Breakers (Academy of Stardom Book 3)

Xeno

“Where is she?” I snap, entering the living room a couple hours after storming out of it. Dax sits alone nursing a glass of whisky, the tumbler dangling between his middle finger and thumb as he stares at the amber liquid lost in thought. “Dax?”

“My room, asleep.”

“Zayn and York?”

“Out cold.”

Spinning on my feet I head back the way I came. I’m a rude cunt, I know that, but I don’t give a shit. I just need my girl. I need her so bad I can’t fucking think straight. Dax follows me.

“Xeno, what are you doing?” he asks, clamping his hand on my shoulder and forcing me to stop. He moves in front of me, blocking my way along the hallway.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re not in the right frame of mind to see Kid just yet,” he replies. “You need to get your head straight.”

“Don’t tell me what I need, Dax. You don’t get to decide when I see my girl.”

Dax grits his jaw and uses his considerable size to block my way. “Our girl, you fucker, and I won’t let you near her when you’re like this. You need to calm down, right the fuck now.”

“I am calm.”

“You’re not calm. You know it. I know it. You’re angry. I fucking get it. We all are, but you going in there like this isn’t gonna solve a damn thing.”

“We could’ve lost her!”

“I know that. We didn’t.”

“And we won’t when I fucking kill that cunt David.”

“Jesus, where’s your head at, man? This ain’t like you.” Dax squeezes my arm gently, concern written across his face. “You know it’s a suicide mission.”

“I need him dead.”

“Do you fucking hear yourself? You’re the one who makes sure we don’t lose our shit and go off the rails. You make sure we never do something stupid. You’re the one who holds us together. You’re the glue, man. Please don’t come unstuck now. We need you to keep your head.”

“Fuck!” My shoulders drop as I feel the weight of our situation sit heavily upon them. Dax is right, but I can’t seem to control this fear inside my chest. We came so fucking close to losing Tiny and it almost brought me to my knees. Seeing that prick bleeding out was the only thing to stop me from losing my mind entirely. If Zayn hadn’t taken out Jeb, I would’ve. Now all I can focus on is killing David. It’s the only thing preventing me from losing my ever-loving mind. I have to take him out. I have to keep the people I love safe.

“Think about this logically, without all the emotion. David lives in a fortress over there. You’ve seen the intel on his place. He barely leaves the compound, and when he does, he’s surrounded by at least a dozen armed guards. Jeb had no idea about how powerful David had become, but we do. You do. It’s an impossible task.”

I run a hand through my hair, grasping at the ends and tugging before meeting Dax’s infuriated stare with one of my own. “The only thing getting me through is knowing that in a few day’s time I’ll be blowing David’s brains out.”

“Deep down you know that ain’t how it’s gonna play out, right?”

“I know he has to die.”

“He does, I don’t dispute that. You’re good at what you do, Xeno, but you won’t get close enough. It’s a fool’s errand and you fucking know it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. My mind’s made up. I want to see Tiny…” I counter, stepping around Dax who just moves in front of me again. “Get the fuck out of my way!”

“No, Xeno.”

“What the fuck do you think I’m going to do, huh? I love her, Dax!” I shout, and this time my voice fucking cracks like a goddamn pussy. “I need her.”

Dax eyes flicker with sympathy. “I know you do, Xeno, but I also know you need to get your head right. Please, man. Do this for me, for Kid. Get some proper rest then come find her when you’re feeling calmer. She’s barely slept these past few days. I’ll watch over her in the meantime.”

“I fucking need her,” I repeat, dropping my head.

“We all need her, Xeno. She needs you too, just not like this…” His voice trails off and there’s no denying the haunted look in his eyes.

“What?” I snap. Dax draws in a shaky breath. Whatever he’s feeling now is more than just him being pissy at me for losing my cool, not that I had much to begin with.

“She ain’t coping well with what happened, Xeno.”

I frown. “What are you saying?”

“Kid hates violence. You know that. She saw us covered in blood, tooled up, fucking raging. We killed men in front of her.”

“We had no choice!”

