Lyrical (Academy of Stardom, #2)

by Bea Paige

Xeno

I learnt the value of kindness and understanding from her. I learnt the importance of friendship and loyalty from the Breakers. And I learnt to be a ruthless, violent bastard from the Skins.

They might have deserved to get a bullet between the eyes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I took their lives. It also doesn’t change the fact that I used a dance I love to seduce their wives to find out as much as I could about them. I never slept with the women, not ever, but being their private bachata teacher was how I learned their husbands’ secrets. It’s amazing what a woman will say when they think they’re going to get fucked. I don’t feel any guilt.

Zayn, Dax, York, they’re my ride or die. The choices I make are for those motherfuckers, my brothers. Every damn time.

We were the best dance crew in London, and when Pen joined us, we became a goddamn family. That tiny little girl who’d walked into our basement battered, bruised and with balls of steel, had done something no other girl could. She made us love her.

We would all do anything for her. She taught us how to love, and then she broke our fucking hearts. I told her that we’d returned to reclaim what’s ours. She believes that’s her. She’s wrong. I let her destroy us once before. There isn’t a chance in hell I’ll allow her to do that again. She can tempt me with her fire and her fury. She can kiss me and almost bring me to my goddamn knees. She can dance until the very fucking pit of my soul starts to revive but I cannot, will not, let her back in. And neither will they. I’ll make sure of it.

Pen

I have a choice. I know that. Fight back and sign Lena’s death warrant. Obey and get raped. Running is no longer an option. It never was. “That’s it, Penelope, do the right thing,” Jeb sneers as I turn to face him.

“I’m sure Zayn will make you feel good, Penelope. I’ve heard he’s quite the lover.” Jeb’s laughter scratches down my spine, making me stiffen as bile burns my throat.

Tonight Zayn is playing his doppelganger for the sole purpose of fucking me in front of all these bastards. What I don’t understand is why Jeb gives a shit anyway? Why does he feel he needs to hide his sexual preferences? What difference does being gay make? This is the twentieth century for fuck’s sake. “Pretty girl, just fucking relax. You loved him once. I’m sure he’ll make it good for you…” Jeb has the gall to say, his blasé attitude boiling my blood. “I can’t believe Zayn would agree to this. I know I hurt him, but this?” “You know you want it. Don’t lie to yourself, Penelope. I bet you’re wet thinking about Zayn fucking you in front of the Breakers. Isn’t that what pissed your brother off so much, knowing that you were a whore for them?”

Zayn agreed to this. And that’s unforgivable. “So what’s it to be, Penelope? We could do this the easy way or the hard way, but either way, you’re getting fucked right here in front of all these people.” “Why does it even matter? Why do you care so much about what people think of you? Fuck a man, Jeb. Grow some goddamn balls,” I hiss, trying to buy some time, not caring that my words will piss him off. The longer he’s standing here arguing with me, the better. Maybe I can keep him occupied long enough for this debauchery to be over. I might pay for it later, but I’m going to take my chances. Jeb steps closer, gripping my upper arm as he yanks me towards him. “Don’t try and psychoanalyse me, bitch. It doesn’t matter why I do what I do. It only matters that you fucking obey!” he sneers.

I know I’m strong. I’ve survived years of abuse, but this. How can I survive this? I loved Zayn. I still love him despite everything, but that love is quickly draining away like water through sand.

“Don’t fight this, Penelope. You need to put on a convincing show; your baby sister’s life depends on it,” Jeb reminds me. I clamp my mouth shut on the sob that threatens to break free. I will do anything for Lena. Anything. I survived what happened before. I’ll survive this. My feet feel leaden with every step, but I don’t fight. I keep walking. On the far side of the warehouse, I see their red skull masks. They look like the devil’s henchmen, waiting for my return. Waiting to break me.

“I see the fear in your eyes, girl. This isn’t the place for that. Do what you need to survive.”

