Finale: A Dark Gang Romance (Academy of Stardom Book 4)
Finale: A Dark Gang Romance: Chapter 7

“Get up, Pen,” Xeno demands, his voice low, determined. He stands, Dax, York and Zayn following suit.

I remain on the floor, my arms wrapped around my legs as I drag my gaze away from Xeno and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m tired, my face is pale, drawn, tear-stained, but despite the weakness I see before me, there’s also something else…

Inevitability.

My Breakers will fight me every step of the way. I know that, I love them for caring enough to try. But here’s the thing, we all know that dance isn’t going to save Lena. It’s not going to save the boys I love and it sure as fuck won’t save me.

Dax widens his stance, folding his arms across his chest as he glares at me. “You heard him. Get up, Kid.” Turning my head slowly, I look up at Dax, my dark angel, and see the challenge in his gaze. “Get. Up,” he repeats.

I say nothing, allowing his demand to wash over me and the words of the song to register in my muddled head. The beat vibrates up through the floor, my teeth rattling with it. Gone is the soothing words of love and support and in its place is something angrier, harsher. It’s like a slap in the face because I thought they got it. When they’d supported me with their presence a moment ago, I thought that they understood where I was coming from. I see now that isn’t the case.

“Enough is enough, Titch.” York this time.

Fuck this. I won’t be coerced.

With my anger, other feelings return, and even though my body feels heavy, exhausted from my breakdown, my mind starts to latch onto the one thing that’s going to keep me going. The need to kill. Pain begins to radiate from my hands, and I turn them over, looking at my palms and the redness of my skin. Some of my nails are broken, some bleeding where I raked them over the floorboards imagining David’s face. I’m going to kill that bastard with or without their help.

“Titch. Stand. Now!”

Pressing my eyes shut, I try to block out their voices and the music, concentrating instead on the end goal, on David’s lifeless eyes, so similar to my Mum’s, wide and vacant. Dead. Only then will I replace peace.

“You do not belong on the floor. Titch. Get the hell up.”

Jerking my head up to the left, I lock eyes with York’s icy gaze and flinch at the fire I see in them. He reads me expertly. He knows my mind, he sees my truth and his nostrils flare, his arms falling to his side as he begins to tap. It’s sudden, angry. His steps pound the floor barely inches from my crossed legs. It’s a challenge. He’s pushing me to react.

“Get the fuck up, Titch!” York roars.

He stamps his feet in harsh beats all the while staring at me.

Ball. Shuffle. Change.

Stomp. Slide. Stamp. Stomp. Slide. Stamp.

STAMP.

York gets too close, and I’m forced to shuffle away from his pounding, angry feet, only to replace Dax’s legs pressing into my side. I jerk away, but he crouches down, grabs my upper arm and yanks me to my feet. I try to pull free from his hold, but his fingers just curl tighter. He snarls, then lowers his mouth to my ear.

“You don’t get to turn your back on dance, not because of that cunt,” he seethes, his anger as broiling as my own. Letting me go, Dax doesn’t give me a chance to respond, instead he spins on his right foot and kicks out in a pirouette. His body is light, but filled with incredible power as he moves. The music feeds his anger and his steps as he dances. I swallow hard, refusing to look at him. Dropping my head, I twist on my feet and walk towards the door.

“No! You’re staying.”

“Get out of my way, Zayn,” I say, trying to step around him. He simply blocks my path, planting a firm hand on my shoulder. “I can’t do this.”

“You face this. Right the fuck now,” he replies, twisting me around. He wraps one arm around my waist and lifts my chin firmly, his fingers digging into my skin, forcing me to look. “Do you see that? Do you see how you brought them back to life? You did that with dance, Pen. Dance brought us back together,” he repeats, hammering his point home. “It healed us. You stop dancing, then what we have together, it will fucking die. It might not happen right away, but it will happen. This is who we are underneath all the fucking bullshit. Do you really want that?”

“Please, don’t do this. I can’t…”

The words of the song seep into my thoughts, coating me in guilt. They goad me as much as his words flay me open. This is a song about fighting. About darkness, about refusing to give up, refusing to give in. But it’s Zayn’s words that hit me harder, like a punch to the stomach.

