Chapter 25
Mila
Fire burns in the tips of my toes, now so numb that I can ’ t even feel them anymore. It ’ s probably a good thing because I know they ’ d be swollen and in pain, as they usually are by the end of dance class. My lungs ache, wanting to heave and pant dramatically, but like every poised ballerina, I try to mask my labored breathing. Jared and I just danced everything perfectly, and we can both see it in our eyes—they ’ re smiling with satisfaction. For a rare moment, I feel like our relationship is back to that friendly level.
“ You were perfect,” Jared whispers, so only I can hear. “ I ’ m sorry for everything. You ’ re not an easy person to let fly free, Mila. I was a jerk and if you ’ ll still have me as a friend, I ’ d be honored.”
My lips separate as I watch his eyes for any sign of a lie.
“ I can ’ t give up dance.” He shakes his head with a palpable pain, “ And I can ’ t dance without you as my partner.”
Ironic that he can ’ t survive without dance, yet I live each day craving I didn ’ t have to.
You have a favor from a King, one day you ’ ll be free. Maybe, when I can dance for me and not others, I ’ ll fall in love with ballet again.
I nod slowly, “ I forgive you.” I couldn ’ t have danced the way I just did without having complete trust in him as my dance partner.
“ You didn ’ t turn out!” Mr. Leblanc spits, his voice slicing through the studio ’ s silence. “ How many times, Mila? How many times do I have to tell you to turn out?”
If I rotated my legs outward from the hips anymore, I ’ d dislocate them. My muscles scream in silent protest, but I push the pain aside, closing my eyes as my forced smile fades.
Mr. Leblanc taps his bamboo stick sharply against the floor, the sound echoing ominously. Then, with a swift motion, he swats my leg, this time hitting my bone. “ Your calves are not aligned correctly,” he snaps. “ And they look tenser than concrete. Do you understand the importance of proper alignment?”
Each word stings as much as the physical blow, but I nod, forcing myself to remain poised.
He swings the stick up. “ Don ’ t get me started on your arms. You need to hold them higher, and stop looking so stiff.” He ’ s about to strike my biceps when Jared pivots, blocking his blow with a swift, protective movement.
Mr. Leblanc ’ s brown eyes darken with challenge.
“ We wouldn ’ t want to hurt her, now would we?” Jared replies, his voice steady but full of defiance. “ Her father might not like that,” he adds, the tension between them crackling like static electricity.
Mr. Leblanc moves suddenly and hits Jared in the back of the head with his stick. Crack! My cry gets stuck to my throat as I reach for Jared’s hand. “ You ’ re right, but your father wouldn ’ t mind, would he?” Mr. Leblanc snickers cruelly. “ Oh wait, where is your father, Jared?” He pauses.
I glance at Jared to see his eyes fixed on the ground. Mr. Leblanc leans closer to him.“If you interrupt me once more, you ’ ll witness what happens during her private lesson with me. You can ’ t always protect her, and neither can her father.”
Mr. Leblanc turns, then shouts, “ Dismissed,” although the class remains frozen, the other dancers lingering on the sidelines.
“ How long has he been using me against you?” I whisper.
Jared ’ s muscles tense. “ It doesn ’ t matter.”
“ It matters to me.”
Jared steps back, his eyes narrowing as he stares at me. “ Are you going to tell your father how he hurts you? How he hurts us so he can feel powerful?” He raises a brow, then grins robotically. “ Of course not. You don ’ t want to get your hands dirty, Mila. I get it; really, I do. Our conscience can eat us alive.”
His voice is broken and faint, like scattered crumbs—the last vestiges of his conscience that seem to have survived.
I want to sweep him up and piece him back together like a Cake Pop. Once a whole cake, then shredded, even in crumbles, it could be turned into something worth tasting again.
If only life were as simple as baking a cake. But I know Jared. The line between friend and something more is too blurred for me to help.
“ Jared,” I try to reach for him, but he pulls away.