Jeb whistles low, his fingers digging into my upper arm as we move away from them. “You’ve caught the attention of The Belladonnas. Interesting.” “The Belladonnas?” I ask, again trying to distract him. “Yeah, those bitches run Manchester. No one moves drugs in or out of that city without their say so, but their time will come,” he explains, the arrogant arsehole.

“Here we go, Sir,” Jeb says, smiling with glee as he pushes me towards Zayn.

I don’t want his pity. I want him to stand up against Jeb. I need him to do the right thing. I have to hope he’s still capable of it. “Where have you been?” Zayn asks, flicking his gaze between us both. There are questions in his eyes that remind me of the night I broke his heart. Questions he should’ve voiced back then instead of holding inside. Not one of the Breakers questioned my actions. They let me go.

“We’re back. Now the fun can really start.” Not one of the Breakers speak up. All four of them remain tight-lipped. Out of everyone here I thought at least Dax would do something. He was the one who always protected me, who came to my rescue first. My Dark Angel. Not this time. This time I have to save myself.

“You wanted a show. I’m going to give you one you’ll never forget,” I say, then remove my mask and place it on the table. My trembling fingers linger over the shiny plastic as I hold back the tears pricking my eyes. There are too many memories bound up in that mask. That night, three years ago, I might have removed this mask, just like I have now, but I hid behind another of my own making to save my sister, to save these four men sitting before me now. Tonight, I’m going to lay myself bare to save myself and buy some time. Right now I need the Breakers to see into the very heart of me.

I look at Dax first, my eyes boring into his. He holds my stare, his mouth pressed into a hard line. On the table, his leather-clad fingers curl into a fist. He’s barely holding onto that anger he’s so famous for.

Next I turn to face York. He studies me closely, and this time when he looks at me, I don’t hide a thing. I lay myself bare. If he can still read me like he could so well when we were kids, he’ll know exactly how I’m feeling now. In fact, I’m counting on it. Beside him, Xeno meets my gaze with a hard stare of his own. He was always the most difficult to reach and now it’s no different. I swallow hard, my heart aching for everything we had and all that we’ve lost. “Come on, Penelope, we haven’t got all night,” Jeb says from behind me.

I finally focus on Zayn who is glaring at his uncle. “Jeb, I need you to look at me,” I say to Zayn, barely holding onto my disgust for his part in this charade. There’s a firmness to my voice that’s sharp, lethal. To feel this way towards Zayn isn’t something I’m used to. Hurt and disappointment, yes, but never disgust. Feeling like this cuts me deeply, and I want to hurt him back.

The speakers blast out Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier, adding to the already oppressive atmosphere. The moaning around us intensifies. The fucking becomes even more frenzied, feeding into the sin and carnal pleasure that unravels at every table.

I can’t back out now. Blocking out everyone around us, I concentrate on Zayn. “Turn your chair around and face me,” I repeat, lowering my voice and softening those sharp edges just enough to give him pause. “I don’t take orders from you,” he replies, the tone of his voice dark, glittering with challenge and lust. Behind us, Jeb sniggers. He’s fucking loving this. Screw him. “I have something you want, and I can’t give it to you if you’re tucked beneath the table.” “Fuck,” York grinds out, and I can hear the disbelief in his voice. I ignore him. I ignore the heat of the Breakers’ stares. If this is going to work I’m going to need more than their eyes on me. I’m going to need the whole fucking warehouse to take note. Zayn shifts his chair around to face me, his legs widening so that I can step into the space he makes. He leans back, his hands on his thighs, his fingers relaxed as he watches me.

“What is it that you think I want?” he asks, not taking his eyes off of me. His ebony irises bore into my skin, piercing flesh and bone, aiming right for my heart. It’s now or never. I have to keep Lena safe. “This,” I whisper, then twist away from him, part my legs and bend at the waist, my dress riding up around my hips with the movement. My hands grab my ankles as I look up at him from between my calves. My hair falls in a shroud around my face as Zayn stares at the silky material of my black, lacy underwear that rides up my arse and wraps around my pussy lips, leaving little to the imagination. His mouth parts and his teeth bite into his bottom lip. That chipped tooth I love leaving an indent. He wants me.

