Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(72)

He tosses the wooden weapon to the side, quickly tearing out a first aid kit.

I keep my mouth shut as he does this, focusing on getting my heart rate down so the pressure in my head will settle and leave my sight alone.

His frown darts up to mine, and he dares to glare, but his eyes don’t match his touch.

His hands are slow and soft as far as grip goes, but from the pads of his fingers to the base of his palm is textured evidence of his years of basketball, and more, a calm roughness from hard work put in.

The carefulness in which he wraps his hand around the back of my calves, twisting and turning to inspect the tiny little cuts is unexpected. It’s as if he’s almost cautious, afraid to push the little shards of glass in deeper, maybe?

I can’t imagine he’s ever put his hands on anyone with restraint, be it for pain or pleasure.

Royce is far from controlled, but when he touches you... it’s with purpose.

To test or tease, to scare or scar, want or warn.

From what I’ve gathered in the time we’ve spent together, it’s understanding the intention that can be tricky.

He gives nothing freely, but if you look close enough, it’s there, hidden under thick lashes and deep, dark eyes.

Eyes that lift to meet mine.

Not five seconds later a sharp sting has me jumping, and when he looks down, I do too.

A teeny-tiny, thin piece of glass sits between his fingertips, and he bends, finding another.

He looks up and I nod, smashing my lips together as he pulls it out as well.

As he plucks out the third, he asks, “Why do you do that with your eyes?”

I tense, and his eyes pop to mine. “Do what?”

“Blink like crazy, squeeze them closed, pat on your eyelids like you did when I found you outside at your aunt’s?”

He notices?

I look down, twitching when he goes for another shard of glass. “My vision...” How much do I share? “It gets foggy sometimes, doubles, but it always comes back.” For now, until the nerves give completely, and all that’s left is darkness.

His features harden as he stares at the cuts on my legs, and I know he wants to ask more, but he changes the subject. “How often do you and Bishop talk?”

I sigh. “We used to talk almost every other day at the least, but the last few months, it’s been a lot less.”

“Has he said why?”

“No.” I hate how my voice lowers.

“What did he say the last time you spoke?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He frowns. “You want to fuckin’ talk or not?”

I try to jerk my leg from his hold, but his grip tightens, holding me there.

It takes a second of neither of us giving in for him to finally scoff and get back to fixing me up.

“When did he wreck his car?”

Royce hesitates and then says, “Months ago.”

“Months ago. Wow.” While the sting in my chest is real, I don’t show it, but I couldn’t hide the bitterness that seeps into my next words if I tried. “Must be Brayshaw related.”

His eyes slice to mine. “Don’t act like you don’t know more than you should.”

“Don’t insinuate my brother is the reason behind that. He’s not.”

He drops my leg from his hold. “You’re real damn protective of someone who left you behind.”

“As if he had a choice.”

Royce’s frown deepens as he clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t say anything when it’s so obvious he wants to.

I push up on my hands more. “I love how you keep telling me to say what I want, but you hold back every time you can.”

“Trust me, there’s a difference.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“No.”

“Why not?” I snap. “You clearly have an issue with my brother. What do you care?”

“It’s Brayshaw—”

“Brayshaw business?” I say at the same time, cutting off his last word. “Is that not why you brought me here, so I can learn more? Did I not pass your little drug test? Help your family with Enoch? Were you not about to use me today?”

“Watch it.”

“Why am I even here, Royce?!”

“I said watch it.” His tone is an icy black that has me biting my tongue. “You wanna know what happened?” He gives in. “Your brother almost got his ass fuckin’ hung and hung tight. The only reason he’s still breathing is because he stood with and protected Raven when we weren’t in reach to do it. Why weren’t we in reach, because the motherfucker went behind our backs to help where she needed it.”

Betrayal? All my brother ever talked about was loyalty. Honesty.

I swallow, a queasiness swimming in my stomach. I barely get my next words out. “He turned his back on you guys?”

Royce’s jaw flexes and shakes his head. “Every ounce of his loyalty was rooted in our grounds, in our name, and then Raven came along. She became his friend before any of us knew she was a part of us, so when word dropped she was of Brayshaw blood, hidden away for eighteen years only to come back with a fuckin’ bang, he was already all in. His loyalty shifted to her.”

My shoulders fall, and I turn my body to face his better. “Was that wrong of him?”