“ It ’ s fine, Mila. Us scholarship kids are strong; we have to be in order to survive.” He glances over my shoulder, his eyes narrowing into slits. “ Oh look, your new friends are here.”
I turn to see Dash, Dante, and Cillian standing like kings on thrones, watching the spectacle unfold. Mr. LeBlanc walks past them. I don ’ t miss how Dash ’ s head follows Mr. LeBlanc before it swiftly turns back to face me.
I turn back to Jared. “ You ’ re my friend too.”
“ I know,” he responds with hurt in his voice. “ We ’ re just friends. I meant what I said. I don ’ t want to lose you as a friend, but speaking of conscience, imagine how hurt mine is knowing you could do something to stop your abuse, my abuser, but choose not to. You have power, Mila; sometimes you have to get dirty in order to use it.”
Salty tears burn my eyes, “ That would make me my father.”
Jared leans closer. “ You are his daughter. When are you going to accept that?” Then he steps back and looks down at me, making me feel less than dirt.
“ I ’ ll handle Mr. Leblanc,” I admit. Maybe I can convince my father not to kill him.
Jared snickers. “ Just like you ’ re handling Dash? You ’ re not handling things, Mila; you ’ re folding under the pressure. Eventually, you ’ re going to have to get your hands dirty. Make sure you pick friends who are willing to help you clean them.” He says in a gentle warning before he turns, grabs his bag, and leaves the studio.
I feel like I keep failing people. No matter how hard I try, I can ’ t make everyone happy. Least of all myself.
Ignoring Dash ’ s entrance into the studio, I walk to the bar, sit, and begin to take my pointe shoes off. I hear the door open and the sound of a crutch walking closer. “ Get out,” Dash orders the rest of the dancers. They listen, just like that, choosing to walk out in their pointe shoes before changing.
He closes the distance slowly. I still ignore his presence as I slip off my shoe and sigh in pleasure.
Dash awkwardly lowers himself to the floor, his hard cast hitting it with a soft thump. He says nothing as I untie my ribbons, then unwrap my toes and remove the pads. I feel his eyes on my feet, which are not pretty.
A smile curls at my lips. “ They resemble how I feel,” I mutter as I reach into my bag to find my numbing spray.
“ What does?” he replies more softly than I thought he could sound.
“ My feet. They look disgusting, bruised, battered, yet strong. That ’ s how I feel.” I whisper, then I spray the numbing spray on my blister before wrapping it.
“ What ’ s the spray?”
“ It helps to numb the pain.” I wish I could spray it over my mind to stop it from attacking itself.
He nods as if understanding. “ How long?”
I shrug. “ It last an hour or so.”
“ No,” he ’ s crueler now, sounding more like a butcher ’ s knife being pulled from the block. “ How long has the teacher been hurting you?”
I grab my socks and cover my feet, then rest my hands on my ankles. “ If I tell my father, he will kill him.”
“ Sounds like a smart plan.”
“ I don ’ t want blood on my hands,” I bite. I drag my bag onto my lap and pull out my sneakers.
“ Ironic coming from the girl who cuts her fingertips.”
My fingers freeze on the sneakers I just grabbed. Dash pivots, so he ’ s facing me. Reaching up, he grabs the bar and pulls himself to stand, trying to do it gracefully with his cast. “ Come on,” he grunts.
“ I ’ m not in the mood for dinner.”
“ Neither am I,” he turns and begins to walk, pausing at the entrance of the studio. “ I will throw you over my shoulder, Mila,” he warns.
I snort. “ I ’ d like to see you try.” I look at his cast.
“ One day you will.” His words sound like a declaration etched into my bones.
I sigh and follow him because I ’ m tired. So fucking tired like my feet, but I keep moving, keep pushing through the pain in hope I ’ ll find that light at the end of the tunnel.
We go back to his dorm. I linger in his bedroom as he goes to the bathroom and turns the shower on. Maybe he wants to shower before dinner. I walk to his wardrobe and grab the tape and plastic bag to cover his cast with.