This is as close to my pussy they’re ever going to get. On the next beat, I straighten up. Twirling on the ball of my left foot, I spin around to face Zayn, my loose hair flaring around me as I move, lashing at my skin. My chest heaves, my face flushes with heat and my fingers curl into my palms. I’m aware that the skirt of my dress has hitched up to reveal the bottom of my arse cheeks, and the mound of my knicker-covered pussy, but I don’t pull it down. Let them look. Let them all fucking look.

Zayn’s gaze snaps up to meet mine just as the words of the song hang in the air around us, a heavy shroud of truth, precise in its timing. When I was a kid, I was fooled by the Breakers. I’d believed that they’d loved me. I’d believed they’d always have my back, would always fight in my corner. It was all lies. Now all I’m left with is this fire burning inside of me ready to eviscerate everything in its path. “Pen…” Zayn murmurs, his fingers gripping hold of the material of his trousers tightly as I glare back at him.

I lean over, rest my hands on Zayn’s shoulder and whisper into his ear. “You cannot take what isn’t freely given, Zayn Bernard. You fucking disappoint me.” With that I place my bare foot on the chair between his open thighs and step up onto the table, kicking the glasses and bottles out of my way. I get a feeling of satisfaction as one of the goblets hits Jeb on the arm, before crashing to the floor. I’m going to pay for that, but right now I don’t give a shit. He jerks towards me, baring his teeth but Zayn holds his arm out, preventing him from getting close. I don’t get to think about that too much because with the next beat, I slam my left foot on the table and proceed to follow up with an angry time-step. I might have slowed down the step a little to compliment the beat of the song, but it still conveys the emotion I wish to get across.

York, I can see he’s beginning to understand. Thoughts whir behind his icy-blue eyes as he watches me intently. In fact they’re all watching me. If they wanted a show, they’re going to get one, just not the one they expected. Dance has saved me countless times before. I’ve no doubt in my mind that it’s going to do the same tonight. It has to.

Zayn

Pen stands before me, a fucking goddess. Wild, beautiful, angry.

Her wrath, her fire and fury, it all bleeds out of her, scalding me with a passion that is raw, powerful, and oxygen stealing. I can’t fucking breathe. She just bent over provocatively. Her shapely legs, her rounded arse and the slash of her knicker-covered pussy bared for me. I damn near fucking came in my pants like a teenage boy. I wanted to press my face against her slit and fuck her with my tongue. I wanted to do that so fucking bad. I’m hard for her. So fucking hard. I don’t doubt that everyone around this table is too. But everything about this is wrong.

I lost my passion for dance the night Pen walked away from us. We all did.

Now, as Pen stares at me with a rage befitting the music flooding my senses, all I want to do is dance with her just like we did when we were kids. She’s lit a match between all of us. Xeno can deny it all he wants, but I know him, and he wants Pen as much as the rest of us. Fuck, if I thought she wanted it, I’d take her here and now. “Pen…” I murmur, my fingers curling into my trousers so tightly I think my knucklebones might just rip through my skin.

She’s so fucking strong. She always was. I hold her gaze, forcing myself to take on her wrath. This is the first time since she danced in the studio that she’s allowed us to see her. And, boy, do I fucking see her. When she rests her hands on my shoulders, and leans over, I bite down on this feral need I have to take her. Gritting my jaw, I hold back not because I don’t want her, not because I’m afraid to finish what we started all those years ago, but because Pen hasn’t agreed to this. She doesn’t want me to fuck her and to give in to my base needs. There’s a pang in my chest that has never, ever fucking gone away when it comes to this woman. To fuck her now like this would be rape. Plain and fucking simple.

Her fingers squeeze tighter as her lips graze across my ear. “You cannot take what isn’t freely given, Zayn Bernard. You fucking disappoint me.” And even though her words sting, her naivety floors me because I could take, I just choose not to. With one last fleeting look, she steps up onto the table, then takes my fucking breath away.