I’m winded from them.

“We need each other, Pen.”

He’s right, I need them so much. I need us, but I need Lena safe more. They said they would teach me to defend myself against David, to kill him should it get to that point, but what they don’t understand is that I have to be the one to end his life and I can’t do that if this violence and rage I feel right now is tempered by dance.

“He’s ruined everything,” I croak, and for the briefest of moments, Zayn loosens his hold on my face. Everything was ruined because of my brother. Everything that happened to us was because he forced me to walk away from them. I wasn’t strong enough then to fight back, but I have to be now. I have to be. “I can’t do this if you force me to dance…”

Zayn growls, moving forward so that I’m forced to move with him. He’s too big, too strong for me to fight off. “You can. You will,” he insists.

When I try to plant my feet on the floor, Zayn lifts me off the ground and strides with me towards Xeno. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of me this whole damn time and I see how his body vibrates with energy, with tension that’s only heightened by York’s angry tap and Dax’s enraged steps as they both continue to dance behind him. Two very different dances. Two completely different men, both connected by history, by brotherhood, by dance.

Swallowing hard, I drag my gaze away from them and back to Xeno. His fingers curl around my wrist and he pulls me out of Zayn’s hold. I slam into his chest, the air forced out of my lungs. Grasping my face in his curled fingers, Xeno slams his lips against mine. I gasp, shocked by the sudden kiss as he slides his angry tongue into my mouth, bruising my lips and my heart. Gone is the man who stroked my hip with gentle fingers and in his place is the Xeno who can’t keep a lid on his emotions.

Volatile. Dangerous. Unhinged.

“You can only push so far until we’re forced to push back,” he says, the words a dark threat against my lips.

Panting, I try to shake out of his hold, but he grins, then twists me around and yanks me back against his chest, holding me firm just like Zayn had a moment ago.

“Zayn, get your knife. Now!” he orders, his voice low, menacing with intent.

“Why?” I ask, hating that my voice wobbles.

Zayn’s gaze flickers with something that I can’t interpret in the moment, then he nods curtly before turning on his heel and striding from the room. Whilst he’s gone, Xeno forces me to watch Dax and York dance once more.

“Don’t you feel that?”

“Don’t,” I bite out, twisting my head away, only for his fingers to tighten around my jaw as he jerks my head back around. Every dance step, every movement, is a hammer smashing through my determination.

They’re warriors. Brothers. Fighters.

Monsters.

They’re my lovers. My best friends. My heart.

They’re the other pieces of my soul.

My chest heaves. My skin itches with the need to shred myself from this feeling. David has well and truly messed with my head. He’s done the one thing I vowed to never let him do. He’s taken my love for dancing and twisted it into something painful, something I want to push away, not embrace.

Xeno’s soft breath tickles my cheek as he leans over me, tightening his hold. “I don’t fucking believe in God, Tiny, but I do believe in angels. Dax was always your dark angel, but you, you were always mine. You brought me back to life. Fuck, don’t you understand that?”

“Xeno…” My voice breaks, and I will myself to gather the pieces of myself and hold them together. Strong. I have to remain strong.

“Look at them!” he demands as Dax flips forward then slides into the splits at the same time as York leaps over his head, dropping to the other side. His feet move so fast I can barely follow the tap steps. My eyes drag up his body, then meet his gaze. For a moment I think he’s going to say something to Xeno, but he grits his jaw, twists around and holds his hand out to Dax. Their eyes meet and they both nod, a silent agreement made between them as York pulls Dax to his feet. Then with their hands still joined, they press their foreheads together, their free hands reaching up and grasping each other’s shoulder. York grits his teeth, and as the next beat of the song drops, he taps in a way that reminds me of how a boxer would move his feet in a fight. Dax’s top lip curls up in a menacing glare that completely contradicts the love in his eyes.

This is two powerful men facing off. Two best friends fighting for each other. For us. For me.

My heart fucking swells in shame, in love, in fear and frustration.

“See how they fight, Tiny. See how they fight.”

I swallow hard, choking back the tears. Dax pushes against York, forcing him backwards, their foreheads still pressed together.

Dax, the bare knuckle fighter. York, the boxer.

