Lyrical (Academy of Stardom, #2)

by Bea Paige

“I’m not for sale,” I grind out. “Let’s see, shall we?” he asks, yanking me against his chest and kissing me on the mouth. I try to break free from his hold, but his arm wraps around my back as he crushes me against him. I can feel the hard edge of his cock pressing through his trousers and against my lower belly. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I’m about to bring my leg up and knee him in the balls when he’s forcefully pulled backwards by Dax who now has his throat gripped in a tight stranglehold. “You do not fucking touch her, motherfucker!” Dax growls, his teeth bared in rage beneath his mask as he pushes Malik up against the wired fence of the cage. His body is whip tight and the veins beneath his skin popping with tension.

“Don’t!” I say, finding myself in the position of trying to prevent Dax from doing something that’s going to have consequences. Consequences that will end very swiftly in his death. Half a beat later, Beast walks into the cage with a gun held out in front of him and Grim by his side. I’m too shocked to do anything but stare at the unfolding events. Beast aims the gun at Dax’s head, pulling back the safety. “Let him go or get a bullet in your brain,” he grinds out. “He touched what isn’t his,” Dax grunts, not loosening his hold, but not tightening it either. “Let. Him. Go. Or. Die!” Dax doesn’t let go. Beast doesn’t back down. And my heart? My heart fucking splinters.

Dax

Motherfucking cunt! I will rip his heart out and gut the bastard for laying his hands on her. I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll kill the cunt. I don’t care who he is. I don’t fucking care! My fingers close around his throat and I squeeze, willing to get a bullet in my brain. In fact, I welcome it. Death doesn’t scare me. What’s happening inside my goddamn chest, that fucking scares me. I was done with her. DONE. Except now I’m not. Her passion, her anger, her fear, her rage, it cut me deep and I’m fucking bleeding from the wounds. I’m bleeding out like a motherfucking soldier ripped apart in the crossfire of some fucking war he never wanted to be a part of.

She slayed me. Slayed us with one motherfucking dance. She punched her fists into my chest and wrapped her fingers around my heart and squeezed. She’s reignited feelings that I’ve long since buried. Right there in front of me, she just danced for her goddamn life and I saw her clearly for the first time since returning. I saw her. Kid. My Kid. She was afraid, angry, and utterly fucking breathtaking. And now this dick, this fucking prick, put his hands on her. No! No fucking way!

The only person who has the right to touch her is us. She’s fucking ours. Ours. Our Pen. Our lucky penny… You’re wrong. She doesn’t belong to the Breakers. She belongs to HIM. To Jeb. MOTHERFUCKER!

Pen

Dax isn’t letting go. I can see the rage taking over. So I do the only thing I can, I step in. Tentatively, I place my hand on his arm. “Let him go,” I coerce, looking at Beast and begging him with my eyes not to pull the trigger. Beside him, Grim frowns and I know she sees something in me that she hadn’t before. “Stay out of it,” Dax bites out,

it doesn’t take a genius to know how he’s feeling. I just wish I knew why. He doesn’t give a shit about me. Unless… My heart stutters in my chest, but I refuse to let hope take hold.

This could all be a part of their game and not because my Dark Angel has returned to protect me. I swallow the hope that tries to make me weak and force a firmness into my voice. “You don’t need to die tonight.”

Nausea twirls in my stomach, threatening to burst free. I sway on my feet, stumbling a little. Dax flicks his gaze to me, slamming his lips together in a hard line. “They have guns,” I press. I know he knows that, but he doesn’t seem to give a shit, and that scares me more than anything else does. He has no regard for his life right now. It’s like he wants to die. That was never Dax.

“Stop,” I say gently. “Stop. Don’t die tonight. Not for me.” I can’t hide the sheer exhaustion from my voice. The physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion. I’m about done. Dax tips his head back and roars, losing his shit right in front of everyone and my throat tightens as Beast continues to count down. “Three, TWO…” “Let him go,” I choke out, hating that I’m showing vulnerability but knowing it’s the only thing that might stand a chance at getting through to him. My eyes flick to Beast, honing on his trigger finger. “Please…” Dax’s shoulders slump, and just like that, his hand releases Malik’s throat as he steps back. I breathe out a sigh of relief whilst Malik just laughs, his voice tight, croaky. “She’s quite something. I can see why you wish to protect her.”

