Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(40)

“She must have hooked her up.”

But why?

Raven eyes the group curiously. “So, they don’t know Bishop is her brother. She’s been here, what, three hours, and they like her already?”

“I mean... look at her, you guys.” Victoria shakes her head, a smoothness taking over her face as she does what she does best, reading words that aren’t there. “She’s not like we were, standoffish and disgruntled, angry.” She pauses. “Think about how she was this morning when we scared the shit out of her. She didn’t get freaked out or even get embarrassed, she looked at us like... I don’t know, but there was a gentleness to her and not in a fearful way. And then right now, she walked up to a group of rough-ass, bruised up, tatted and pierced punks and thugs with zero hesitation and a smile. A real smile. No judgment in her tone, not unease or tension they can sense. She’s soft, calm-like, and she doesn’t realize it. People are drawn to that, even if they don’t know what to do with it. They just... want to be near.” She looks to Captain. “Zoey would like her.”

He grins, squeezing her thigh.

The pit of my stomach clenches, folds over, but I shake it off. This is nothin’ but bullshit talk.

Useless.

A waste of fucking time.

The table jolts as I hop up and low laughs float from the girls. “There’s ten minutes left, let’s shoot some hoops.”

“Need to let off some steam, brother?” Maddoc smirks.

I flip him off.

“You know they wouldn’t be so friendly if they knew she was with us.” Raven raises a brow.

“She’s not with us. She works for us, same as a couple dozen others.”

Maddoc pushes to his feet, helping Raven to hers and coming to stand beside me.

He clamps a hand on my shoulder. “Your knuckles are lookin’ white, brother.”

“Your eye’s about to look black, brother.”

He tips his head. “You know I’m dying to spar.”

I nod, leading us toward the back door. “Okay, fucker. Me and you, gloves tomorrow.”

The others chuckle behind him, and I hold the door open for them to pass through, but before I step out, I cut a quick glance at Brielle.

The second my attention lands on her, her head happens to shift, and I know she’s spotted me, even if I can’t see her eyes behind the frames.

I pause, waiting.

And waiting.

And she turns away, laughing at something the dude across from her says.

Tension that tugs a lot like anger wraps around my shoulders, but I roll it out and head for the court.

Right as I drop my backpack, my phone goes off in my hand, and I glance to the screen. My pulse kicks when I see her name. It’s fucking irritating.

I must be annoyed, pent up or somethin’, ‘cause this shit’s whack.



Little Bishop: I tried, but that was weird.



My lip twitches, but I force a frown quickly.



Me: don’t know what you’re talking about.



Little Bishop: sure you do.



Smart-ass.



Little Bishop: I say hi to the mailman when I see him. I’m not going to pass by you and not say hi.



Me: so I’m on equal playing ground as a mailman? Nice.



Like an elbow in a game of street ball, confusion knocks hard at my ribs.

Why’d I send that?!



Little Bishop: You are DEFINITELY not on the same level as the mailman.



That’s right. I’m not.



Little Bishop: He says hi first...



A scoffed laugh escapes.

This girl, I swear.



Little Bishop: So yeah, this is your fair warning. I’m going to say hi when I see you because I want to, but I won’t be showy about it. Promise. Nobody will ever even assume we’ve spoken a word to each other.



That last line shouldn’t piss me off.

In fact, I’m pretty fucking sure it should do the opposite, but like I said, I must be annoyed today.

Irritation heats my limbs.

Strangers.

Just another person in the hall, not connected to us, not protected by us, but watched out for by other Bray employees, like one of their own.

Bray employees like the ones she’s chatting up in the cafeteria, that smile and laugh at her ‘cause they know an honest girl when they meet one, spot a beaten soul when they cross one, and soak up light when it’s in reach.

She’s in their reach.

And fuck me, the girl’s got a lot of light.

“Royce.”

I look to my brother.

Maddoc rolls the basketball between his fingers, eyeing me.

I tap my phone in my palm, and his gaze narrows.

I look to Captain, and then the girls who chat at the picnic table not five feet away.

With a nod, I stuff my phone in my pocket, and clap my hands together, asking for the ball.

Maddoc passes it my way, and I slowly dribble forward, but my foot barely passes the foul line. I abandon the thing and spin on my fucking heels.

In my peripheral, the girls’ heads turn, following me.

I throw the cafeteria door open, knowing it will slam against the wall, only to fly back and hit even harder on the frame. The shit’s loud and gains the attention of everyone around.