Dash steps out of his bathroom, steam from the shower already beginning to snake out from the crack in the door. My heart picks up as I look at his bare chest, each muscle defined and glistening with a light sheen from the steam. His breathing reveals the taut strength beneath his skin. He ’ s proud, like a monster who just stepped out into the moonlight and stared down its prey.
I got you. His eyes say.
The bathroom's backlight casts shadows, highlighting the ridges and valleys of his toned body. His chest rises and falls with each breath, steady and controlled, yet I sense a storm brewing within him. My eyes trail down to a faint scar running across his ribs, another one near his collarbone that looks fresher and more pink.
A strange mix of fear and fascination grips me, knowing that this man before me is both protector and predator. The heat in the room intensifies, matching the flush spreading across my cheeks. For a moment, I am utterly captivated, my mind swirling with thoughts I dare not voice, my body responding to the undeniable allure of his presence.
“ Get undressed,” he mutters, his eyes roaming over my clothing with disdain as if the very threads are offending him, as if they are causing me pain.
It takes me a moment to register what he ’ s saying. I have to avert my vision from his hard chest until I fully understand what he just said. “ What?” I stammer, my voice barely a whisper.
“ You wanted the broken prince,” Dash points out, then he opens the palm of his hand, “ here he is.”
I lick my lips and gulp, my heartbeat quickening. “ Is this another game?”
“ Of course,” he counters, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
Each moment we stand in silence, more fog from the shower blankets us, making it harder for me to think. My chest tightens, and I instinctively wrap my arms around myself, seeking some semblance of protection.
“ You can run or you can join me.”
“ Join you?” I parrot back, my voice quivering. The humid air pouring out from the bathroom coats my skin, making me feel the need to shed my clothes,
“ Trust me.”
My forehead furrows. He wants me to get undressed and shower? “ Why?”
“ Mila,” he sighs in warning. “ We ’ re taking a shower.”
“ Together?”
He nods, his expression torn between desperation and determination. “ Your hesitation is wasting water.” He says.
“ Are you suddenly a water conservationist?”
A smile tugs at his lips. There ’ s my broken prince.
“ Just tell me why?”
“I don ’ t fucking know why. I just need it, and so do you.” He steps closer and reaches for my shirt, tugging at the hem with hope in his eyes that I ’ ll comply.
I gasp. It feels like he just grabbed my wildly beating heart.
It ’ s another mind game again. I don ’ t know what to do. I feel cornered, trapped in the wolf ’ s jaws. He ’ s telling me he will let me go if I relax, but he could also just snap down harder if I comply.
He begins to lift my shirt, my arms following suit. “ Why are you doing this?” I mutter.
He pushes down my sweatpants, then grabs the straps of my leotard, his smooth fingers slipping under the tight fabric running along my skin. It feels electric.
“ I don ’ t know.” He replies in a daze. “ I want you, and I think you want me to. I want to escape while my hands are clean of blood because one day they will be so filthy you ’ ll never let me touch you. One day, that prince you see will vanish. I ’ ll become my last name.”
“ King.” I whisper sorrowfully.
He closes his eyes. I push up on my toes and press a soft kiss to his jaw. His muscles twitch then relaxes when I pull away.
I roll my lips in, trying to hide my sorrow. He ’ s right, and now I understand why he is doing this. I give in because one day, he ’ s going to help me escape this life, but my poor, broken, beautiful monster won ’ t be able to escape. He ’ s trapped, forced to play until he dies.
He pushes my straps down past my shoulders, each inch lower has my body trembling.
“ I don ’ t know you, Dash,” I say more to myself. I ’ ve never been this exposed to a man before.
“ You shouldn ’ t want to know me,” he replies as he rolls the leotard over my breasts. They bounce free, the cool air wrapping around them only for an uncomfortable moment before his next exhale of warm breath heats them.
“ I ’ ve...” I swallow as my knees begin to shake. “ I ’ ve never been with a guy before.”
“ If it makes you more comfortable,” He smirks, “ neither have I.”
A laugh escapes me.