“Malik Brov is otherwise known as The Collector and is the head of a powerful Polish crime family.” “I see,” I respond, not really knowing what the fuck to say to that. “You don’t,” Grim insists. “Malik’s side hobby is to collect women like other men might collect cars or jewels. Rumour has it he has a castle in the Scottish Highlands filled with women talented in the arts. Most of them are dancers, some are artists, others are musicians but all of them are prisoners. Malik and his three sons, The Masks, are a force to be reckoned with. Don’t doubt there will be some kind of retaliation against the Skins for this—”

She reaches for me, stopping us both in our slow walk back to the table. “You are here under duress, aren’t you?” she asks, her voice low and her fingers cool on my forearm. I nod my head. What would be the point in lying? Her jaw grits, anger flashing across her gaze. “I’m sorry for that.” “Why?” “I assumed, and I was wrong. I’m guessing you didn’t want to fuck Mr Bernard tonight,” she says, canting her head towards Zayn. I can’t tell whether she genuinely doesn’t know that Zayn is playing Jeb or does and is protecting that secret for some reason I’m unaware of. I’m not sure I care either way. “No, I didn’t,” I bite out. “And you dancing was a way to get out of that?” “Yes.” “You think that’s going to prevent him from taking what he wants regardless?” Grim asks, her voice low, angry. Her reaction surprises me. I really didn’t think she’d give a shit. “The moment’s over. Besides, who wants to fuck with a gun aimed at their heads?” I say with false bravado as I nod towards Beast who still has his gun clutched in his hand. My gaze flicks to the men standing high above us, all of them pointing at the Breakers and the men opposing them. I bite down on my lip to stop it from trembling as I focus my attention back to the face-off unfolding in front of us. Dax has joined Xeno, York and Jeb. Zayn maintains a relaxed posture at the table, looking almost bored. He plays the role of Jeb well. Too well. My stomach flips over at the thought. I catch Zayn’s eye. I can’t read him, won’t ...

“That bad, huh?” “Yeah. That bad.” She nods. “I can make shit difficult for them…” “What do you mean?” “Jeb’s an opportunist, I’ve never liked him. He likes to use kids to do his dirty work just like another wanker I used to know.” “No one likes him,” I say, with a hint of a smile. “All the more reason for me to take him down. He stepped on a few toes recently and whilst I’d normally keep the fuck out of bullshit like this, I will step in if I have reason to. Lately I have reason to.” “No offense, but you don’t know Jeb. He’s a fucking maniac.” “I don’t need to know Jeb. I’ve dealt with men like him all my life,” she says looking at me intently. “I see you have too. Am I right?” I nod. “Yes.” “What’s your name?” she asks me, changing the direction of the conversation. “Pen. I’m Pen.” “Well, Pen. You ever need a friend. You come find me.”

“Friends can turn their back on you without a moment’s hesitation, so forgive me if I don’t jump at the offer.”

“Yeah, I like you, and because of that I’ll make sure Jeb doesn’t fucking touch you tonight or any other time he brings you to my club.” “Thank you,” I respond.

Pen

been hell. “Back off, dick,” Dax bites out. “Dax,” I whisper on an exhale of breath. “Don’t.” The only person who seems to hear me is Grim. I feel her fingers rest on my wrist. A gentle touch that belies the firm look on her face. There’s understanding in her touch, but also a warning. Don’t get involved, it says. I’m not stupid enough to ignore it. “Beast, stand down. His actions will be settled in the ring at a later date,” Grim says to both men.

“Seeing as you’re intent on causing shit,” Grim says to Dax who has now focused on her, “And are stupid enough to face off with Beast, then I’m suggesting a fight between the two of you. Three weeks today, here at the club. Loser owes the other a debt that can be cashed in at any time. That’s if you’re up for it?” Grim challenges Dax. “Fuck!” York mutters, his concern evident. Owing a debt is not something to be taken lightly, I should know. “Think about this,” Xeno grinds out, his jaw tight as he places a hand on Dax’s shoulder. Dax shakes Xeno’s hand off. “What’s there to think about? You know I never back out of a fight. This old man is mine,” Dax retorts, cocksure.

