Chapter 24
Dash
This must be what a gladiator felt like when he entered the training pit. I steel my spine, adding more pressure onto my good leg. This way, it looks like I don ’ t rely on my crutch to walk fully. Surviving here is all about creating an impression. Even though I ’ m broken, I ’ m still someone you would think twice about fighting.
The bottom of my crutch squeaks against the polished wood floor of the enormous gym at Silverstone; just like Mila told me, this school excels in catering to its students. It ’ s nothing like a typical gym. Sure, there ’ s the center court with four basketball courts, two of which are in use, and the second story features an indoor track overlooking the courts. But it ’ s the perimeter that ’ s different, with dozens of private rooms, almost all occupied. Mostly, they ’ re filled with guys participating in The Cleansing. I pass by several Jiu-Jitsu instructors, their sharp commands echoing as they teach groups of guys how to fight, each move calculated and powerful.
I also pass Mila ’ s room. It ’ s the bigger private room in the area, filled with at least a dozen dancers. Polished wood floors encased in a wall of mirrors provide a 360-degree view of my little dancer. The problem is that her room is across from Dante and Cillian’s training room. Only the balcony separates us. One short jog around the track, and I can touch her.
I want to touch her. Badly.
I keep telling myself she ’ s a game, a toy. She is.
She is!
I can use my toys; I can also protect them.
My next step has me leaning onto my crutch more than I ’ d like to admit. There she is, sitting on the floor like the perfect prey, so unsuspecting of the predator lurking right outside. She ’ s sitting down, her legs bare and extended as she gracefully wraps ribbons around her ankles.
Fuck me.
Why is that such a turn-on? Does she like to be tied up?
I readjust myself as I continue to watch her. The way her fingers move, even from this distance, it’s mesmerizing. It makes me want to feel the smoothness of those silk ribbons against her flesh, to trace the path her fingers have taken.
She smiles and tips her head back to laugh, her eyes lighting up as the other girl lacing up her pointe shoes leans closer to whisper something. You ’ d never know that Mila was so broken, especially when she was dancing. In those moments, she is whole, radiant, and utterly captivating.
It ’ s all a lie, though. She ’ s so good at faking contentment that you ’ d think it was her natural state when, deep inside, she is a fire—one I ’ m playing with, coaxing and making it grow.
I shouldn ’ t have drawn her in class, but at that very moment, I couldn ’ t help it. I just wanted to take a piece of her, so I drew her.
I find my arm swinging my crutch forward so I can get a closer look, but then my phone rings. It ’ s not easy grabbing my phone while holding my crutch. The word “ Dad” flashes on the screen. My grip tightens. I want to ignore the call, but I also want to know where Titan and Damian are.
Naturally, I tried to call my cousins to tell them about Dante and Cillian. The problem is neither of them answered. That ’ s not unusual for Damian; his dad sometimes keeps him away from Titan and me as a punishment. Titan always answers, though.
“ Dad,” I greet him in a mocking tone as I press the phone to my ear, lean against the railing, and cast my eyes on the basketball courts below.
“ You ’ ve met your friends,” he says nonchalantly. No “ hello, son” or “ how ’ s the leg.” Not that I expected it, but I ’ m man enough to admit that the boy still hiding inside my mind would have loved it. That small boy is always disappointed by his father now.
I look up, expecting to spot him like an owl perched somewhere watching me. “ I don ’ t have friends.” I hiss through my teeth. Dad ’ s got spies here; no shocker, since he has spies everywhere.
“ You ’ re right. Trust them to help you, but trust no one with your life, son.”
“ Not even you. After all, what kind of father drops his son off at a school that will try to kill him?” I growl out over the sound of the basketballs dribbling.
Dad replies without missing a beat, “ The kind of father that doesn ’ t want to lose his son. If I coddle you, our enemies will kill you slower.”
“ So you ’ d rather me die a fast death?”
“ I ’ d rather you learned to fight. You tried to die and failed. Now it ’ s time to be a man.”
“ Is that why you forced Mila upon me?” I probe. Dad rarely drops so many clues; let ’ s see if I can get him to give me a few more.
“ The Michelson girl was nothing more than a deal that was too good to pass.”
“ Oh good, she ’ s nothing then. So I can do what I want with her.” I challenge, gripping my crutch tightly.
“ Don ’ t make me step in, Dash. You will treat her with respect.”
I chuckle coldly. “ No problem. I ’ ll show her the same respect you ’ ve shown me.” I hang up, my hand trembling with barely suppressed rage. The need to kill something courses through me, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. My grip on the crutch tightens until my knuckles are white, a dark, violent energy swirling inside me, begging for release. Every muscle in my body tenses, craving the satisfaction of unleashing this fury on anything—or anyone—in my path.
