Break Me (Brayshaw, #5)

by Meagan Brandy

“And Micah? How’s he fit into this?” “I’ve gone to school with him for years, Royce. I know him well.” “Well,” I repeat. “Which kind of well, little Bishop?” I shuffle closer until my shoe has no more room against the step. “You know what kind of topping he likes on his pizza, or is it that you know the face he makes when he comes?”

I wait for her to shout, deny, or run away to cry, but she does none of this. Instead, she calls me out. “Don’t stand here and act like you didn’t ask him all this when you hired him, and no,” she bites out. “He didn’t tell me that. I knew I was being watched, and two and two makes four.” Watching her? “What do you mean watching you?” She sighs. “There’s no reason to deny it now.”

I’m not denying shit. He was watching her, but for a fucking day to make sure no bullshit ...

“Royce,” she calls and way too fuckin’ tender-like. Like she gets it. Like she gets me.

“I wanted to ask you to show me around today, but I thought you’d laugh or, you know.” She shrugs. “Tell me to piss off.” Damn if I don’t clench my teeth to keep my lips from twitching. “Maybe that makes me sound lame, but it’s the truth,” she admits. “I told you, don’t let fear stop you from a damn thing. Ever.” I look from her silver hair to her turquoise eyes. “Next time you want to ask me something, do it.”

“I never said I was afraid.” Her body sways slightly as her eyes move between mine. “But I will, and maybe next time you want to bring me cake... you’ll stay long enough for me to say thank you.”

“Thank you for the cake, Royce Brayshaw.” Right, cake she said. I pop a shoulder, smoothing my shirt out with my left hand. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Brielle Bishop.” “Right.” She nods.

I send two texts as I walk back to my house, the first to Micah and the second to Brielle. Me: be ready to leave in ten minutes. I’ll pick you up. Me: be ready at ten. Mac will pick you up.

She looks to me. “Oh, honey, get used to this, catalog it even. It makes for some good after-hour thoughts, if you know what I mean.” I meet her eyes and she winks. “Your boy’s got stamina, lots and lots of stamina. And since you arrived?” She giggles with a grin. “He’s pretty much exhaling testosterone, he’s so repressed.”

“You will touch no one, and no fucking one will dare to touch you. Do you understand?” I clench my teeth and look away.

“Okay, Playboy. No one touches me. I touch no one.”

He’s looking at me like a broken boy, like I hurt him and he doesn’t understand how it’s possible. That makes two of us.

“You want to play, Tink, play,” he rasps headily. “Take. Demand.” His eyes darken and he leans forward, pressing the left curve of his lips to my ear, gliding them slightly, as if he has a need to press them against me, but he refuses himself. “Demand... and receive, my little Tink.”

I climb in beside the drunken playboy, trying to ignore how his hold on me grows tighter, more possessive, with each passing second, and pretending his lips aren’t slightly brushing against the side of my neck.

I swallow. “Your cocks are on.” He smirks. “Socks!” I shout. Oh my god, what is wrong with me?! “Your socks. They’re on.”

“Come on, Playboy.” Slowly, his eyes lift to mine. “Teach me how to swim?” He stares a long moment. “I’ll have to touch you.” A laugh bubbles out of me. “Is that a problem for you?” “It will be for you.” I tip my head playfully. “Oh yeah, how so?”

“Clearly you’ve never been touched by a Bray.” Oh, he’s got jokes. Okay. I plant my feet against the wall, grip the edge, turn to look at him, and smirk back. “I’ve never been touched at all.”

Who came to my aunt’s and what the hell did he want?

August?

“Will you remember something for me?” she asks, speaking before I can respond. “I need you to remember what feels like the end, is always the beginning. My boys are tough, but I’ve known for some time that breaking into a certain one’s soul would prove to be the hardest battle yet. So just... remember those words, will you, child?” I swallow, nod, and she does the same, leaving me in the living room alone.

Royce walks around and Maddoc pushes the seat forward but makes no other move. “Fuckin’ for real?” Royce glares. Maddoc laughs. “My girl’s in the front seat to give her more room, gotta be behind her.” “Motherfucker, please. Bet your ass is behind her every fuckin’ night since her belly’s busting out in the front.” Raven laughs, fueling Royce’s fire. “Unless she’s got Ginuwine on repeat, practicin’ for a rodeo.” He grins.

I face forward. “Who’s SUV is this one?” Raven studies me. “It’s Pacman’s, why?” Pacman must be Captain considering her hand fell on his shoulder as she said it. He meets my eyes in the mirror. “Are you finicky about your car?” He gives a slow shake of his head, his smirk returning to the road. “Go for it, Bishop.” Awe, look. He gets it.

I unbuckle and climb into the back row, plopping down right beside Royce and refasten my seat belt. I look up, meeting Royce’s frown, and reach past him. His eyes trail my hand over his shoulder and past his neck. I grab his seat belt, tug it over his body and click it into place. I smile. “Playboys should always wrap it up, right?”

