop him from curling the middle fingers of his left hand through one as his right comes up to my neck.

I have no idea why I let him.

I should crush his windpipe, jab a finger between his ribs... something.

I don’t.

I don’t breathe either, officially a board piece in his little game of humiliation.

“That’s right, my man. I’m new to her,” he mocks Franky, making a point of tilting his head a bit, his attention locked on me. “But not for long, ain’t that right, baby girl?”

He twists his wrists, dragging his knuckle along my collarbone, and doesn’t stop until the pads of his fingers meet the reddened skin where Franky grabbed me.

That’s when I snap out of it.

I jerk my arm away from him, leaning my body as far away as possible and he frowns, his teeth clenching.

Before he has a chance to do whatever the heck comes after all that, a really annoying and unpleasant voice is shouting from somewhere on my right.

“Are you serious?!”

Here we freaking go...

My shoulders fall, a heavy exhale escaping, and Royce releases me, shifting toward the obnoxious voice breaking through the crowd.

Ciara shoves people around until she’s in the center of the mess Royce created.

Her jaw drops as she spots Franky on the floor. Guessing this has something to do with our odd little morning, she whips around until she finds me in the crowd.

She pushes forward, and with each step closer she grows, Royce takes one too, but not forward. He shifts to the side, shadowing my body with his own like a big bad bodyguard would his weak little patron, but he’s not needed nor wanted here, so I move as he does and then she’s right in front of me.

“What the hell, Brielle?!” she yells, glaring at Royce when he flexes on Franky who finally makes it to his feet. “What, you brought him here to try to show off?”

“Because that’s my style.”

“Why the hell else?”

“Ciara, chill—”

“Don’t tell me to chill! Tell your little friend to get out of here,” she cuts me off.

“Why don’t you, you know him better than me, right?”

Her eyes narrow, and she pushes against my chest. “Do it, Brielle.”

“Get out of my face,” I tell her calmly.

“What are you gonna do about it, cousin?” she taunts.

My jaw flexes and a sick gleam of satisfaction gleams in her eyes.

She knows I’m on a tight leash, one I clipped to my very own collar because not a soul in this place is worth falling into darkness over.

A mocking laugh follows her little taunt, and then her hands come up to knock my glasses clear off my face.

So I knock her on her ass, her eyes shooting wide and she stumbles into a group of people behind her.

As fast as she’s out of my space, Mac’s got her by the wrist.

People stare, wide-eyed and tripped out as this isn’t something they’ve seen before.

I can pretty much hear their internal gasps.

Did little Brielle Bishop claw out of her casket?

Ciara growls, growing red with embarrassment, but gets one good look at my swollen eyes, and quickly finds her way to win.