Pen

I’m not a victim. Not tonight. Fuck that. Dax might knock his opponents out with lethal punches and kicks. Zayn might slash his victims with the sharpened point of a knife. York might crucify his enemies with fists that break bones. Xeno might torture his adversaries with something far worse. And Jeb might ruin lives with threats to the ones I love. But tonight I’m fighting back.

Tonight, all eyes are going to be on me. But it will be on my terms. They can look, they can want, but they sure as fuck can’t touch.

I’m Pen and these bastards can kiss my arse. By the time I’ve finished I’m going to be wanted by every man and woman in this place, but only owned by one. Jeb, the leader of the Skins. Well, at least that’s what I’ll allow him to think. Because no one truly owns me. No. One.

Heat pervades the air alongside a desperate kind of longing. I’ve longed for the Breakers’ return. Deep down inside, all I’ve ever wanted is for them to come back into my life, to beg for forgiveness, to allow me the opportunity to beg for theirs. I’ve never wanted to fix what was broken more than I do now. This need I have for them, the friendship I yearn for, the love that breaks my heart, is all encompassing.

I love them. I fucking hate them. I want them. I never ever want to see them again.

I dance with every last part of my soul, every last drop of energy as anger and love burns inside my chest. I grab hold of those feelings with gritted teeth and clawed fingers and don’t let go. We all have a demon within us, just like Hozier sings. My demons have been eating away at me for three fucking years. It’s time to set them free.

Bending backwards in an arch, my palms nearing the edge of the table between York and Dax, I flip over, landing on my feet between them.

I glare at my Breakers with curled fists and fierce determination. All four of them are hidden in the shadows, their expressions unseen from this distance, but I know I’ve hit them where it hurts. I fucking know it.

Pen

“That was quite incredible. You are an outstanding dancer,” a deep male voice says to me, proving my point. This man has an accent. I’m no expert, but it sounds Russian or eastern European with the way his lips wrap around the w making it sound more like a v. I don’t respond to his compliment, focusing instead on getting my pulse back to a less dangerous beat and trying not to succumb to the black spots threatening my vision. He slowly lowers himself into a crouch beside me and I see a white shirt rolled up to the elbows to reveal tan skin and dark hair covering thick forearms. “Look at me, piękna tancerka,” he says,

“My name is Malik; I’d like you to accompany me to my table. There are matters I wish to discuss with you,” he says, and though on the surface it sounds like a request, it comes out as an order, one I’m betting most people will follow or lose their life for disobeying him. Except I’m not most people and I’m done with being ordered around tonight. “I’m with someone,” I respond,

Beyond the spotlight lighting up the cage, I hear a commotion, though I can’t make out what’s going on. It’s too bright where I am, and too dark in the rest of the warehouse to see clearly. “Do you think that matters to me, Stopy Płomieniach?” he asks, ignoring whatever the fuck is going on behind us. I have no idea what Stopy Płomieniach means but I’m guessing it’s some kind of disparaging remark. Not that I give a shit. I’ve been called so many names that I’ve become immune to the harm they cause. “It will matter to the people I came here with,” I retort, yanking my arm free from his hold and stepping away from him so that I can pull my dress back down over my hips. “Oh, I’m not sure that I give a fuck,” he retorts with a shrug. “Grim will have you shot if you start shit here tonight.” “Hmm, yes, that is quite a predicament. Then again, everyone has a price. I’m certain whoever owns you now would gladly hand you over to me if the reward was high enough, wouldn’t you say?”

The second his lips brush against my skin, I can hear the familiar sound of Dax’s roar and York telling him to calm the fuck down. “See, you’re pissing them off,” I point out. He smiles lazily at me. “Regardless, I tend to get what I want, by using force or by spending money. I have a lot of both.” “I’m not someone you can buy, and if you try to take me then there’ll be consequences,” I bluff. Jeb would sell me out in a heartbeat and I no longer have faith in the Breakers to protect me like they once did. Still, putting up a front is a better option than crumbling. “Everyone has a price, even you.”