“With age comes wisdom, son, so I suggest you start training. I’m undefeated and I sure as fuck won’t let some little upstart like you take my record,” Beast counters with a smirk. “That’s settled then. Three weeks today you will fight. Tonight we talk business. I have matters I’d like to discuss with Mr Bernard,” Grim says, motioning to Zayn who’s still sitting at the table watching everything unfold.

“You disrespect Grim and her club rules one more time and I don’t give a fuck how good a fighter you are in the cage or what pretty little girl has your back, you’re dead. Understand?” “Understood,” Dax bites out, flashing a look at me that has my heart lurching.

“One moment, if I may?” Zayn asks Grim respectfully, flicking his gaze to me. Out of the corner of my eye I catch Grim watching me, waiting for me to give her a sign to intervene. I don’t. “Of course.” Grim smiles tightly when I remain determined. She steps away leaving me to face Zayn.

I focus all my attention back on Zayn, zeroing in on just him and blocking everyone else out. I jerk my chin and straighten my spine, readying myself for the blow that I know is coming. Zayn steps closer to me, his lips pressed into a tight line and his ebon eyes swimming with a thousand words left unspoken. I swallow hard, acutely aware that we’re being watched by the rest of the Breakers, by Jeb, by Grim and Beast. I’m certain that most occupants of the warehouse are interested to see how things unfold too and I hate that I’ve lost control of the situation.

I’m quivering with everything, because now that I’ve let my emotions out, there’s no shoving them back in. There’s nothing I can do to stop him, to stop this. “Don’t,” I whisper. I beg, actually. There’s no misinterpreting my plea. I don’t want to be raped. I don’t want him to hurt me that way, and I’m fully aware there’s still a chance that might happen. Maybe not here, not now, but later when Grim can’t step in to stop it, when I’m left alone with the Breakers and Jeb. “You and I will take this up later.” Zayn guts me with his harsh words and my throat tightens on a sob that I force back down into my curdling stomach. “Please. No—” I respond in a shaky voice, but he cuts me off, stepping into my space and grasping the back of my head roughly. “Later!” he growls, then kisses me hard. Hard enough to bruise my lips, hard enough to make me quake with fear. His fingers dig into my scalp, tugging on my hair so tightly my scalp prickles with the sharp pain.

It doesn’t stop him from sliding his whisky-coated tongue into my mouth and it doesn’t stop him from pressing every inch of his body against mine, holding me close. He’s hard, turned on, and I hate him for it. I hate him because a part of me, the part I’ve buried for the past three years, longs for him. I’ve longed for this kiss. But not like this.

I’m too weak to fight him off. Weak both physically and emotionally. So I let him kiss me. I stand stiff, unresponsive as he kisses me to prove some kind of point. His teeth clack against mine in anger. His tongue delves inside my mouth, stroking, searching, seeking out a response. God, I try so hard not to respond. I cling onto the hate because if I succumb, if I let him in, if I really lean into his touch like I’ve craved for so long, then I’m no better than him or any of these men and women who’ve allowed their weaknesses to take hold tonight. Right here, right now. I’m making another point.

But just like Xeno did on the dance floor in Rocks, Zayn takes, and I let him. Just this once, I let him. Eventually, he pulls back. Emotions rush beneath his gaze, too fast for me to decipher, to unravel in the moment. I’m drawn into his gaze, a dangerous vortex that spins with too much feeling. My breathing hitches, my eyes well with tears that I blink back fiercely because Zayn isn’t looking at me with emptiness, with hate or anger. He looks at me with longing, with fucking hope.

Like a newborn foal, my legs wobble with exertion. Zayn hoists me up, steadies me. Worry replaces the hope in his gaze and with infinite care, he brushes his lips against my cheek and rests them against my ear, his body curving over mine as he crowds me. To anyone else watching us, this is the move of a dominant man, someone who’s used to overpowering another. To everyone in this room bar the Breakers, this is one man taking ownership of someone deemed less powerful, weaker than he is. But I know better. The change is subtle, but unmistakable. When his fingers release their death grip on my hair, and he cups my head gently, his thumb rubbing over the spot that tingles still, I know that he’s trying to break down the wall between us even though it’s three years thick. I’m not certain I trust his motives, but I do feel the honesty in his actions and that gives me pause for thought. It gives me a little of my strength back. “I’m sorry, Pen,” Zayn whispers against my ear, his voice croaking with emotion, with a truth that crushes me because I hear him.

