Chapter 15
DANCE, DANCE
“Would any of you like to guess why we teach ballroom basics as part of your training curriculum?” Doctor Kade stands before us, white coat abandoned in favor of a lacy straight-cut black dress that brushes her knees.
Her hair is pulled back in an updo that makes even her sharpest features look delicate.
She’s devastatingly beautiful, and the way she carries herself screams that she knows it.
She claps once, sharp enough to echo against the hollow walls of the ballroom.
“To torture us?” June says, chin tipped up with a hint of defiance.
My breath catches on that, and I feel immediately foolish. Of course, I know why I’m here. If I’m given the chance, I’ll do everything in my power to bring pride to the organization. But every moment seems a little excessive.
A lot excessive.
I don’t want to doubt Doctor Kade; she’s supposed to know what’s best.
“It seems your mentor is absent.” She sighs. “This is rather unfortunate. You’ll need to see the form before you attempt it.” Her gaze sweeps the length of the room before landing squarely on Ryder. “You.”
Ryder points to himself, eyes wide as saucers. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” She beckons him forward. “Help me demonstrate.”
“I don’t—” His protest dies under her raised brow. Ryder mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “you’ve gotta be shitting me” as he shrugs off his black uniform jacket and stalks forward like a man sentenced to the gallows.
Kade extends her hand. “Hurry, please. We don’t have all day for this.” I glance over to June, who’s stifling a cackle behind her hands with every ounce of restraint she can muster. Ryder grumbles again, then awkwardly sets his hand against her back.
“Lower,” she corrects, moving it firmly into place.
She waves her hand at Colt, who fiddles with the wall panel, hitting various buttons until the metronome falls into rhythm. Kade glides into step like she’s been waiting her whole life for this. Ryder stumbles after her, boots too heavy, posture far too stiff for this kind of grace.
“See?” Kade says, pleasant as ever. “Even your enforcers can manage basic form.”
“Manage is generous,” June whispers, the sound muffled behind her hand. I cover my giggle with a cough. Bri tries to do the same and nearly chokes. Even Ivy’s mouth twitches as she feigns indifference.
Kade spins Ryder clean across the floor, heels clicking.
He spirals out of her grip, boots tangling, cheeks flushing crimson as he fights to right his balance.
The look on his face screams he’d rather be anywhere else.
Kade waves him off with a sweet smile, and Ryder bolts back to his post, muttering obscenities under his breath.
“Partners,” Doctor Kade orders, as if this were a normal thing to witness. “We’ll start slow. For now, just try to match the rhythm and stay on your feet. 219 and 214, start as leads. 212 and 216, follow.” June starts to open her mouth, but Kade waves her off. “No excuses.”
Brielle nudges my arm, clearly nervous. I nod idly, trying to match where Ryder had put his hands. Bri tenses when my hand finds the small of her back, then she mutters an apology under her breath. I take a steadying breath, trying to picture the steps.
It can’t be that hard, right? I mean, Ryder could almost do it. Brielle’s murmuring again, but I don’t catch any words. I set my eyes forward and push every thought I have deep into the depths of my soul, where it will hopefully remain until lunchtime.
We begin exactly on the music’s cue-in chime.
My body straightens involuntarily, then I’m moving.
Step, step, together. Step, step, turn. I let the pattern carry me.
Bri stumbles, eyes darting between me and her feet like the floor’s about to vanish beneath us.
I coax her through the steps, murmuring the counts.
I lift my arm so she can twirl, but panic seizes her face.
Something—or someone—hits the ground to our left.
June, if I had to guess. I can’t look. My body’s entered a strange sort of survival mode.
Only, I’m not just surviving. We’ve hit nearly every mark, and Bri is somehow still upright.
Bri’s arms fall away the moment the last note fades.
I startle free of the waltz’s trance. Nearly trip over nothing.
Mister M is here, clapping slowly as he paces the space behind Doctor Kade.
He offers a smile that’s a little too wide to be natural, eyes fixing on me.
I avert my gaze, hoping to smother my curiosity with something that vaguely resembles sweetness. Avery’s beside him, eyes low.
