Trouble at Brayshaw High (Brayshaw, #2)(11)

He pushes past me, snatching his keys off the side table before storming out the door, leaving me with nothing to do but follow his punk ass out like a good girl.

Dick.



“You better be curling your hair real damn pretty if it’s taking you this long to get ready!” Collins snaps from the other side of the door.

I roll my eyes and take one last hit off my joint before putting it out against the comforter, making another burn hole straight through the cliché silk covering.

I can’t believe I’m actually staying in this fucking house.

I’m half pissed at myself for not just taking off on my own, but I can’t do that to the guys. They’ve earned every bit of my loyalty, something I’ve never given to anyone, even if they don’t know it.

That’s the difference between true allegiance and the need to stay at the top of the game where the strongest sit with ease – honest loyalty doesn’t need to be seen or stated. It’s just as powerful if not more so when given in silence.

I don’t need them to be aware of why I’m really here. I need them oblivious and untouched by this asshole’s current piece of blackmail.

“Two minutes. That’s all you get,” he says as if his words mean shit to me.

There’s some shuffling and then stomping of feet down the obnoxious spiral staircase.

I watch the clock, waiting for a solid three minutes to pass then drag myself to stand, gliding my feet in the pair of slides I hid in the ridiculous shit Collins bought yesterday to help “raise my stature.”

Fucking, please.

He’s so clueless it’s unreal.

I turn to the gold trimmed mirror, glaring at myself.

The stupid girl who can’t stand the thought of letting go of the three she’s pushing away.

Oh, the irony behind the change of events.

I grab my backpack from the floor and drag it out with me, squaring my shoulders when I hit the last step.

Collins spins around, doing a double take. “What the fuck?”

He takes in the dark purple cashmere sweater dress he picked out, now cut down the sides and loosely tied back together to show my black tank underneath. His eyes fall to the ‘stockings’ he bought, now with strategically placed holes at the left outer and right upper thigh, disappearing under the material.

It’s also missing a few inches at the bottom now.

I didn’t curl my hair like he was hoping, but I did pull it back in a tight ponytail – only because it kept getting stuck to the fucking material.

He dared to ask me to cut off the blue tips, and I kindly told him to fuck off.

“That was a four-hundred-dollar dress.” He glares.

“That I told you not to buy. Besides, that’s chump change to you, right?”

He gets in my face. “I need you to look the fucking part. You agreed to this.”

“These people piss Armani and puke fucking Prada. They’ll smell a fucking foul ten miles away.”

I shake my head and move past him, but he grips my elbow and I jerk around, yanking free.

“I should let your punk ass make a fool of yourself!” I seethe.

His features tighten in question and I shake my head.

“Are you so unaware, you honestly think changing me to fit you will be convincing? That they’ll praise you or be jealous? Because they won’t. I may have agreed to all this to keep your rat bastard mouth shut, but don’t think for a fucking second, you’ve got it all figured out. Those boys? They know me.”

“Yeah, clearly they all do,” he tries to get in a dig, referring to the video.

I hold my head high and shrug. “Yeah, you’re right. All fucking three dropped to their knees ... for me. Thanks for reiterating my fucking point. They know me. They know how I think, what I need and when, and yeah, how I fucking like to be touched – completely irrelevant right now, but still true, dick. I’m not hiding that. I don’t need to, Collins, because the only people I give a shit about didn’t judge me for needing, and yeah, enjoying something they gave me. This is all about keeping people from finding out we were in your cabin while you partied only feet away, none the fucking wiser.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you,” I throw right back. “It’s like I said, they know me, and if I show up there only days after being at their side, now at yours, wearing a fucking dress and flats with curls in my hair and smile on my face, looking like another carbon copy of the basic bitches you’re used to, you’ll be eating cement quicker than you can say concede.”

“I’d never concede.”

“And I’d never conform,” I spit. “You want this believable, let me be me, because I’d never be anyone else for any-fucking-body. I may now be the untrustworthy bitch in their eyes, but they are far from dumb. Give them the credit they deserve. You’re only making a sucker of yourself if you don’t.”

I don’t bother waiting for a reply but turn and head for his little bitch car and slide inside.

He’s in his seat in the next few seconds. “At least you attempted to hide the bags under your eyes.”

Asshole.





I bounce on my feet and shake my body out, only to step in again for another combo.

The chain clashes against the beam, the punching bag bounding against my gloveless hands, the cracks at my knuckles ripping deeper, the blood trickling down my forearms and onto the rubber mat beneath my feet.