My hands fall away and Zayn steps back, releasing me from his hold. “Take her home,” he barks at York and Dax before glaring at Jeb and Xeno. “You two. Come with me.” “Yes, Boss,” Xeno snaps, his eyes meeting mine. I don’t have the energy to shore up my defences. I let him see how tonight has ruined me and for the briefest of moments his gaze softens, he wobbles on his feet as though he wants to come to me, as though he wants to comfort me. But Jeb nudges his arm and the moment is gone, the walls stack back up.

Pen

I can barely see straight and if I don’t get out into the fresh air soon, I might just pass out. That’s why I don’t notice Malik stepping towards me until it’s too late. “Stopy Płomieniach, it was a pleasure to meet you,” he says, reaching for me. “Back the fuck off,” Dax growls, stepping up beside me, and cutting off his ability to touch me.

“Mr Brov, I think we should discuss business another time,” York interjects firmly, flicking his gaze at me. “Without an audience.” He makes a point at looking around the warehouse whilst I suck in a sharp breath at York’s insinuation. How dare he! How dare he talk about me like I’m a goddamn business transaction! Automatically I pull my fingers away from Dax, but he grabs them, squeezing tightly before rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. It’s a reassuring hold, and it confuses me, but it works to deflate my indignation. I don’t comment and I don’t pull away.

Dax swears under his breath before gripping my hand and striding off. I have to jog to keep up with him. My feet ache with every step. The second we step out into the darkened car park, Dax drops my hand as though burnt, rips off his mask and gloves and casts them aside. The cut above his brow weeps a little, blood trickling from the wound. His cheek is bruised and swollen, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Fucking joke these masks. You can all go and fuck yourselves if you think I’m wearing this bastard thing again,” Dax adds darkly. “Keep your fucking voice down and get Pen in the damn car before you get us all killed!” York seethes, turning on him. “Fuck off! What was all that ‘let’s do business’ bullshit? Are you kidding me right now? We don’t do business with men who are unhinged.”

“You don’t need to fucking tell me who we’re dealing with. I wasn’t the one with a hand around the man’s goddamn throat! Do you have a fucking death wish, you prick? You put us all in danger! I was just trying to de-escalate the situation.” Dax pushes York back. “Did you not see what he did? Did you not fucking see what he did to Kid?!” he bellows, a vein popping in his forehead as he points at me. The nervous laughter rising up my throat is swallowed back down as I draw in a breath. His old nickname for me makes my heart squeeze in pain. Did he just refer to me as Kid? What does that even mean? Was it a slip of the tongue? He hasn’t called me that since returning. “Dax…?” I question, my voice croaking. “Get in the goddamn car!” he snaps at me, his lips pulling over his teeth in a feral snarl as he pulls a key fob from his pocket and presses a button. A dark grey Bentley parked not too far away from where we’re standing, unlocks.

“Don’t talk to me like that!” I shout back. “I said, get in the goddamn car!” “Dax—” York starts, flicking his gaze between us. He pulls off his leather gloves too, discarding them and cracking his knuckles. Fuck, are they about to go head to head? They never fought like this when we were kids. “Shut the fuck up, York.” Dax snaps then glares at me. “Get in. NOW!” “And what if I said screw you? What if I said, I’m done with tonight? I’m DONE!” I shout, unable to help myself. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’m fucking emotionally drained to the point of collapse. I literally can’t take anymore. “I’d say get in the FUCKING CAR!” Dax roars,

“Dax, keep your damn head and chill the fuck out!” York snaps. He’s on edge too, that’s clear enough from the sharp look he gives me, but it’s tempered with the worry that flashes across his face. It’s so brief that I’m unable to figure out if he’s worried for me, or worried about the war Dax has brought down on their heads. Likely the latter. “I won’t chill the fuck out,” Dax mocks, “until we’ve got the fuck out of here.” He glares at me, pointing at the Bentley. “For the last time, Pen. Get in the damn car! I’ve already stuck my neck out for you tonight.” “Stuck your neck out for me?” I blanch, fucking furious at the insinuation that this is all my fault. “Un-fucking-believable! Don’t you dare blame this on me. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of this!”