York taps, Dax counters with steps of his own. York grins wickedly then shoves Dax backwards. They part, bouncing on their feet. Sparring, dancing, fighting. I watch, entranced, as they merge the disciplines into a mashup of movement that takes my argument and strangles the life out of it.

York throws the first punch. Dax ducks, his right leg sliding out as he spins away before rising up on his toes and jabbing his fist in an uppercut. York jumps back, his feet move quickly as he bounces on his toes, waiting, intermittently cutting into a tap sequence then back to bouncing as though he can’t contain either side of his personality. Dax launches forward, throwing a punch that clips York’s jaw. The force of the punch throws York’s head to the side and I suck in a breath at the blood that splits his lip, but York won’t be deterred. Grinning with bloodied teeth, he pulls back his fist throwing all his weight behind it as his whole body moves with the punch, but Dax spins away in a barrel jump before he can even reach him. York doesn’t give up. He comes for Dax, chasing with fast feet, tapping and sliding, throwing punch after punch whilst Dax dodges and weaves until, eventually, they’re no longer fighting but dancing once more.

It’s breathtaking.

“Don’t you see, Tiny?” Xeno asks, drawing my attention back to him and the way his thumb slowly circles my jaw, easing over the tenderness from Zayn and his bruising grip.

“I know I’ve seen enough…” I bite out, battling the overwhelming desire to join them.

Lost within their movements, sweat beads on Dax and York’s skin, and I feel the heat from their bodies as they move around us. It blankets us, and is comforting in a way that I wish it wasn’t right now.

“No you haven’t. You’ve not seen nearly enough,” Xeno counters, pressing his nose into my hair and breathing in deeply before continuing. “You’re not the only one battling the violence inside. We do it every second of every day, and the only thing keeping us from fucking tearing everyone and everything apart is you. You gave us back our souls through dance. Don’t you get it? We’d become senseless, soulless creatures without you, without movement. Together.”

“Please, Xeno, you have to stop…” I’m begging now, and I don’t care how that sounds. I don’t want to be forced into seeing this, into feeling this way, into wanting to dance.

“No, Tiny. I won’t. You’ve seen the monsters we hide. They scared you.” I whimper at his words, at the truth I can’t deny. “Didn’t they, Tiny?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you’re so willing for us to become those monsters again.”

“No.” I shake my head fiercely. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me, about what I’m capable of.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. This is about all of us!”

“Stop it,” I whimper, crying now. I hate myself for it. For the tears that continue to fucking pour and not give me any relief. I feel weakened by them and it angers me.

Soft Pen. Kind Titch. Loving Tiny. Sweet Kid.

Flipping me around in his arms, Xeno narrows his eyes at me. “I won’t stop until you listen.”

“I have to let dance go.”

“No.”

“Yes,” I argue.

“Tiny, when you walked away before we didn’t just lose you, we lost the ability to dance, to replace our home within the steps. A part of us died, Tiny.”

“This is different! I’m not leaving you. I’m just not dancing. That’s all.”

“Bullshit. You’re turning your back on who you are, on us as a family, a fucking crew. Fuck, I ripped myself open for you, Tiny, and for what? For you to abandon us like this?” His words hurt, scoring more pain on top of pain. When will it end?

“I didn’t know how hard loving me would be, and I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry it hurts you so much. I’m sorry I can’t be who you need me to be.”

“Don’t you remember what you said to me?” he asks, his voice lowering. There’s a tremor to it that guts me.

“No, I don’t,” I respond, swallowing hard, remembering only too well. I remember how he danced that day in the Freed’s home gym. I remember how raw, how passionate, how utterly breathtaking he’d been. How real. I saw who he truly was that day and loved him for it. I still love him for it.

“You said that you didn’t want to punish me. I believed you.”

“I don’t want to punish you,” I whisper, feeling my resolve splinter and crack at his vulnerability.

“You said that we’d all suffered enough.”

“Please, don’t do this. I’m not strong enough. I need to be strong enough.”

“We’re asking you, Tiny,” Xeno continues. “No, we’re fucking begging you. Don’t turn your back on dance. We need it as much as we need you, and we can’t dance without you. It would destroy us.”

