Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(66)

The separation.

So fuck it.

I slide in, closing the gap she put between us and glare down at her.

“You want to know what kind of king I want to be? Fine, I’ll tell you, and then I’ll ruin you if you run around and tell another soul. Got me?”

Swear to God she wants to laugh but fights the shit out of the urge, and nods instead.

I dip down, getting in her face a bit and lay it all out. I give her what others don’t see or understand. What I’ve never admitted to anyone, but know my brothers comprehend. And they should, they’ve already become their kind of king themselves.

“I want to be the guy a girl closes her eyes at night and sees. The one she wakes thinking about ‘cause she wants to fuck me or fuck with me, fight with me. And not because she wants to gain something or prove something, but because I’m all that she can see and she feels blind without me, even if she wishes she didn’t sometimes. I want to be her light and dark and, yeah, sometimes her fucking nightmare. A fucking king in her eyes and she’d be all those things right back, the queen in mine. Of mine.”

My breaths are coming out quicker than expected, and I’m tempted to get her fucked-up so she forgets I said any of that. Tension wraps around my shoulders, and I flex the cords in my neck, waiting for the laugh, the backlash, the fucking foul play to light up her wild, hypnotic eyes.

I get none of that.

This girl... this fucking girl, man.

She smiles, and without a hint of mockery.

It’s pure and true and... fuck me, it’s gorgeous.

She’s gorgeous.

Beautiful.

She tips her head and my pulse kicks up, a softness in her eyes I wasn’t prepared for and I’m not sure I want to see staring back at me. Not a damn thing good can come of her looking at me like this. Like she sees me. Like she understands.

Like she hopes to someday somewhere find the same things?

Like she hopes she has?

I swallow.

The corner of her lips lift, and she does what she knows I need.

She adds a little fun into her tender tone. “That’s almost sweet.”

“Oh she’ll have to be sweet.” I follow her lead. “I’m a candy man.”

Brielle laughs and I step back.

There we go, back in safe waters.

Speaking of water...

“Come on.” I grab her hand and tug her forward.

I turn toward her, my smile wide and devious.

Her head tugs back slowly, warily, and rightfully. “What...?”

“We’re jumpin’.”

Her eyes couldn’t get any wider. “Oh hell no—”

And then she’s screaming, ‘cause she’s in my arms and we’re over the edge.





Brielle





It happens so fast I have no time to argue or prepare, so I latch on to Royce’s neck, bury my face in it and point my toes.

We hit the water with a splash that echoes in my ears beneath the water.

Royce’s arms fall from around me the second we’re submerged, quickly gripping on to one of my hands, and together we pop back up to the surface.

I gasp, a laughed ‘holy shit’ flying from me as a shiver runs over my body and he waits not a second, tugging me along while I splash at him with my free hand.

He grins, and not five feet in, he’s able to reach the ground. I try, but my head dips under and he pulls me closer.

He chuckles, his hands finding my hips as he walks us in a little more, and as soon as my tiptoes feel the mushy ground beneath them, I nod.

He stops.

I reach up, slapping at his chest, and he grins, catching my wrist and tugging me forward.

I laugh, my fingers subconsciously curling around the chain hanging from his neck, and his grin begins to slip, a far more hazardous expression covers him.

My stomach dips.

It’s as if he’s stoking a fire I didn’t know I’d built.

Or maybe he built it.

How can I feel hot all over when I’m submerged up to my shoulders in cold water?

My hair falls into my face, and I welcome it.

Hide me.

Hide my truth, even from me.

I don’t want to know what this feeling means.

Royce’s attention falls to the strand of hair stuck to my cheek, and his fingers twitch against my wrists. He wants to push it away, but I can’t let him.

He can’t touch me. Not now. Not with both hands. Not when my body’s boiling like a witch’s favorite cocktail, bristling and brewing, overflowing with wicked, wicked things.

I tip my head back as a way to escape those dark and daunting eyes a moment, bending until the water reaches the roots along my forehead and give it a light shake to make sure it’s drenched completely. I lift slowly so it slicks back and out of my face. When I face forward again, Royce’s eyes are locked on my neck.

When I swallow, his jaw flexes and his eyes pop up to mine. Angry. Frustrated.

Chaotic?

He whips us around, placing me closer to the bank, and frees my hand from his chain as he tears away from me. He climbs out and up the short hill.

When he comes back, he tosses a few boogie boards to the ground, his phone is in his hand With aggravated, jerky movements, his fingers pound at his screen. It beeps once and with that one sound, or whatever that sound delivered, relief loosens his shoulders. He sets the phone on a rock, tugs his soiled shirt off, and drops it right beside it.