A tiny stone pierces a blister on the ball of my left foot, and I drag in a pained breath through my teeth. “Fuck!” Dax frowns, still glaring at me. “What now?” My nostrils flare at his curtness. “What do you mean, what now? My feet hurt. If you hadn’t noticed I’m not wearing any fucking shoes!” I snap back, matching his snippiness. Fuck him. I’m getting whiplash from his flip-flopping. “Perhaps I should’ve let you get shot.” “Pen, don’t be a bit—” York warns. “A bitch?” I narrow my eyes at him, barking out another laugh and ignoring the fact he looks beautifully dishevelled in his fitted suit, with his hair a mess and his eyes ablaze. Seeing him bare-chested lying on my bed is one thing, but dressed like this, like a suave, sophisticated, sexy man, is more than a little disconcerting. It’s distracting and I hate it. “Yes, a bitch!” he counters. “Fuck you, York. How fucking dare you! I didn’t see you stepping in at any point to help. You didn’t do anything,” I pant,

“What are you saying?” he snaps, knowing exactly what I’m talking about. I see it in his eyes. He knows. He fucking knows. “You’re good at reading me, York, at least you were once upon a time. So fucking read me,” I challenge, glaring at him. Beside us Dax curses, he reaches for me, but I snatch my arm away. “Don’t you dare touch me, Dax.” York keeps his gaze fixed on me and I let him do what he always did so well when we were kids. A second later, he tips his head back and lets out a strangled cry, before slamming his fist into the wall of the warehouse. The skin covering his knuckles split on impact, blood dripping from the wound, but he doesn’t even seem to notice as he steps towards me. “Pen…” “No. No! I can’t do this!” I back away from them both, hobbling on my feet. Dax looks down, a scowl pulling his brows together. “You’re hurt,” he states, blinking as though coming out of a trance. “No shit, Sherlock,” I retort,

“God-fucking-damn-it,” I curse under my breath, my head spinning with the pain, with hunger and disappointment. “You’re weak too. You haven’t eaten in a while,” Dax comments whilst stalking me. Behind him, York just stares, like he’s stuck in a trance and can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Yeah, the truth hurts, arsehole. “Stay away!” I hiss. Dax shakes his head. “Look at you, you’re a fucking mess.” The thing is, I can’t deny it. I am a mess. My dress has a sweat patch on both the front and back. There’s a tear at the hem that opens over my upper thigh and shows off the strap of my knickers. My hair is sweaty and knotted from dancing. My feet, hands and shins are covered in blood from the cage floor and I know without looking that my mascara has smeared beneath my eyes. I let out a hysterical laugh. “Well, this is what happens when you’ve literally got nothing left, no money to your name and no one who gives a shit about you. Mum washed her hands of me too now so it’s not as if I can go home for a nice family meal cooked lovingly by my mother!” I scoff, shaking my head. “Ha! Who am I trying to kid? I was always one step away from starving. Who needs food anyway?” “You still have Lena,” York says gently, almost too quietly for me to hear. My eyes snatch up, then narrow. “Leave her the fuck out of this!” “Enough!” Dax shouts, and in two steps he’s hauled me up into his arms, across his chest, and is striding across the car park towards the Bentley. Before I’m even able t...

“Where are we going?” Dax doesn’t reply, he simply jabs his finger on the button that locks the doors just as York tries the handle. “What are you—” I begin, looking at the rage on York’s face as he leans down and glares at us through the glass. He slaps his palm against the window, his icy-blue eyes sharp, unyielding. I jump. “What the fuck, Dax? Open the fucking door!” York yells, slamming his fist on the roof of the car. “Find your own way back, dickhead!” Dax jabs his finger on the button to start the ignition, puts the car in first then slams his foot on the gas. We fly out of the car park, grit, dust, and dirt churning up the air behind us. I twist in my seat, York is holding up his middle finger and even though I can’t hear what he’s saying, I know a string of expletives are flying out of his mouth. “York looks pissed,” I remark, turning back around, my fingers digging into the plush leather seats as we speed through the gates exiting the compound. “I don’t give two fucks,” he snarls. “Motherfucker overstepped. I’m done with the bullshit.” “The bullshit?” I query, wondering what that’s supposed to mean. “Yeah. I’m fucking done.” “Me too,” I mutter. “Me too.”

