Chapter 20
Mila
“ You ’ re not eating,” Dash growls. Cillian and Dante look amused at Dash ’ s observation.
I push my fork around the plate of scrambled eggs. “ It ’ s hard to eat when everyone is watching us.” Walking into the cafeteria felt like I had a tattoo on my forehead that screamed ‘ Dating a King, back the fuck off. ’
Every glance feels like a spotlight on my insecurities, highlighting the parts of myself I wish to keep hidden. The whispers and sideways looks remind me that I ’ m under constant scrutiny, and the pressure is almost suffocating. It ’ s a stark contrast to the thrilling, dangerous game we play in private. In public, I ’ m laid bare, and the facade I ’ ve carefully constructed begins to crumble under the weight of their gazes.
Cillian snorts. “ Aren ’ t you used to being center stage?”
“ Touché,” Dante adds.
“ Veronica asked me if Dash made me sleep with you and Dante as well. Drew asked me how much to stab one of you in the back when you were asleep? So yeah, being center stage with the three of you isn ’ t a cup of tea, Cillian. To all the girls, I ’ m a whore, to all the guys I ’ m a fuck bunny that might be tempted to turn assassin for the right price.”
I stab some eggs onto my fork. “ This is different.” I can ’ t look either of them in the eyes. I feel like a lamb eating with lions. I don ’ t belong at this table; everyone knows it, and everyone is wondering why I ’ m here.
“ Drew Costello?” Cillian asks, his voice cutting through the tension.
I nod, feeling a chill creep up my spine.
Dash ’ s fingers stiffen around his fork. “ When?”
“ When you were greeting Dante and Cillian, and I was grabbing our tray,” I reply, voice low. “ He snuck up behind me and whispered it.” It paralyzed me more than I ’ m willing to admit. Cillian is right. I ’ m on center stage, but the stage is for gladiators.
Dante taps his fork against his plate, like a judge hammering his final verdict. “ They won ’ t bother you,” he declares, his tone firm, almost dismissive.
I grunt. “ The minute I ’ m alone, they ’ ll jump.”
Dante peeks at Dash, a silent exchange of understanding. “ That ’ s why you won ’ t be alone.”
“ Oh really, am I dating you too?” I snap, raising an eyebrow.
“ Enough,” Dash barks, cutting through the tension. “ You ’ re with me . Dante and Cillian are on my side. You ’ re part of our team now. End of story. Anyone bothers you, you tell me.” He reaches out and grabs my chin, forcing my gaze up to his. “ You tell me as soon as it happens, not when you ’ re boiling over,” he urges, then crushes his lips against mine.
It ’ s a force. A declaration.
When his lips touch mine, it feels like a superhero ’ s cape engulfing me completely.
The cafeteria erupts in a symphony of gasps and whispering hoots, like bees swarming a new hive.
Did they forget bee sting?
They also protect the queen. My subconscious whispers to me. If I trust these three psychos, they are going to try to protect me.
As he pulls back, Dash sucks on my bottom lip before letting it go, muttering, “ Mmmm.” His eyes are a cold challenge, but his mouth leaks lies of whispered honey as it curls into an egotistical smile. “ I love a sweet breakfast.”
When he kisses me I feel alive, but I wish the boy who showed me a sliver of his shattered, corrupted heart was the one to kiss me. Not this version of him. This is all a lie, a show to trick others were dating.
I narrow my eyes, feeling a surge of defiance. “ You deserve an Oscar,” I scoff, trying to mask my pain and my desire.
“ Who says I ’ m acting?” he rebuts, his eyes dark and challenging.
His mind games never stop, always pushing, always testing.
“ Well, I prefer a savory breakfast.” I face forward, my back to the crowd. Clearly Dante and Cillian know this is a rouse. You know who doesn ’ t realize this is all a fucked up game? My body. That bitch is purring with need.
“ If you wanted meat you should have told me when we were in the dorms.” Dash chuckles under his breath.
“ You ’ re a child.”
“ Do you prefer my devil instead?”
I gape at him. “ I prefer the broken prince who showed me his colors the first day.” I confide.
His smile plummets like a solid mass into the sea, and as he sinks deeper, his eyes fixate on me with increasing force. He looks down at his plate, then swallows, his face turning red.“Be careful, little fox, you poke a beast and it will attack.”
“ Not always.” I whisper. I stare into his frosty eyes, wishing the ice would melt. He ’ s showed me a glimpse of a boy I could love. A boy I can relate to, laugh with, confess my darkest desire to. Now that boy is gone and the mask of a King looks down at me. I have to watch my every move.
I wish circumstances were different and you could let your walls crumble.
“ Eat.” He barks.
