Trouble at Brayshaw High (Brayshaw, #2)(71)

He starts to sit back, but I tilt my head and lift a brow in challenge.

“Why do you want that for me? Why’s it so important?”

He curses under his breath, running a hand over his face quickly. “Because I need to know a girl who lived like me, fucked up mentally and cut off emotionally – to most, anyway – can fight her way from the bottom and come out with sharper claws, not broken ones.”

I slowly drop against the cushion. “Who is she?

This time he tenses. “Who?”

“Don’t play dumb. Who’s the girl you’re worried about making it or not?”

His eyes strain. “They didn’t tell you...” he wonders. “I almost thought they’d brag.”

“They’re not the type.” I study him. “Well, maybe Royce but...” I trail, trying to ease some of the tension.

Bass gives a half grin, dropping his stare to his feet a minute before looking back up with a squint. “My sister.”

“Sister.”

He swallows and looks away. “Yup. Your boys, they stepped in when the people around us failed. Got us out before worse could happen.” He absentmindedly runs his fingers over the back of his hand.

“Got you out...” I trail off, glancing at Maddoc once more. “Like they saved you?”

When he doesn’t answer I ask, “So where is she? One of the girls in the home?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “She’s away from here, as she should be.”

“Bass—”

He shakes his head, so I clamp my mouth shut. He doesn’t want to talk about it, and who am I to pry.

I glance away, doing a double take as I do, and a smirk takes over my lips.

Change of subject. Perfect.

“And uh ... how about the chick who looks ready to castrate you while also looking like someone pissed in her Pradas?”

He scoffs. “You even know what Prada is?”

“Fancy shit, Collins told me all about it.” I grin and he laughs.

He looks the way I did, and his features harden. He downs his beer with his eyes on her. “She is the opposite of you – a follower. A rich bitch who only dates rich boys.” He looks back to me, his features blank.

“Wanna make her jealous?” I joke and an instant laugh breaks through his cool covered face.

“Nah, I’m not in the mood to fight your boy tonight.” He chuckles.

“Ah come on, you can hold your own.” I smile. “I mean, at first.”

He smirks goodheartedly and pushes to stand so I stand with him.

“You’re good people, Bass Bishop.”

I lift my fist and he knocks his into mine, puts a cigarette between his lips, slides his DJ headphones back in place, and nods his goodbye.

And just like that, the poor boy with swag for days has the rich bitch panting in her silk panties as she watches him stalk on by, ignoring the shit out of her.

Good for him.

Before I can even step from my spot, Royce is gripping me by the thighs and lifting me in the air.

I yelp and smack him in the back of the head, but he only laughs harder. We pass Maddoc and Royce spins me, letting Maddoc get in a good ass slap.

“Brother, stealing your woman, a’ight?”

“Careful, asshole, she’s still sore!”

“Ha!” Royce laughs. “I bet I know where, brother!”

I roll my eyes and hang on best I can, while he snags the two bottles in Cap’s hand and runs out.

“Those were ours, dick!”

“Raven thanks you, Cap!” he shouts back and runs into the back yard where he finally lets me slide down.

We both laugh at his silliness, and I grab the beer he hands me.

There are several little groups spread all around the grass area, so he leads me to the side of the house, out of prying eyes.

I pull back, frowning at the dark orchards. “Royce—”

“Shit,” he cuts me off. “Hang on, sorry.” He pulls his phone out and turns on the flashlight, propping it up beside an old air conditioner unit. He drops down against the side of the house, so I move with him.

“I was trying to entice you into some freaky shit, RaeRae,” he jokes, tossing a sandwich baggy full of weed in my lap.

My mouth drops open.

“That’s for you.” He pulls out an already rolled blunt. “This is for us.” He grins.

“How much did this cost?”

“Didn’t cost me shit.” He takes it back and stuffs it in his pocket. “I better hold it and give it to you at home since your jeans are tighter than virgin pussy.”

I start laughing and he flashes me a smile, sticking his tongue out.

“Been in many of those, Royce?”

He frowns at that. “Nah, actually. Haven’t.”

He’s quiet a minute, so I take another hit.

“How old were you when you lost your virginity, RaeRae?” he asks, and I tense.

He looks my way when I don’t answer, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, I ...fuck.”

I shrug, looking out at the darkness the surrounds us. “I was twelve when it was stolen. Fifteen when I gave it away.”

He runs his hand up his arm, flipping it over to study the tatts there. He won’t look up. “Wanna talk about it, RaeRae?” he whispers and my chest warms.