Chapter 85
LEX
Praying we get to go to Paris…
Knox answers his phone two seats down with a sharp, “Hey, B. What’s up?”
Cade and I both glance over.
“What? Are you for real?”
He shifts forward in his seat, elbow on his knee, hand over his mouth like he’s trying not to laugh. “What’d Javi say?”
A beat. Then he snorts. “You sure? ’Cause that’s a ballsy-ass move, bitch. Even for you.”
“Did he just call her a—”
Cade glances at me. “Don’t.”
I ignore him.
But before I can stand up and explain to Knox how many teeth he doesn’t need, the guy mutters, “Yeah yeah, I’m on it. Bye,” and hangs up.
He bolts upright, already moving past the rows of seats, muttering something under his breath.
I lean forward. “What the hell was that, Knox?”
He waves me off without even looking. “I’ll be right back. Your girl’s changing shit. I’ll explain when I get back.”
And he’s gone, cutting across the back of the room toward the sound booth, pulling a flash drive from his hoodie and handing it off to the tech guy like it’s a damn mission drop.
Cade shifts beside me, eyes narrowed. “What the hell is Bella doing now?”
I stare at the stage, then the booth, then back again. “No idea,” I mutter. “But apparently, something.”
The lights are still low. The announcer is stalling. The judges lean back in their seats, clearly drained after two full days of almost all Latin routines. A few of them look like they could nod off right there. One guy’s literally pinching the bridge of his nose.
Cade exhales. “She’s not actually gonna change the routine this late, right?”
I don’t answer. I just lean back in my chair and stare at the stage waiting for the chaos to begin.
Knox comes back out and drops into his seat like he’s just escaped a war-zone.
Cade leans toward him. “Okay, tell us what the hell is going on.”
Knox exhales like he just survived a hostage negotiation. “Bells says the judges are zoning out. Two full days of pretty much constant Latin and they look like they’re about to fall asleep in their shrimp cocktails. So, they’re flipping the script.”
Cade blinks. “Flipping?”
“Literally.” Knox jerks a thumb toward backstage. “Right now, as we speak. They’re changing the choreo, the outfits, the hair. I just heard Rico screaming ‘If one more bitch asks me to hot-glue anything in the next thirty seconds, I swear I will light myself on fire.’”
“What the fuck did she change it to?” I ask.
But before Knox can answer, a voice booms through the speakers. “Now entering the floor. From Wexley University, The Trifecta.”
Every head turns. And then, holy fucking shit. The girls step out. Gone are the rhinestones and feathered skirts and in their place are fight night legends.
Ellie’s in high-waisted black leather pants with thigh slits that leave nothing to the imagination, paired with a cropped black tee that reads REZ IS MY REASON in screaming red block letters. Her curls are slicked high, lips cherry-glossed, grin lethal.
Haley struts next to her in skin-tight black leather shorts and a ripped tee that says CHASIN’ DESHAWN in the same dripping font, hair in two sleek braids, eyes smoky enough to set off a fire alarm.
Then Bella. Fuck. Me.
Red leather pants like second skin, her black combat boots gleaming under the stage lights.
Her shirt is a blood-red crop—cut to show skin, ink, and attitude.
Across the chest in bold black lettering: I COME HARDER FOR THE HOLLOW KING.
with a small black heart icon under it like a fucking signature.
I actually choke as “Disco Inferno” begins.
Knox leans forward and mutters, “Rico deserves a raise and a restraining order.”
I just grip the seat like it’s holding me back from charging the stage. “She’s a goddamn genius,”
Cade whistles low. “Damn, sweetheart.”
“This is gonna kill me,” I mutter.
Cade raises a brow. “It’s Nationals, babe. This is branding.”
“But if she so much as glances at that guest judge.”
“Santibanez?” Knox snorts. “Dude, he’s gay.”
“I don’t care. If she licks him like she did me on fight night—”
“You’ll what?” Cade asks, fighting a smile.
I glare straight ahead. “I’ll jump the goddamn rail.”
Cade claps me on the shoulder. “At least let her win first.”
She and the girls hit the floor in perfect sync, hair whipping, knees sliding, and bodies hitting those accents like the music’s wired straight into their veins. It’s Disco Inferno reborn, same fire and sin, but stripped down and polished to something meaner, cleaner, and twice as hot.
The lights flash gold and crimson, strobes chasing over their skin. Sweat gleams down the curve of her throat. When she drops into that body roll—slow, controlled, teasing the crowd before snapping back up into a punch of choreography—it’s game over.
The judges lean forward. The audience loses their rhythm trying to keep up. The final bass drop hits, and the girls freeze in place. Their shoulders heaving, eyes electric, completely drenched in heat and hunger and every drop of power that routine could possibly hold.
The arena fucking erupts.
And the judges, those bored, stiff-ass fossils who looked like they were counting ceiling tiles fifteen minutes ago are on their feet. Clapping. Even that tight-ass guest judge, Alejandro Whatever-The-Fuck, is smiling like Bella just made his whole damn month.
“Dudes… I think we’re going to Paris,” Knox says, voice hushed but hyped.
Cade exhales a breath like he’s been holding it the entire performance. “They did it.”
The announcer’s voice comes through the speakers, cutting clean through the roar, “Can we have all of our trios return to the floor for final scoring.”
The three trios stand center stage beneath the blazing lights.
Ellie, Bella, and Haley huddle tight in the middle—arms looped, foreheads pressed together, shoulders shaking with adrenaline and hope.
The crowd is buzzing. No one’s sitting. Every flash from every phone screen catches like lightning on Bella’s red top and all I can do is stare at her.
The announcer steps up with the envelope.
“Don’t stall. Just say it. Say it, dude.” I mumble under my breath.
“In third place… representing the Caldera School of the Performing Arts…”
Bella’s arms tighten around Ellie and Haley. The three of them rock slightly on their feet, locked together like war-sisters on the edge of legend.
My heart’s pounding.
“And in first place, headed to Paris, France for Worlds…”
A pause.
The longest fucking pause of my life.
“…Wexley University’s The Trifecta!”
Ellie screams first. Bella tackles her. Haley grabs them both.
They drop to the floor in a tangle of leather, shrieking and laughing and crying.
Javi launches from the wings like a damn missile, colliding with them in a full-body hug, yelling something about diva angels sent from choreography heaven.
Rico’s right behind him, half sobbing, half fixing Ellie’s top mid-celebration.
Cade fists my shirt and pulls me in, hard. I grab his jaw. His mouth crashes into mine. Hot. Desperate. Triumphant.
When we break, breathless, Cade grins against my lips. “Well, babe,” he pants, “looks like we’re flying to Worlds.”
I snort. “With Sky Daddy.”
He groans. “God help us all.”
We start to move toward the stage, shoving past the crowd of dancers and parents. Security tries to block us at the edge of the stage, but before I can lay the fucker out, Bella sees us coming and screams.
“LET THEM UP!”
Knox is already one step ahead, tossing a badge and yelling something about VIP clearance. Within seconds, we’re onstage. Bella launches herself at me, arms around my neck, legs around my waist.
“We did it!” she yells, tears streaking her face.
I spin her. “Damn right we did, baby.”