“ We ’ re just showering,” he says, but his eyes linger on my now hard pink nipples. He can ’ t bend because of his cast, so I ’ m left with the leotard covering only my lower body.
My hands are still gripping the plastic bag and tape I use to cover his cast.
We ’ re doing this. I ’ m allowing it.
Dash ’ s eyes keep lingering, as if waiting for me to snap out of this insane haze. That ’ s when I realize he is giving me another chance to protest. He ’ s allowing me an ounce of control in my life.
Instead of running, I find my knees bending down as I begin to undress him, then wrap his cast in plastic so the water won ’ t ruin it. As my hands run over his body to cover the cast, I can ’ t ignore how he hardens at the sight of me on my knees.
But I don ’ t feel vulnerable; I feel powerful. He ’ s let me in, showed me his weakness, and trusted me to keep it a secret from everyone.
“ Come on,” Dash says once I ’ m finished. I remain kneeling on my knees.
Can I do this? Shower with him, go toe to toe, and play this new mind game?
He turns, not waiting for me.
I dig my fingers into the carpet of his floor. I have nothing to lose. I don ’ t know what he ’ s up to, but if his feelings are genuine, then maybe, in the end, I can trick the devil.
Maybe I can help him escape his fate, too?
I step into his bathroom, inhaling the thick, hot steam from the shower. With trembling fingers, I pull back the curtain. His wide, strong back is stretched out as his hands brace the wall, and the hot water cascades down him. I follow the trail of the water, over his white blonde hair, down his neck—a neck I want to grab and hold. It falls over the muscles of his back, down his ass. He ’ s glorious.
“ Dash,” I whisper, unsure if I should interrupt him. He looks battered by the pull of two opposing forces. One is peace, the hot water finally relaxing him, and the other is fury, a dark, unseen force striving to control him.
Eventually, he pushes off the wall, turning to face me. This time, however, he doesn ’ t look at my now naked body. He reaches for my hand and pulls me under the hot water, the steam enveloping us in a hazy cocoon. I plaster my hands on his chest, trying to find balance in my lust filled mind. He takes his time grabbing the shampoo and pours it into my hair. I stand as still as a marble pillar, feeling the awkwardness of the situation. But as he gently rubs the shampoo into my hair, I slowly begin to relax.
He guides me under the water to rinse it gently, making sure to wipe away the hair that tries to cover my face from him. He takes the body wash and rubs it over my arms and up my shoulders, and then he cups my breasts. “ Dash,” I pant, daring to look down at his erection. He ’ s huge, thick, and veiny, glistening under the water.
“ Shh,” he whispers in a heated fury. “ I ’ m trying, Mila, so fucking hard for you, and I have no idea why.”
“ Because we make each other feel.” I admit, tilting my chin up to see him. I wish I hadn ’ t. The water cascades over the sharp angles of his stunning face. My tongue sputters like a failing engine, unable to find words. I’m so far out of my league.
“ I don ’ t want to feel!” He shouts, causing some of the droplets clinging to him to jump free.
“ Yes, you do.” I step closer so our wet bodies are now pressed together in a slippery hold. “ If we didn ’ t want to feel,” I glide my hands up to his shaking shoulders. “ we ’ d be our fathers.”
“ Stop talking.” He replies, but it ’ s more of a plea so I obey. I ’ ve pushed my broken prince enough.
I shift from foot to foot, but eventually, my toes inch closer to him. He ’ s continues to wash me, taking his time circling my breasts, taking delicate care around my nipples. “ Dash,” I moan. It feels so good. I ’ ve touched myself, and Jared touched me, too, but when Dash King touches me it doesn ’ t compare to any sensation I have felt before. It ’ s like seeing a new color you never knew existed.
I want to use that color; I want to paint my entire life in that shade.
Allow it to consume me. Redefine me.
“ You ’ re so beautiful,” he declares, leaning down as far as his cast allows, and then he begins to press kisses along my jaw.
“ You make me feel beautiful.” The admittance slips out through my heavy exhale.
