Trouble at Brayshaw High (Brayshaw, #2)(82)

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, her hand shooting up to grip mine.

I squeeze, but my hold doesn’t grow tighter.

I shove, but she remains standing.

I move to swing, but nothing happens.

My knees give, and I fall forward, a fog taking over my vision as dark shadows bounce in and out of focus. Feet pounding against pavement echoes in my ears and I try to speak, but nothing comes out.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them, a flash of blue appears before darkness takes over.

“It’s okay, Rae,” Vienna whispers. “It’s just a little Special K. And he promised not to hurt you.”



“She’s stirring, should I inject her again?”

I frown, my eyes slowly fluttering open. It takes a few moments for me to regain focus and when I do, my eyes land on a window at first.

I blink a few times, but it doesn’t do much to help.

My head starts pounding and I move to lift my hand to it in reflex, but it doesn’t budge.

Right then, a deep chuckle hits my ears, and my eyes dart around, spotting a silver-haired man sitting opposite of me, a Stepford wife look-alike at his side, but when I blink she becomes clearer.

Collins’ maid?

I try to tilt my head, that’s when I realize I’m lying flat, my back parallel with the seat as they sit right side up.

I move to shoot upward, but my limbs won’t work.

“Where the hell am I? Who the hell are you?”

The man grins, his age showing in the crow’s feet framing his eyes. He tips his head. “Well, hello to you, too.”

“Sir, shall I inject her again?”

That has my eyes snapping down, looking over my body I spot someone sitting by my feet – another man.

“Was I unclear?” the silver-haired man asks in a firm voice. “I told you, bare minimum, I need her speaking.”

“Where the hell am I?!” I shout, but it comes out muffled and sluggish.

He speaks to the man again but keeps his eyes on me. “Continue, Doc.” He grins, folding his hands in front of him. “You’re in the back of my limo, of course. A bit cliché, if you ask me, I prefer a town car, but I needed the space for today’s adventure.”

The man, who’s maybe mid-fifties, leans closer. “Do you know who I am?”

“A piece of shit.”

He lifts his hands as if he agrees. “My name is Donley Graven, and this is the less than spectacular and of no importance or strength, Estella Graven.” He motions to the woman at his side who doesn’t speak. He sits back in his seat and lights a cigar while the man pulls the needle from my arm and situates himself.

“Collins’ maid,” I rasp.

Donley nods. “Yes, and his mother.”

“He got less than he deserved.”

The woman says nothing but Donley chuckles. “I bet.”

“What do you ...” I swallow past the dryness in my throat. “What do you want from me?”

“Confirmation,” he says flatly.

The thin man by my feet drops down to his knees beside me and I stare as he pushes up my sleeve, ties a knot just above my elbow, and slides a needle into my arm with ease.

My breathing speeds up as blood spills into the tube at the end.

“Don’t panic,” Donley tells me. “It’s just a little blood, Brayshaw. If what I heard is correct, you are quite fond of it on a normal day.”

I don’t take my eyes off the man’s movements. “What kind of confirmation are you looking for?” I ask, knowing he won’t answer me.

“I must say.” My eyes fly to his when the squish of leather sounds. He moves closer. “You are quite beautiful. Exquisite, really, though you don’t seem to know it.” His voice lowers. “Perhaps that’s the key though, hm? A quiet beauty so loud it seizes every soul on sight. That is what’s happened here, isn’t it? All those around you have fallen for the allure.” His eyes trace over me and my stomach turns. “I bet she hates you for it, your beauty...” He trails off and I frown. “Likely even told you otherwise your entire life?”

“You know her.”

He ignores me again. “Shame really, when you could have been loved and fawned over, reminded of your perfection every day. Raised like the princess you were meant to be.”

I frown at the fascination he boldly shows.

“Tell me, sweet Raven. Has he told you yet?” He tilts his head. “Rolland, I mean.”

Shit. He knows.

“Last night.” Donley’s eyes harden. “When he got home, did he tell you I’d be paying you a visit?”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out and he clicks his tongue, sitting back.

“Shame, I told him patience wasn’t on the menu.”

Wait. What?

“You talked to him?”

“Had lunch with him even, before he went home.”

Rolland lied.

“Tell me, are you a virgin?” Donley asks.

Panic fights its way up my throat, but I force it back. “Fuck you.”

He sighs, lifting a hand to the man at my feet. “Defiant, just like her,” he muses to himself.

The man at my feet moves to the floorboard. Propped up on his knees, he scoops his arms under me and pulls until my back hits the carpet beside him.