“I can’t be her, Xeno. I can’t be that girl if I want to beat David. If I want to kill David.” I drag in a fortifying breath and continue on. “If I want to survive in your world, I have to let that side of me go. Dance softens me. It makes me weak.”

“No it doesn’t!” His fingers curl into my upper arms, and behind him Dax and York stop dancing, their attention focused on us now. Their chests heave with breathlessness, their muscles ripple with exertion and their skin shimmers with sweat. I swallow hard, dragging my gaze away from them and forcing myself to speak my truth.

“Softness gets your heart broken. Kindness makes you weak. Love makes you a burden and sweetness makes you a target. I understand that now.”

“You’re so fucking wrong, Tiny. Dance has always been the key. Always. It gave you strength when you felt weak. It gave you a voice when you didn’t have the words to speak. It’s what bound five broken souls together and made them one unit. Dance is your greatest weapon, our greatest weapon. It always has been. We were never weaker than when we were apart, absent of dance.”

“No,” I reply stubbornly, all the while knowing that there’s a whole lot of truth in his statement that I don’t want to acknowledge. His words have impact, his fierceness is like a pair of scissors snipping at my resolve.

“No? Then let us remind you what we look like without dance,” he says, letting me go with a shove. I fall back against a firm chest. Zayn’s chest. A moment later, a blade is pressed against my throat.

“Zayn, what are you doing?” I stiffen, fear cutting off my tears as I’m reminded of that night when Frederico threatened my life and died for it.

“Showing you the monster buried inside,” he replies, his voice dark, unrecognisable.

Xeno, Dax and York step forward. Something about them shifts. Something that scares me. Gone is the compassion, the protectiveness, the fierce, undeniable love, and before me stands men void of humanity.

“Please…”

Dax locks his gaze with mine. “Do you see the monsters?” he asks, stepping forward.

“Yes,” I pant.

Xeno cants his head, his thick curls falling sideways.. “Can you hear them?”

“Yes,” I whisper, shivering at his guttural, monstrous voice.

Zayn runs the flat edge of the knife against my neck. I feel the cool metal against my hot skin and a shiver of fear runs down my spine. “Can you feel them?” he asks me.

“Y—yes.”

“Now tell me again why you think turning your back on dance is the right decision,” Xeno presses, steeping closer. He takes the knife from Zayn, grabs the handle and turns the knife on himself. I let out a screech as he presses the tip against his chest, right over his heart. “Because the way I see it, dance is the only thing stopping us from losing our souls and letting out these monsters once and for all. The four of us have been walking a tightrope for years. Balancing on a thin length of rope, holding onto the last shred of our humanity. Since returning, since being with you again, dancing with you again, that tightrope has turned into a wooden plank. Something safer, stronger. But if you give up dance then so do we, and our safety net is gone. We’ll fall into the pits of Hell with no way of clawing ourselves back up. I’d rather die than let that happen.”

“No,” I whimper.

“Yes,” he hisses, digging the knife deeper. A fleck of blood blooms against his white t-shirt, growing as he cuts his skin.

“If you want to be a monster, a real monster like your brother, then turn your back on dance. Take away our safety net. Fuck, you may as well take this knife and stab me in the motherfucking heart and kill me. Kill Dax, York, Zayn. Do it!” he seethes, all the while digging the knife in further, the tip slicing through his t-shirt and skin.

“STOP!” I yell, pushing out of Zayn’s hold and grabbing Xeno’s hand, pulling it and the knife away from his chest. We stand glaring at one another; my rib cage expands and contracts like a bellow fanning the flames of a fire. Dax and York step on either side of Xeno, their nostrils flaring and chests heaving. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose any of you,” I whisper.

Zayn steps forward and gently takes the knife from Xeno. He slides it back into its sheath then hands it to me with shaking fingers. “Do you understand now, Pen?” he asks me, his voice breaking, pleading.

I nod, swiping at my face.

“Then tell us, Titch, why do you need to keep dancing?” York asks, swallowing hard. He swipes at his split lip with the back of his hand, smearing the blood across his pale skin.

“To stop me from turning into a monster,” I whisper.

“No,” Xeno replies, shaking his head. “You have to keep dancing to make sure that we don’t.”