I glance at my watch again, a nervous tic. Dash leans closer, his breath hot against my skin, his lips brushing over my pale cheeks, setting them aflame. He presses a kiss to my cheek, lingering. “ You ’ re not leaving till you eat,” Dash threatens, his voice a dangerous whisper. “ Or did you want me to feed you?”
“ I ’ m more than capable,” I hiss back, my pride stinging.
“ Show me. Open those lips and swallow.”
“ You ’ re a pig!” I spit, my eyes blazing with anger.
I glance at Dante and Cillian, seeking allies, but Dash ’ s presence is overwhelming. His taunts meant only for my ears.
“ You ’ re not even trying. It looks like I ’ m forcing you to sit here,” he growls, his frustration palpable.
“ Why does it matter?” I challenge, my voice trembling with suppressed rage.
“ That ’ s a good question. Maybe I should shove you aside and let them all have you, Mila.” He looks down at me, his gaze piercing. “ Choose a side, little fox, before a hunter comes along to collect your skin.”
“ I did choose a side. The problem is the person I made a deal with keeps changing.” I reach out and touch his broken leg. Even through the thick cast, I can sense his muscles tighten. “ One minute you ’ re kissing me, the next scolding me and then the rarest of times you ’ re trying to fix me.” I lower my eyes to where my hand is. One might think his broken leg is his most vulnerable part, but it ’ s not. It ’ s that slow beating heart that is grappling to feel. “ I don ’ t know who you are, Dash King.”
I want to know. I stayed up all night pondering it.
“ Survival requires camouflage,” his eyes darken. He grabs my hand, moving it off his broken leg and placing it on my own thigh. I expect him to let go, but instead, he reassuringly squeezes my fingers.
His statement feels like a splinter embedded deep in the tip of my finger. I can ’ t get it out, so it ’ s stuck, irritating me, always interrupting what I ’ m trying to do.
He ’ s right; he ’ s much better at hiding his flaws than I am. Every glance, every touch from him, is a constant reminder of how exposed I am. This is all a mind game; nothing with Dash is real.
I need to remember that. We ’ re using each other.
Do you hear that, heart? When he kisses you, it ’ s all just a game.
I nod slowly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “ I guess you ’ re right. You did say I was a predator. I suppose you ’ re just trying to keep your heart and mind safe from me,” I challenge, my voice trembling slightly. My words hang in the air, a fragile shield against the vulnerability that threatens to consume me.
His lip twitches, then he glances away as if I disgust him. “ My heart died a long time ago.” He admits, then he stabs his pancake and shoves a double bite into his mouth. I should look away, but I can’t peel my eyes off his lips as they wrap around the fork.
“ How many times have you told yourself that, Dash? How many times do you need to convince yourself of that lie?”
His eyes glance at Dante and Cillian. I know they heard me. I don ’ t care.
“ It ’ s okay,” I state. I slip my hand out from under his and pat it before placing it on the table. “ The art supplies prove differently. I ’ ll play your game, boyfriend. Just remember what you owe me in the end. Anything I want.”
“ Anything within reason,” he corrects me as he slowly glides his fingers off my leg.
Is your heart within reason?
Why did I think that?
Dash is dangerous. He ’ s also insane. Those are two check boxes women try to avoid.
But… he ’ s also different, like a toxin slowly tainting me, making me want more.
He ’ s the bad boy you should stay away from. He will only burn you. But what if that burn is more of a tan and not third-degree? What then, Mila? Is it worth the risk to tango with this chemistry we have?
All these thoughts of back and forth feel like floodwaters rising up to my neck. I can sink, or I can try to swim in these shark-infested waters. Maybe Dash can help make me more predator than prey.
Dash raises a single brow, waiting for my challenge. “ Eat up, little fox.” He slowly plays with his fork, pushing it against his bottom lip before he nips it.
It ’ s...kind of sexy.
I stab my fork into the eggs until it ’ s so loaded that pieces start to fall off.
“ Happy?” I glare at Dash, then shove the forkful into my mouth.
Dante snickers.
Dash ’ s eyes darken. “ Not nearly,” he mutters.
“ You are thin,” Cillian remarks.
It hurts to swallow the large bite; it feels like cement rolling down my throat. Note to self: take smaller bites. “ Compared to you, Cillian,” I reach for my orange juice, “ everyone is thin.”
His brows lift as he nods.
“ I dance over six hours a day. I ’ m just as much an athlete as a jock. My body is built differently, so stop judging me for my weight and start looking at my strength,” I retort with some sass.
I take another sip as I wait for their rebuttal, but when none comes, I glance up. Dante, Cillian, and Dash are all watching me. Their silence is terrifying.