She moves like she’s not sure she’s allowed to take up space. I try to imagine why the ever-perfect, ever-smug Avery could be feeling blue—and come up short. She’s worse than yesterday, and I didn’t think that was possible.
Mister M holds a hand out to me, shooing Avery off with the other. “Switch partners. Avery with Ivy, Juniper with Brielle. And you” —I’m already halfway across the floor, but he points at me anyway— “are with me.”
I cross to him slowly. Too slowly, apparently. He waves me on, impatient.
“Closer.” When I hesitate, his voice drops into a dangerous edge. “Don’t make me ask twice.” My feet move before my thoughts catch up. His smirk is wicked as he takes my hand in his. “That’s better.”
The music starts again, and I’m immediately swept into the rhythm.
He’s good. Disturbingly good. Whatever they taught him at mentor school—or wherever he learned to boss us around—did a marvelous job.
I hold my own, but it’s anything but easy.
He’s moving much quicker than the pace Doctor Kade set, practically floating across the floor.
When we finally slow for a moment, I’m overcome with relief at the chance to breathe.
That is, until I realize what he’s doing.
He stops us deliberately in front of Avery, who’s stumbling through the motions with a very stiff Ivy. The smile that spreads across his lips is cold as ice.
“It seems one of you has been practicing.” He looks me up and down before continuing, eyes flicking across each of them as he says: “While the rest of you waste my time.” Avery opens her mouth to say something, but he’s already pulling me away, resetting our position.
Mister M’s full attention falls back on me as the music kicks up. “You’re a natural,” he says.
My face falters; a smile would be the appropriate response, but it seems to be less of an observation and more of a dig. “Perhaps there’s more to you than I thought.”
I can’t place why, but the way he says it makes my stomach ache. I wrench my jaw open anyway and give him the proper response.
“Thank you, sir. I’m glad my talents are well suited.” It feels like a lie, but he flashes me a look that says I gave him exactly what he wanted.
“Makes me wonder,” he continues. “If you’re trying to steal the spotlight.” Mister M huffs a chuckle under his breath, gold-flecked eyes locked on mine, unblinking.
I shake my head too quickly. “No sir.”
“Liar.” He presses his face impossibly close, breath hot against my face. “You want to be the star, don’t you? You want to be seen. To be chosen. To prove you’re more than just another number.”
My chest tightens. Because I do. Of course I do.
I’ve spent six months being told I’m nothing but average.
Passable. Boring. The chance to actually be good at something is nothing short of a dream.
The truth of it sears through me. My eyes go wide with a glimmer of hope I’m too slow to mask across my features.
“Admit it.” He grips my waist, pulling me forward until our chests touch. The sudden jolt knocks me off balance for a split second, but I catch myself. Miracle of miracles, really.
My throat tightens. “I just want to serve the organization and prove myself worthy. All other rankings or measures are meaningless to me,” I recite, gliding through the motions.
“Fascinating,” he drawls. “I don’t recall teaching you that, little star.” He sinks his fingers into my waist, deep enough that pain shoots up my side. I cringe, biting my lip to keep from yelping. If I’m being honest, I don’t remember learning that, either.
He grins, all pristine white teeth and bad intentions. “How else do you plan to surprise me?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Lying again?” he says, clicking his tongue. “Tsk tsk.”
“I’m not—”
“You can’t lie to me, darling. I know you better than you know yourself.”
I hope he knows how wrong he is about that. He may be my mentor, but he doesn’t know me. In fact, he hardly even looks my way unless it’s convenient. Frustration twists in my chest as I stare at him.
“This is fun, you know,” he says, scanning my face for a reaction. “I like seeing the way you think, the way you feel, what makes you tick.”
He slows long enough to trace a finger down my cheek. I bite back the wrongness of the warmth in his hands.
“I thought I had you pinned. Perhaps I was mistaken.” Mister M yanks me forward, and I feel my composure give way.
“Is this a game to you?” I recoil, forcing space between us. He only tightens his grip.
“Everything within these walls is a game, darling.” He flashes a haughty smile and sweeps me into another twirl. “You just haven’t learned to play.”