Trouble at Brayshaw High (Brayshaw, #2)(7)

The students go fucking nuts, shouting out their excitement while Perkins looks pissed we still managed to pull ahead based on points earned and points allowed through the season.

Fuck him.

Perkins goes over some bullshit about the hype the next few weeks will bring, reminding everyone that school work comes first and other shit he doesn’t believe in but preaches to save face, and then the music starts, and he moves aside as the cheerleaders take center court.

Chloe, front and fucking center as always, makes damn sure not to cut her eyes our way while she shakes her ass or pops her tits in some sex-infused move she’s thrown in the middle of their routine.

They do some crazy acrobatic shit and people go nuts whistling and clapping.

“Now that’s some flexibility,” Mac muses a few spaces down and Royce chuckles.

He ain’t lying. The cheer squad, or dance team you could call them, has won at state the last three years, ever since Chloe started choreographing. She never lets anyone fucking forget it.

Soon as they’re done, they throw their poms at the team’s feet – not a single pair land near me – then crawl to some cheesy fucking wolf calls to retrieve them.

Captain kicks the pair near his feet away with the shake of his head.

He looks past me before meeting my eyes. He nods his chin, so I shift to look at Raven.

My brows hit at the center when I find her zoning out, eyes forward and focused on nothing.

“What—”

I go to call her out but stop short when Perkins flicks the mic on again.

His eyes instantly hit mine, and I glare.

“All right! Thank you, girls, that was lovely,” Perkins starts, way too fucking giddy for me.

My brothers and I lean forward wearing matching frowns.

“Now. We have an announcement to make. It’s not usual,” he continues and my pulse kicks. “And it took some digging into the rulebooks, but I’m more than happy to say it’s all been worked out.”

“Maddoc...” Captain trails off.

Perkins’ stare slices to mine, triumph growing in his eyes.

“Please,” he pauses, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “Help me give a warm welcome to the newest member ... of Brayshaw High’s Varsity basketball team.”

There’s a beat of silence in the room, but a deep ringing in my ears tells me to stand.

My brothers rise with me.

The door tucked away in the farthest corner from us is thrown open with a loud thud and in walks Collins Graven – wearing a fucking Wolves jersey.

My body starts to shake as anger fills every inch of me, but my feet have turned to lead. I’m rooted in my fucking spot.

Royce and Captain must be too, because they’ve yet to move.

He dares to walk in here?

The whispers start, growing louder and louder until the entire fucking student body is gasping and talking shit behind us.

Collins stands tall, slowly stalking forward, his eyes scanning every face he can find in the stands from left to right.

Then they stop, right on fucking Raven at my side.

She slowly pushes to her feet, and my eyes snap her way. She doesn’t look at me but keeps her blank stare on his.

Mine move back to him. The corner of his lip rises as he studies her and I take a step forward, but all of a sudden, Coach is right there, pushing me back, blocking my body discreetly with his. He drives his shoulder between me and Raven and turns his head to my ear.

“Do not fucking move,” he growls through his teeth. “He wants this. You move, he starts over you next game.”

I have no idea what’s said after that, all I can focus on is the blood pumping through me at an increasingly dangerous level.

Raven takes a step left, a step away from me, and I push my chest against Coach’s.

“Raven.” I glare.

She licks her lips, taking a half a step forward.

Her hands rub against her jeans and unease flares in my chest.

“Raven...”

My head snaps straight when her name flies from Graven’s mouth.

I see it when she resolves herself to whatever the fuck was going through her mind.

Her chin lifts, shoulders square.

In one swift motion, she whips her sweater over her head, a black jersey with teal trimming – a Wolves jersey, a fucking Brayshaw High jersey – with the large number one on it covers her frame. A jersey identical to the one Graven is wearing.

And I see red, blood fucking red, and it’s about to be his blood everyone else sees. I’ll paint the fucking floor with it.

He reaches out and she steps closer to him.

He’s dead.

My brothers dart forward first, but our teammates move in. Mac and Leo are hardly able to hold back Captain, but nobody can contain Royce.

And that’s my fucking girl beside that little bitch.

Fuck starting. Fuck everything.

I shove Coach to the ground, half leaping over his body as I rush him, but I’m yanked back by a group of my teammates.

It takes a second but I’m able to throw them off one by one and dart forward, but I skid to a fucking halt when my eyes lift.

Royce stands braced to fight, trembling in a rage he’s about to unleash on the preppy prick in khakis.

Only a five foot six, dark-haired piece of fucking trouble stands before him.

Against him.

Against us.