By the time I make it to the private room Dante and Cillian have, I ’ m seething, and they can tell. I want to lash out like a child, throw a tantrum, and use my crutch to smash the glass wall that gives everyone a view of us inside.
“ What ’ s the matter?” Dante asks, coming closer.
“ My father,” I hiss through my clenched teeth. I pushed my father ’ s buttons, and then, at that moment, I felt like I came out the victor. However, I see my failures now. I showed my dad nothing more than how much of a petulant child I was. Had I not lost my temper, I would have been able to poke around and see where Titan and Damian were.
I close my eyes and hang my head. “ Fuck,” I whisper angrily, feeling the weight of the battle I just lost. The cast feels like it ’ s encasing my flesh in a tight vice grip. I claw my hands against it, feeling the texture of the fabric. I wish that I could just rip it off.
“ You ’ re going to be fine. Just stay calm,” Cillian offers.
“ I feel like I ’ m gonna explode.” I ball my fist and hit my knuckles against my cast.
“ Good,” Cillian chuckles, “ you ’ ll need that energy for training.”
I finally open my eyes and look over my shoulder at the wall of windows, knowing that anyone who walks by can see inside. Dante, who I ’ m starting to think has the power of mind reading, walks to the wall and hits the switch, turning the glass into an opaque screen so no one can see inside.
It ’ s hard to swallow, and I know I should thank him, but instead, I stay silent, looking down at my leg.
“ You ’ re not weak,” Dante declares as he tapes off the wrap he applied to his knuckles.
“ I never said I was,” It feels like a lie.
Dante tosses me the bandage wrap. “ Wrap your knuckles well.”
“ You can fight just fine with one leg,” Cillian adds as he grabs his shirt and peels it off. As if I needed to see more of his muscles. “ It ’ s all about leverage, knowing the weakness and next move of your opponent. Dante and I focus on hand-to-hand combat. We use methods from boxing, Lerdrit, Krav Maga, Jiu-Jitsu, and what I think is going to be most vital for you, Jeet Kune Do; it teaches simplicity, directness, and freedom—exactly what you need with one leg down.”
I nod. It ’ s not my first time fighting. My dad made me take classes since I was a kid, which makes me wonder how long he has been planning on sacrificing me to The Cleansing. I walk to the corner and kick off my shoes, then begin to wrap my hands.
“ An enemy will probably go for one of two choices,” Dante begins as he walks to a large black bag that could fit a body. “ When you fight in The Cleansing, your leg won ’ t be broken anymore, but it ’ s still going to be the weakest part. One wrong kick or fall could easily re-break your leg. So if they ’ re smart and lazy, they ’ ll attack that leg first. But if they want to make you suffer, they ’ ll try to break your good leg first and then go for the weakest link.” The sound of him unzipping that bag is like the safety of a gun being clicked off.
“ What the hell is that?” I ask, confused when I see him pull out a black leg brace.
“ You ’ re one of us now. We ’ re brothers, we ’ re family, and we ’ re not going to let our parents tear us apart. In order for Cillian or me to understand what it ’ s like to fight like you, we have to be able to feel how you move. So we ’ ll take turns today. I ’ m going to wear this leg brace so I can understand how you move, and Cillian will act as our opponent. We ’ ll start two against one, and I ’ m gonna be honest: today, Cillian is gonna take it easy on you. I don ’ t think you ’ re used to moving too hastily with that huge fucking cast on.” Dante sits down and begins to strap on the leg brace. When he tries to stand, he struggles at first, then laughs to himself. “ I can see why you think you ’ re fucked. At least you can sleep at night knowing you won ’ t have to fight with the cast on. But your leg won ’ t be used to your full weight, so you still need to be cautious.”
I swallow down the emotions, trying to escape from my throat. It ’ s this small gesture that has me trusting them. When a man willingly walks in your shoes, it affects you on a primal level. It ’ s something only Titan or Damian would do—and I would for them.
Just like that, I know I ’ m not alone. I have two more brothers to add to my fucked up family.
For the next hour, we fight awkwardly. Dante ’ s much better than I am since the brace is lighter and slightly less restrictive than the cast. Cillian is an anomaly; he ’ s so freaking annoying because he should be slow, but he moves as fast as a speed skater gracefully circling the rink. By the time we finish, muscles I haven ’ t even used before are starting to ache. We call it a night, grabbing our stuff and flipping the switch to turn the glass back to transparency before heading to the locker room to shower and then eat dinner.
