“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 find 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,”