What do they see?
“ I like you,” Cillian replies. Dash shifts in his seat, and I don ’ t miss how Cillian ’ s eyes shift to Dash ’ s.
“ I mean, you ’ re a cool chick. You ’ re different from the others here.”
“ How so?” I challenge him as I take a smaller bite of my eggs.
“ I know you feel broken. Fuck, we all do. That ’ s their plan. Break us so they can reshape us. But there is still light in your eyes, Mila. Every other chick here is dead. They hook up to feel and play games to think they have a purpose. But their eyes,” he reaches for a sausage link with his fingers and shoves the whole piece into his mouth, “ well, their eyes are dead as fuck. No light, not even darkness. Try not to lose your light, Mila.”
“ Is this breakfast or a therapy session?” Dash grunts; his irritation feels like static clinging to the air, waiting to jolt you.
Cillian ’ s words remind me not to judge a book by its cover. You ’ d think a huge, muscular guy like Cillian would be dumb or thick-headed, but he might be the most in tune with his intuition and emotions.
“ Tell me about my classes,” Dash barks.
Slowly, I mumble about the current topics we ’ re learning, but in the back of my mind, I keep considering what Cillian just said. A warm hand stirs under the table and grabs mine. I choke in surprise. Dash grabs my index finger and slides his thumb under it. Looking down, I see the bright red mark my nail left behind. I had been digging my index finger into the nail of my thumb without realizing it.
“ I thought your heart died a long time ago,” I voice, studying his fingers wrapped around mine. He’s trying to fix me again.
“ You don ’ t have to have a heart to care,” Dash states coldly, his tone a stark contrast to the intimate gesture. His expression remains stoic, a fortress of indifference guarding his true emotions. “ You have to have a cause .” He admits.
I lift my eyes to meet his, desperately seeking any indication of affection or vulnerability. All I see is a stone wall. I swallow hard, my voice trembling as I ask, “ What ’ s your cause for helping me?”
He meets my gaze, his eyes like ice. “ Survival,” he reply is devoid of emotion.
“ I think you could survive without me.”
“ I was referring to your survival.”
There ’ s that knife cutting into my flesh. A blade that says it cares about you, yet hurts you at the same time.
Why do you want me to survive, Dash? Of course, I ’ m wise enough not to ask something he won ’ t honestly answer.
His words cut deep, the coldness in his voice a reminder of the walls he ’ s built around his heart.
Dash leans closer, and a flutter sensation takes off in my core when I feel his lips brush the shell of my ear. “ I ’ m the only one who gets to hurt you, little fox,” he whispers. He grabs my thumb. “ Consider this your homework. Tonight, I want to see what you created with your art supplies.” He pulls away. My lips part as I tip my head up to look at my devil in the eyes, only now he looks more like the fallen angel I dreamed about last night—caring yet tainted.
“ I won ’ t have time,” I sigh. “ I dance in the morning, go to class, and after class, I have one hour free before dancing again. During that time, I fit in studying or doing homework. Then I dance till dinner, only taking a short hour ’ s break. Then it ’ s two more hours of dance. By the time I shower and get back to the dorms, I get one more hour to do school work before my eyes protest and seal shut on me.”
Dash ’ s eyes narrow. “ You ’ ll make time to fix yourself, Mila. That or I will make it for you,” he warns.
“ Mila? Mila!” a new voice shouts. I hear it clearly, but I ’ m still trapped in the poisonous fog that Dash King emits. I can ’ t look away from him. I want Dash to tell me more, but that ’ s like asking the devil to tell you his intentions.
What are you, Dash King, my devil or savior? Is it possible to be both?
“ Mila!” The new voice is more urgent, followed by two steps up the dais to reach me. Dash, Dante, and Cillian look, and I realize the cafeteria is silent. I finally look and see Jared. He ’ s here, and he ’ s…pissed off. Angry eyes pin me down.
Cillian places his elbows on the wooden table. He ’ s so muscular it creaks under his weight. “ Did we give you permission to come closer?” Cillian bellows.
I see Jared ’ s mistake now. He ’ s stepped up to the platform where our table is. No one is crazy enough to invade Dante and Cillian ’ s table. Except Dash, but he knew Dante and Cillian. Jared doesn ’ t.
I stand suddenly. “ Jared.” I don ’ t want this to escalate. “ What are you doing?” I hiss. I glance at his feet, which were foolish to take the two steps up the stairs.
“ What are you doing?” Jared fires back. “ We have practice.”
“ I ’ m…I ’ m coming. I was just having breakfast.” I don ’ t miss the way Jared ’ s eyes shift to Dash ’ s. His challenge is clear as glass. You fool, Jared. You stupid, brave fool.