“Why are we here?” I ask, unable to help myself. This is the last place I expected Dax to bring me. Jeb had plans for me tonight that started with rape and likely ended in something just as horrific. I doubt very much dropping me back home is what Jeb had intended for me. “Because you live here.” “Yes, but why am I here tonight?” “Zayn told me to take you home. I’ve done that. Now get out of the car, Pen. Go home,” Dax orders. “Yes, but Zayn isn’t the one who asked me to bring an overnight bag, Jeb did, and Zayn isn’t the one who ord—” I slam my mouth shut before I’m able to finish my sentence. He snatches his eyes up to meet mine and they flare in anger before he twists in his seat and reaches for something behind him. “Here. One overnight bag delivered,” he says, before shoving it into my arms. “But how did—?” His phone ringing interrupts my question. Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, Dax answers. “Yes?” he snaps, his scowl deepening.

“Fuck!” he shouts, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. “What is it?” I ask. “Doesn’t matter. Just take the bag and go, Pen.” “But—” I protest. Dax’s head snaps around to look at me, warring emotions raging in his eyes. “Just. Fucking. Go!”

Pen

Flaring my nostrils, I draw in a deep breath then lift my fists and slam them against the mirror so hard it wobbles under my anger. “Let it all go, Pen,” I say to myself fiercely, my reflection misting beneath my words. Pressing my forearms against the mirror, I drop my head between my shoulders and breathe in deeply, absorbing the music and Sia’s lyrics until all I am is another outlet for emotion. I’m no longer Penelope Scott. I’m not Pen, Kid, Titch or Tiny. I’m not someone with the weight of the world on my shoulders. I’m not a girl fucked-up by dangerous men who want to hurt her. I’m not a woman still in love with the Breakers. I’m just an instrument of dance.

I want my fucking life back. I want to live. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to be afraid for my sister. I don’t want to be afraid for my life. I don’t want to be afraid of my feelings. I want to live. I want to be free.

With a heaving chest I run, leaping into the air, my legs kicking out in a split. I land and transition into a low spin, my right leg extended over the floor, the tips of my toes drawing an invisible circle over the floorboards before I put all my weight on my right foot and hands and tumble into a forward roll, pushing upright once more. My heart pounds inside my chest at the exertion, my skin flushes with heat and sweat beads on my forehead, but still I dance. I dance to let go. I dance to keep sane. I dance even when Zayn steps into the studio. I dance despite his presence. Because of it. I dance to show him that I can’t be beaten. That I won’t be beaten. No. Matter. What.

Leaping into a spring jump, I extend my legs then land lightly, locking eyes with Zayn. My chest heaving as he watches me. My heart might be broken, it might bleed but it still beats. It. Still. Fucking. Beats.

“Pen, there are things I need to say, and you need to listen,” Zayn demands, his words firm and unyielding even when he steps backwards, away from my pain like the coward that he is. Where’s his apology now? Where’s the sorrow in his gaze, the fucking empathy? I look into his pitch-black eyes and seethe when I see nothing but a fierce determination to hurt me even more. He’d get the same look in his eye when we were kids, when he was pissed off at something and wanted to vent, to hurt those closest to him because he knew we’d love him anyway. Today, I’m not feeling so generous. “Just stop a moment,” he continues, grinding his teeth.

“No!” I retort, refusing to let him control me, refusing to let him off that easy. Dancing like this is to help me cope. It’s not my fault he’s finding it too hard to stomach. He can stay and watch, or leave, either way I’m not stopping. With no more fucks left to give, I flip forward landing close to him then immediately spin away and out of his reach. I leap into the air in a scissor kick then drop to the floor into the splits before sweeping my legs out to the front and throwing my hands above my head. I lie on the floor, my back arching before dropping back down in time to the music as though my battered heart is desperate to burst free of my chest.