I do, finding the little white car still sitting idle in the red-painted no parking zone directly in front of the steps of the school’s double doors.

Mac is leaning back, biting into a burger with his phone in his hand, while Royce remains exactly as I left him, half hanging from the window, eyes on mine.

“You can go now!” I shout loud enough for him to hear.

“I’m good.” He cocks his head, drumming his long, resilient fingers against the frame, the tattoos on his forearm shifting and coming alive with each small twitch of his muscles.

As if the gods realize one of their own is among them and his presence needs amplifying, the sun breaks through the clouds above, shining down on him. A heavy gleam flashes, exposing the hint of silver curled around the back of his neck, the chain hiding close to his chest.

As my gaze glides lower, seeking out the form beneath his T-shirt, his palm slaps against the doorframe, pulling my attention back to his face. “Go on, get to class Brielle Bishop, I’ll be right here when you get out.”

I grip my bag tighter. “Why?”

“Why not?”

I look at my phone and back to him. “It’s nine o’clock. You’ll be waiting hours.”

“Got time.”

“Do you, though?” The thought of him out here all day has unease clogging my throat. “Shouldn’t you be in school or something, or did you drop out? Or maybe, since your high school is named after your family, you don’t have to apply yourself at all at Brayshaw High, so here you are, bored and at mine.”

What in the... what’s wrong with me?!

I know what this well wrapped, rich Robin Hood is capable of.

“Maybe.” Royce licks his lips, spinning the matte black band on his right ring finger. “And maybe, smart-ass, you should turn around, show me that ass again as you walk it to class, unless you want me to play your shadow all day.”

I might blush if the thought of him following me around didn’t make me want to vomit, because hell no! That would make my life worse. This school and everyone in it, we have an understanding—I’m the odd outsider they refuse to accept, and I let them. It works perfectly, makes them feel empowered, and I’m not forced to share my story. Add this guy into that equation and into the gutter that goes.

The questions will once again be whispered, and my aunt will punish me for it—oh, what a scandal it would be for our family secrets to be spread among the town.

As if her reality isn’t enough of a reason to judge her.

I pretend I couldn’t care less, pop my hip out and go with, “My boyfriend wouldn’t like that.”

I wait, watching for a hint of oh shit or anything that indicates I’ve thrown him off or, you know, something.

The guy doesn’t even blink, so I try again.

“Are you really going to sit here all day?” I ask, but it seems he’s done talking.

Left with nothing else to say, I head into the school, doing my best not to overthink each step.

Only once I’m through the doors do I pause to take the first deep breath since approaching him in the back yard.

He’s hunted me down, asking I keep a secret when I know as well as he does, he has no trust I’d do it.

I have no doubt he threw out the little question with purpose, but he’s the fool if he believes my spending the last several years miles and miles away erases the fact I was born where he was. In a place where loyalty is vital, trust is as highly sought out as it is hard to come by, and family is the key to all.

I know full well how, to them, family has nothing to do with the one you’re born into but centered around those you’d be willing to ride for, to hurt, and sometimes die for.

None of this means I’ve adapted to their ways, but I am aware of how their world works.

He thinks he’s cunning, testing me without testing me.

He’s wrong.

“Get to class, Ms. Bishop.”

I glance to the right and offer a small smile to our campus security guard.

As I pass, he calls me to a stop. “Ms. Bishop?”

I already know what he’s about to say, my muscles coiling as I glance over my shoulder. “I have a migraine.”

“Those seem to be coming more often.” His solemn expression gives him away—he doesn’t buy my headache stories. “Your aunt take you to get that doctor’s note we asked you for about these frequent… migraines?”

Got to love small towns, everyone knows who you belong to.

“Not yet.” She’d have to care enough to realize the swelling is coming more often for that to happen, and I’m not about to tell her—not that it would make a difference if I did. The woman can hardly look at me, there’s no way she could handle an entire forty-five-minute doctor’s trip.

George gives a tight grin. I know he wishes he could pick and choose what school rules to reinforce and when. He’s a good man like that. “Then I’m afraid the dress code stands, Ms. Bishop.”

I nod, and for his sake, make sure to smile wide. “Sure thing, George.”

I slip my glasses from my face, slide them in the front pocket and continue to class with a limp as heavy as my sigh.

Another day in is a day closer to the out.

Why is it getting harder and harder to remember this?

Chapter 3

Royce

I bite into my burrito, finally looking at Mac who has been waiting for my attention, and he doesn’t miss his chance.

“Burrito cold?” he teases, food half-chewed in his mouth.

I laugh. “Fuck off. This bitch is hitting the spot, even at nine in the morning. Ask what you wanna ask, dick.”

He grins, digging his fries out of the bag. “What’d Bass Bishop do to push you into coming all the way out here to pay his baby sister a visit?”

“The motherfucker crossed a line when he forgot his place.” I shrug. “We hired him to keep the assholes in the group home in line at the school, run bets, and bring in fighters at the warehouses. He had no business mixing himself into deeper-rooted Brayshaw business.”

“You mean with Raven?” he asks about one of the newest members of my family.

The one and only person I’d give my all to, should she ask me for it, my brother’s new wife, and the last remaining bloodline of the Brayshaw name.

Everyone knows my brothers and I were adopted into the reigning family of our town as infants, mine and Captain’s fathers having died for the name not long before that, and Maddoc’s the one left in control. Maddoc’s dad became ours, and since then, we’ve earned our place. Raven just happens to be a larger piece of the puzzle we didn’t know was missing.

I nod. “When Raven showed up at our group home, we knew as much about her as we do the rest of them, little to nothing, but enough. She was in no way a part of us yet, so we gave no fucks about her friendship with Bishop, but once things changed, we told him to stay away. The fucker didn’t. He had her fighting in our rings, helped her run from us when she felt she had to protect us, allowed her to get herself into trouble and didn’t tell us. We could have lost her, and it would have been his head if we had.”

“That’s a lot to risk for a guy like him,” Mac eases. “Came empty-handed, had nothing but what he earned under your name.”