Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(41)

Everyone but the silver-haired thing in the corner.

She continues to stare forward, her laughter rippling across the room, outshining every sound and pissing me off.

Jonah, one of our ground’s boys, sits in front of her, his eyes popping up to mine as I slip closer.

Those around are waiting, watching. Holding their damn breaths. They pretend not to be, but they are. Every fuckin’ one of them.

Brielle finally notices the table’s attention slipped over her head and glances over her shoulder.

The air in the room shifts, each and every one growing stiff while waiting on shriveled sacks.

Not her though.

Brielle doesn’t tense or freeze or jolt, doesn’t put on a sassy smirk or lean forward to put her chest on display for me, doesn’t trip or try to spice up the least bit.

No fear, no flex.

The girl spins in her chair and fuckin’ smiles, wide and welcoming.

Pleased, and not in a conceited, knowing way.

Goddamn, if it doesn’t take effort to not pause my own punk boy steps.

There’s a heavy beat in my palms, unexpected adrenaline firing through me and making my limbs grow heavy. Tired.

It’s almost enough for me to walk away.

Fuck’s happening here?

Brielle’s elbow is propped up, so she lays her head on her folded fist.

With a whole helluva lot of effort, I force my eyes from her, look across the table, and nod at the guys. A few lift their fists and I meet them with mine.

These are the assholes who have our backs, and we have their paychecks. There’s respect there, loyalty, and it goes both ways.

They don’t know Brielle’s off-limits.

Fuckin’ Christ.

I look to Brielle.

Her smile deepens.

A weight falls on my chest, right where the center of my chain hangs, my family crest.

Off-limits?

“What up, man?” Micah grins, stepping beside me.

I jerk my chin, not bothering to look his way. I might want to nut check him if I do, and I don’t care to know why.

“Not much. Just came to grab somethin’.”

Her eyes flash with amusement, and the turquoise brightens, reminding me of the waters in Panama, where our dad took us on our last family vacation more than a decade ago before shit here hit the fan and kept on spinning.

“Anything, man.” Micah nods, hungry to please, to prove himself. “Tell me what you need.”

I glance his way and he shifts, stands tall, proud, like a soldier facing his general.

It’s a good ass way to be, a great fucking sign from the new guy, but I’m not here for him.

I look to Brielle.

The table looks to Brielle.

And Brielle, she laughs.

I don’t have to tell her to stand up, she does it on her own, and only then do I get a good look at her.

How I didn’t notice this morning, I don’t know. Maybe because I was busy putting a bit of fear in her. Maybe it’s because any fear she may have felt disappeared the second her eyes found mine.

I cut the thoughts quick, focusing on the strappy sandals and pink painted toes planted two steps from mine and follow the path of tan and toned legs.

Thick thighs hugged tight by little white shorts lay a little low on wide hips. A loose fitted green tank with a board shop logo in the right corner that doesn’t quite meet her bottoms.

She shifts to grab her backpack from beside her feet, and that little hint of skin between her belt and top widens, offering with it a sneak of what’s beneath. A different shade of silver catches the light, but it’s hidden as quick as it was exposed.

Was that... a piercing?

I’m tempted to lift the hem of her top and get a better look, but when my eyes cut left, finding Micah’s just discovered, or is wondering, the same thing, and he ain’t looking away, decide against it.

“Thanks for letting me sit with you.” She’s focused on Micah, then turns to the table with a small wave. “I’ll see you guys soon, I’m sure.”

I’m prepared to lead her where I want her, but Brielle doesn’t stand there waiting for direction.

She doesn’t wait for a sign from me at all.

She slips by with a smile, and some-fucking-how it’s me, following her out.

The second we’re standing in the warm outside air, and there aren’t dozens of fucking ears surrounding us, I slip in front of her, halting her footsteps.

She grins, but it falters when she realizes I’m not.

I’m irritated.

Why?

Who fucking knows!

But I am.

So I find something to bark about.

“You seem pretty fucking comfortable already.”

Her mouth pinches to the side. “I thought it was nice of Micah to introduce me to some people he met already.”

“From lame little loner to suddenly needing a gang around you, and all in a half day’s work.”

Brielle nods, and she looks away. “Yeah, Royce, that’s exactly it.”

“Don’t pretend it’s not, nobody likes a fake.”

An angry little flare has her chest rising. “And nobody likes a guy who’s an ass in an effort to drown out his own inner issues.”

My jaw flexes, my tone dark. Warning. “Watch it, baby girl.”

This girl, she either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care.