As I trudge out of the training room, drained and weary, my attention is drawn to the dance studio. There, beneath the bright lights, is Mila, with her brown hair pulled into a tight bun, spinning and being lifted into the air with an ethereal grace. Her ballet class is still in full swing. Even through the glass doors and mirrors, I can hear the classical music blaring as she gracefully turns and dances to it.
I never thought ballet could be attractive, but I find myself walking closer to their private room. Mila ’ s effortless. She makes it look as easy as it was for me to capture her on the sketchpad. She pushes up on her pointe shoes, making her short stature somehow appear taller, and she gracefully lifts her leg into a position that has my cock awakening. She dips her back in an arch so curved that I expect her to falter, but her balance is impeccable. My mind takes over as it imagines her in a dozen sexual positions.
That ’ s when I notice it ’ s not her balance alone but the hands around her hips that begin to spin her.
Jared ’ s hands.
He lifts her, but it ’ s not just a simple lift. She kicks her right leg up, practically doing a full split down his torso, her body arching with a flexibility that seems almost impossible. Rage grows inside me, knowing that her sex is pressed against him and not me.
He ’ s holding her so tightly, spinning around with her in his arms, their movements synchronized to perfection. Every turn, every lift, every step is a testament to their connection. Mila ’ s body moves fluidly, her legs extend, her arms reaching out as if she ’ s trying to touch the very air particles around them. Her face, a mask of concentration and passion, glows under the studio lights.
She looks like a dark little angel luring me into her broken soul.
I ’ m coming.
How could I not after seeing Mila dance? There is no way I can not heed that call. A man would go to war to see her spin on her pointe shoes; a king would lay down his crown at her feet if only she would glide across the stage one more time.
It would be like asking me to hold my breath and only survive on that last intake of air.
I can ’ t.
I wish I could. I wish I could detest her, so I didn ’ t give my father what he wanted.
As Jared dips her, the top of her hair, in that tight, perfect bun, brushes against the floor.
Jared could drop her right on her neck. The way her body is so relaxed tells me she trusts him more than she trusts me.
Their relationship as dance partners makes me insanely jealous. More so than I have ever felt before because unbeknownst to Jared or Mila, she is mine. Literally. She ’ s promised to me.
I don ’ t share.
Jared ’ s hands shift down, embracing the curve of her spine until they grasp her ass before he effortlessly returns her to her feet, continuing their dance with seamless elegance.
“ Fucking breathe, man,” Cillian says jokingly. I forgot he and Dante were watching, too. “ You look like you ’ re going to either have an aneurysm or come in your pants.”
The sight of Jared ’ s hands on Mila ’ s waist, guiding her, supporting her, ignites that primal jealousy within me again. Watching them, I feel a knot tighten in my chest, my fists clenching involuntarily. He twirls her once more, lifting her high above his head, and she seems to fly for a moment before he catches her, bringing her back down gently. It ’ s a dance of beauty and strength, and it infuriates me that he is the one sharing it with her.
“ Look, man,” Cillian comments, “ I know you ’ re planning murder right now, but he ’ s just a scholarship kid.”
Don ’ t fucking care.
The music stops, and their teacher comes forward with a cane. I expect Mila to smile, but what I see has me closing the distance, my senses on alert. It ’ s written all over Mila ’ s face—fear.
And Jared? Well, that fucking prick knows something is coming. I don ’ t miss the small step he takes in front of Mila.
Who ’ s he protecting her from?
The teacher starts to shout at them, and I see all that graceful joy Mila was faking evaporate as the teacher picks her and Jared apart.
“ What a fucking dick,” Cillian grumbles as he slings his bag over his shoulder.
The three of us watch as the teacher raises the short stick he ’ s holding and aims it at Mila.
“ What the fuck?” Dante mutters.
The teacher hits Mila ’ s calf with it. I know it hurts from the way she grits her jaw. He swings it up towards her arm, but Jared steps in the way. That earns him a direct hit in the back of the head.
“ I think Mila got the short stick,” Dante mutters before stepping in front of Cillian and me, as if to block us from the scene unfolding. “ Ballet might be tougher than The Cleansing.”
“ He fucking hit her,” Cillian mutters, a dangerous edge to his voice. His eyes widen in shock before narrowing in anger, his body tensing ready to spring into action.
“ It ’ s not your battle, Cillian,” Dante states, his words thick with warning.
“ You ’ re right,” Cillian replies, his broad shoulders shifting as he turns away from the studio to fix his eyes on me. There ’ s a spark of intensity in his expression. “ It ’ s yours, Dash. What are you going to do now?”