Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(32)
It’s in part why the group homes are at the very entrance of the acreage, to keep them as far away as possible, but still close enough to control.
Wait, then why would she...
“Why would who what?”
My eyes snap back to his and the corner of his crease. “Finish your thought.”
I glide my fingers along my temple, slipping them farther into my hair and he follows the movement.
“Why, you won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
I don’t.
His glare flies to mine rapidly, and after a moment, grows heavier, but this time there’s a hint of skepticism he tries to hide. “She sent you down here.”
I shrug, answering without completely throwing her under the boots of a Brayshaw.
Wait.
Maybe she wants me to get kicked out?
Royce’s shoulders seem to loosen, and he runs his tongue along his lips.
He cuts a glance over his shoulder and I remember I came down here for a reason.
“So are you done, because it’s my turn.”
His head whips around quick, and knowing him, he’s about to pop off, so I speak before he can.
“Did you really insist I have my own room when literally every other person in that house shares with one to two other people?”
He blinks at me. And then he blinks again.
“Are you for real?” He widens his stance. “You’re complaining right now?”
“Well, I didn’t come back here to say hi.”
His eyes narrow, his chin tipping the slightest bit. “That right?”
“I mean, I figured I’d see you later or, you know, eventually, but no, and we’re off track.” I hook a finger over my shoulder, pointing somewhere behind me. “Those girls are my cousin on crack, I can sense it, and here I come, riding my brother’s coattail, and boom. Special treatment, just like that? I don’t want it.”
That seems to piss him off. He pushes closer. “If I was balancing you with your brother, it’d have been the shed out back for you, little Bishop, so don’t get bent.”
“Don’t pretend my brother isn’t everything your family’s asked him to be and more.”
His jaw flexes and shifts in more. “Let me clear something up for you, yeah?”
“Please do.”
Based on the way his eyes seem to flame up, he didn’t want a response, but he keeps talking anyway. “You’re in your own room, ‘cause that’s where I want you. ‘Cause there, in that room, I can get to you when the fuck I want.”
“When you want?”
“When.” He takes another step into my space, and my stomach twists low and fast. “You’re not a group home girl like they are. I didn’t come to your fuckin’ rescue, I hired you. You’re an employee. My employee, baby girl, so be ready to work, to jump, to fetch, when I tell you to, and before you ask me why, the answer is ‘cause you got in that car. You came to my town. Now here you stand, in my reach. That makes you mine to regulate.”
He’s practically huffing and puffing, all angry and annoyed and trying to intimidate. I do my best to allow him to believe his irate boy dramatization was effective, but I can’t hide the way it gets to me.
My smile is instant, my hand flying out to latch on to his arm. “Wait, seriously?”
Royce’s features pull, his focus quickly moving from my hand to my face. “Wait, what?”
I squeeze. “Am I really your employee? Like I work here now? You didn’t just move me in... you need me?”
Royce is stuck for a moment, unmoving.
His hand jerks from mine, flying forward before I see it coming, and he pushes my glasses up onto my head.
The glare is testing, gauging, and ever so slowly, his features smooth out.
I drop my hand to my side, and he licks his lips looking off, only to come right back.
He pushes my glasses back down and begins walking backward. His jaw shifts tight only to loosen as he says, “Go back. Wait for your shit. Sleep. Be ready when Maybell tells you to be ready.”
“Will I see you in the morning?”
His eyes narrow. “Does it matter if you do?”
I shake my head, smashing my mouth to the side to keep from grinning.
He says nothing, turns around, and is about to leave me standing here, but then I realize something and lurch forward.
“Wait!”
Royce pauses, but only glances back with his head.
“If you thought I was only coming back here to say hi, why couldn’t you just...” I give a small shrug. “You know, say hi back?”
His features pull.
A few silent seconds pass, and when he speaks there’s a hesitancy in his tone that wasn’t there before. “Rules, little Bishop.”
Rules.
Right.
I hate rules.
His eyes move between mine once more, and then he turns and walks away.
The second he does, I pull out my phone to check the time.
It’s not even six yet.
A smile finds my lips and I dial my brother.
“Sister.”
“Brother.” I smile, my eyes travel over the mansion once more, falling to the window when I spot a man’s figure shadowed there—their father, Rolland Brayshaw. The ex-con and former head of Brayshaw watches me.