The light Maybell was talking about, a sliver of it shines through, and not for the first time, and it has everything to do with the stubborn, bighearted, Brayshaw. Thank you, Playboy.

I like her face like this, clear and smooth. Nothing but her. I kinda like her. Wait, no. Not like her like her, but I like her. I mean, she’s what I like. Wait! No. I mean she’s cool, as in not annoying.

She’s a pain in my ass but not the kind I want to run over with my 22’s. The kind I want to do naughty ass things to. WHOA. Bro... chill.

Virgin.

In my peripheral, her palms flatten against her thighs and start to rub. I squeeze the wheel a little tighter, my dick twitching in my trunks. Fuck, man, what am I, twelve?! She’s putting lotion on. And? Who cares! I’m not even looking, touching or rubbing and the hot dog printed over my groin is about to be a jumbo dog.

It only took one brother falling in love and risking it all, the other getting shot at and me, well, I pretty much partied through it all, came in to fuck up who needed fucked-up, and went on my merry way. Before we were wild fuckers, we were brave boys.

She loves the water, and this place offers a hell of a view.

“Climb me, Tink.” “Climb you?” she deadpans. I grin. “Like your favorite, sexy tree.” A laugh bursts from her, but she quickly swallows it, takes a deep breath, and climbs.

“What kind of king do you want to be, Royce Brayshaw?” No. Nope.

She withdraws, realizing she has no place to ask. That I have no reason to answer, and then she takes another step away and I don’t like it, the distance. The separation. So fuck it. I slide in, closing the gap she put between us and glare down at her.

“You want to know what kind of king I want to be? Fine, I’ll tell you, and then I’ll ruin you if you run around...

“I want to be the guy a girl closes her eyes at night and sees. The one she wakes thinking about ‘cause she wants to fuck me or fuck with me, fight with me. And not because she wants to gain something or prove something, but because I’m all that she can see and she feels blind without me, even if she wishes she didn’t sometimes. I want to be her light and dark and, yeah, sometimes her fucking nightmare. A fucking king in her eyes and she’d be all those things right back, the queen in mine. Of mine.”

Tension wraps around my shoulders, and I flex the cords in my neck, waiting for the laugh, the backlash, the fucking foul play to light up her wild, hypnotic eyes. I get none of that.

This girl... this fucking girl, man. She smiles, and without a hint of mockery. It’s pure and true and... fuck me, it’s gorgeous. She’s gorgeous. Beautiful.

She tips her head and my pulse kicks up, a softness in her eyes I wasn’t prepared for and I’m not sure I want to see staring back at me. Not a damn thing good can come of her looking at me like this. Like she sees me. Like she understands. Like she hopes...

The corner of her lips lift, and she does what she knows I need. She adds a little fun into her tender tone. “That’s almost sweet.” “Oh she’ll have to be sweet.” I follow her lead. “I’m a candy man.” Brielle l...

I don’t want to know what this feeling means.

Deep freaking breath, Brielle. This is who he is.

As I think it, something in the back of my mind screams it isn’t true, that the guy who just showed up is the Royce he pretends to be, the one he wants the world to see and know and fear. I see more.

His tone, it’s vile, as is the look in his eyes when he flicks them over me. “You think I’d bring you somewhere I was saving for myself, to a sacred place I wanted to hide from the world?” Another foul laugh. “Nah, baby girl. This place served its purpose when we were young. Ain’t nothin’ special or sacred about it anymore.” Dick. Head.

As if I was sitting back thinking he was sharing some piece of his soul with me by bringing me here. I didn’t. Am I glad he did? Yes, completely. But truth be told, I hadn’t even paused enough to break down our little trip out here, I was too busy appreciating the scenery, and, yeah, enjoying his company. I’m sure I would have later, but I hadn’t yet.

He laughs, I laugh, he gets pissed off and leaves. He’s angry, I make a joke, he laughs, and then he leaves. That’s how it goes, so I guess I was supposed to expect this. Hot and cold. Sweet and sour.

Unpredictable with diehard mood swings—you have to hope he’s warm on the inside when he’s warm on the out. Chances are, he’s not. Pizza freaking pocket. Screw your little Pisces complex.

“What are you doing?” His question is delivered with a sharp edge. I shimmy my shorts down and hang my clothes over a nearby tree branch to dry before stepping into the water. “What do you care what I’m doing, Playboy?” I don’t look back, eyeing the small sandbar that’s maybe thirty feet across the water. “I’m boring and your entertainment is on its way.”

I’ll stay there until his ‘party’ gets here, and then I’m going to have a good-ass time. Without him.

She’s annoying. And irritating. And the hottest fucking thing out here.

She’s soft and enigmatic, a fuckin’ tornado, sucking you into its path and keeping you there, swiveling and circling. Suffocating. A prisoner to an energy she’s clueless she possesses. The most irritating part, it ain’t just the guys, but the girls too.

She doesn’t see it, seek it or sense it. The girl is simply enjoying her damn self.