He stills, his lips teetering on the edge of mine. “ No one should have that power over you.”
“ What if I give it to you willingly?”
“ When will you learn, little fox, that a hunter won ’ t save you? He hunts for a reason, and that isn ’ t to find a new house pet. It ’ s for survival. He will trap you and use every single part of you down to the bones until nothing is left.”
“ Then use me.”
He shakes his head before he nips at my bottom lip. The action ignites my skin, sending my body into overdrive.
He guides me until my back hits the wet tiles. His hands slide down from my breasts, pulling my arms to his side as he takes a hold of my wrists in his strong heated palms. With each inch, he raises my hands above my head, and my heart races towards a dangerous acceleration.
Dark eyes gaze down at me as he holds my hands above my head, cradling them in his palms as he interlaces his fingers with mine for a moment. “ You want to keep your hands clean, Mila,” he states, but I ’ m so dizzy and high from his touch that I ’ m not sure if he meant it as more of a question.
Then he kisses me. It ’ s filled with passion and hate, cruelty as his tongue claims mine, controls it, forces it to be submissive to him. He pushes his hips forward, his cock nudging my folds. The moan that escapes my lips is so loud it might be heard down the hall. He keeps me pinned against the wall, hands above my head, as he makes out with me. His hips keep grinding against my sex, but never pushing more.
I want him to do it. I want him to shove himself deep inside of me. Take a part of me like he ’ s slowly taking everything else.
Dash King isn ’ t just a storm; he ’ s the entire goddamn ocean! Open, vast, endless; beautiful like Caribbean beaches, dangerous like the deadly deep uncharted waters, toxic like the creatures who lurk hidden under the waves.
Consuming. Captivating. Cruel and calculating.
“ Fuck me,” I pant.
He squeezes my hands tighter, then he sucks hard enough to bruise my neck. I feel every tug and pull reach down between my aching thighs. “ No,” he sighs cruelty.
“ Please. Just take it. I want to feel what sex feels like with you, Dash. I want to feel you.”
“ You have no idea what you're asking.” He sneers as if my offer of my virginity offends him.
I tug at my hands, wanting not to escape but rather to dive into this depravity. He doesn ’ t allow me to be freed, so the only way I can get more is to start grinding my hips against his rocking ones. Then it becomes a dance of lust and desire that is so tangible we both are panting into each other ’ s mouths, breathing a new dark life force into each other.
“ I ’ m going to…” Oh my god! I feel the sensations building. “ I want you inside of me.” I beg, but the bastard doesn ’ t grant my request.
My words plague him though. I can feel it with his quicken thrust as his hard cock hits my clit, stroking me faster and faster. He grunts at the same moment I scream out his name; we both come in sync. I feel his hot seed land on my stomach as he presses his forehead against mine. His labor breath fogs the air making this feel like a dream.
What did we just do? I glance down and watch the water wash away his seed from my stomach.
I was begging him to fuck me! Deep down I still wish he had.
Suddenly, he drops my hands; they fall heavy and limp at my side. He grabs my wrist, and I ’ m so numb I move like a puppet.
In a sharp movement, Dash turns my palm face up. “ Eventually, Mila,” he begins, sounding so cold the warm water can ’ t stop the shudder that runs through my body. “ We all have to get blood on our hands.” My lungs inhale in a sharp defense.
He steps out of the shower and grabs a towel.
Anger pours out of my broken heart. “ I ’ m happy you didn ’ t fuck me. I didn ’ t want it. I was just high in the moment. You could have been any other guy.”
Dash slowly wraps the towel around his body, not regarding me. He walks to the door, then glances down at me over his shoulder. “ Liar.” He smirks, “ When you're ready to admit the truth, I ’ ll give you what you want, little fox.”
The click of the door sounds like the final pillar of my sanity crumbling. I sink down, bracing the wet floor as I try to catch my breath.
My eyes follow the water swirling down the drain. Therein lies the moral of his story. We can escape and feel joy and pleasure, but eventually, we have to get dirty.