I turn to Dash, who looks like he ’ s mentally imagining how he ’ s going to skin Jared alive. I inhale sharply, as the corner of Dash ’ s full lips tugging in delight.
Cillian is holding his fork and knife, continuing to eat, but his eyes send a chill down my spine. Dante, well, he ’ s the patient one. They are usually the most dangerous. His eyes flicker from Dash to Jared as he waits for a show that is about to begin.
“ Jared is my dance partner,” I clarify to Dash. The silence is deafening, prickling my skin into a rash. I look back out at the rest of the students watching us. Nosy bastards! Stop watching!
“ Is or was?” Dash arches a brow.
“ Please,” I beg.
His stare narrows, followed by a slight smile on his lips.
I just granted him more control over me. I ’ m so dumb, but I won ’ t have Jared ’ s death on my hands.
Dash chuckles just enough to quell some of the gossip. “ Hurry along, little fox.”
My heels lift, but I don ’ t dare take a step. Is this a trick?
“ Promise me you won ’ t hurt him?” I whisper.
“ What will you give me in return?”
I gulp. “ You have everything.” I ’ m his to use; what more does he want?
“ Liar,” he purrs, his eyes gleaming with a cunning light. He raises his hand with his knife in it, then places it to his lips, slowly playing with the pointy tip between his teeth. “ I won ’ t hurt him if you give me something in return.” He hesitates, savoring the moment, allowing his grin to widen. “ I ’ ll come to collect when I ’ m ready.” He states, then he turns and continues to eat as if he didn ’ t just grab my heart in a vice grip and squeeze.
I grab my backpack and the bag of art supplies Dash gave me. “Fine.” I hiss in defeat. “ I ’ ll see you in first period, Dash.” Then I grab Jared ’ s hand and speed walk—okay, more like jog—from the cafeteria.
“ Whore,” One girl grumbles as I pass her table. “ What are you fucking them all?”
Great! I knew the rumors would be churning today. Of course, it ’ s always the classic whore or slut accusation.
Jared clears his throat as he steps in front of me. “ Watch it.” He snaps back at the table in my defense. As honorable as his intentions are, they are idiotic. Jared can ’ t play with these kids. He ’ s a scholarship student trying to fight for me against a King.
I shove the double doors open and halt once we ’ re outside. “ What the fuck, Jared!” I seethe once I inhale some fresh air. I whirl around. “ You approached Dante and Cillian ’ s table. What were you thinking?”
Do you have any idea what I just traded for you!
“ Is it your table now, too, because this is the second time you sat with them and not me?” Jared crosses his arms.
I close my eyes, my chest sinking. “ Jared, don ’ t be foolish,” I whisper, then open my eyes. “ Don ’ t risk your skin for mine. I ’ m not worth it.” When will he give up on me?
Jared steps back and looks me dead in the eyes. “ That ’ s where you ’ re wrong, Mila. You are worth it. My last name might not be King. You might not find me worthy of your love because I ’ m not rich, but I ’ m not willing to give you up. Please give me another chance.”
“ Jared, this has nothing to do with who you are.” I try to soften my tone. “ We tried something, and it fizzled out.”
“ Not for me.”
“ It did for me.” I shout.
“ Are you really dating him?” Jared sneers in utter disgust.
During this moment, I ’ m thankful Dash forced me to fake date him. “ Yes. I am.” I reply.
He holds my stare as if he struggles to understand what I just said.
“ Jared please. Keep your head down, get your scholarship, then run wild and free.”
“ Being free but lonely isn ’ t as freeing as you think it is, Mila.” He steps closer. “ We ’ d be so good together. We have chemistry when we dance. I know you feel it.”
It ’ s true. When Jared and I dance, we ’ re... magic. We just clicked. I know his moves and he knows mine.
“ We are good dancing partners.” I nod. “ That ’ s all, Jared. If you can ’ t accept that, I will look for another partner.”
His chest puffs out as he takes a dominant stance. “ Are you threatening me?”
“ No.” Yes! “ I ’ m going to practice. When you ’ re ready to be the old Jared I used to know, who cared for our friendship, then you can join me.” I turn and begin to walk away. Lifting up the bag of art supplies, I hug it in my arms. A part of me wants to skip practice, find a dark corner, and purge all my emotions into the art, just like Dash suggested.
“ You know what I think is going to happen, Mila,” Jared shouts. “ I think he ’ s going to shatter you.” My steps falter before I begin to add speed to them. “ And then I ’ m going to be the one who has to piece you back together again.”
I keep walking, but it feels like I ’ m walking a plank. Jared might be correct.