“I know that, I believe she does too. Regardless, this ain’t easy for her to swallow. We’ve lived this life for a long time. Kid has done everything in her power to stay out of it. She’s fragile right now. She blames herself for what happened that night.”

“This is not on her!”

“I know that. We all do.” Dax sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “She chose to fight back. We encouraged her to do that. You know as well as I do that the dance she performed was for her brother, to show him that he hasn’t crushed her spirit or her courage. She sent him a message, and he responded. The guilt is eating her up.”

“She’s stronger than you give her credit for, Dax. She’s had to be.”

“Sometimes even the strongest ones break. Give her some time. At least allow her to fucking sleep, please.”

“And I suppose you’re the one who’s going to be there for her, picking up the pieces.”

Dax sighs, running a hand over his head. “It ain’t like that. I’m not keeping her from you. Fuck, you know I love you motherfuckers, that I love us, the five of us. You’re my family, arsehole, but I always swore to protect her. I didn’t. None of us did. We let her down. I owe her this, and the rest of you owe her the best men you can be. If that means me stepping in when you’re all acting like pricks, then I fucking will,” Dax retorts.

He’s a stubborn fucker. He’s also right. I tell him as much despite my pride.

“You’re right. You always fucking are, but know this Dax, I’ll be doing the same. When you lose your shit—and I know you, I see the violence brewing inside of you—then be prepared for me to step in, just like you are now.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Dax nods, then squeezes my shoulder and enters his bedroom shutting the door behind him.

“Xeno, can I come in?”

I jump out of bed, startled awake the moment I hear Tiny’s voice.

“Hey,” I say, opening the door. She looks up at me, her brown eyes limned in a sadness that makes my heart contract painfully. Fuck.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“I’ve slept enough. Is Dax awake?” I ask, looking over her shoulder and down the corridor. The door to his bedroom is closed as are York’s and Zayn’s.

“No, he’s still sleeping. York and Zayn too, I checked.”

“I’m not surprised, it’s been a rough few days…” My voice trails off as she regards me, hovering in the hallway, uncertain. Stepping aside, my heart pumps wildly as she brushes past me and I breathe in her familiar scent. Closing the door, I lean against it, taking my fill of her messy hair and flushed cheeks as sleep still lingers in the softness of her gaze and relaxed posture.

“What about you, have you slept?” she asks, frowning.

“I’ve had a few hours.”

“Good…” Her voice trails off as she fiddles with the hem of her top. I can’t help but notice the slight tremor in her hands and I’m reminded of what Dax had said. Being strong takes its toll. We all have our limits, and maybe this time, Tiny has hit hers.

“I’m glad you came. I wanted to talk to you, clear the air…” I begin.

“By talk, you mean tell me you’re going to Mexico to kill my brother.”

“Tiny, my mind’s made up…”

“Don’t our opinions matter at all?” she asks.

“I’m doing this for them as much as I’m doing it for you.”

She steps forward, cocking her head to the side as she studies me with knowing eyes. “Don’t do that, Xeno. Don’t lie to me, not now. This is about your fear, your pain, your anger. You’re not thinking about the rest of us,” she retorts. Her voice might be low, soft, sensual in a way that rouses me, but anger still flares to life within it. “This is a selfish reaction.”

“I’m protecting you,” I counter in frustration. “I’m doing this so they don’t have to. So you can be safe from that fucking monster.”

“You’re willing to die, for what? So my brother can have the satisfaction of killing the man I love.”

“I wasn’t sure if that was still the case,” I say, meeting her gaze, wanting to be certain. It’s a fucking needy thing to say, and fuck knows I’ve never been needy, but right now I want the truth.

“What, that I love you?”

“That you love any of us still.”

“Do you think I would still be here if I didn’t? God, you’re so fucking infuriating!”

“I don’t know. Maybe when this is all over, you’ll walk away again?” It’s a low blow and one I instantly regret, but instead of apologizing like a decent human being, I fold my arms across my chest and press my lips into a hard line.

Tiny presses her fingers against her eyes, her small, delicate hands shaking. When she looks at me again there’s determination in her stare, and her fingers are balled into fists, the fight I always knew she still possessed revealing itself to me. “That was a shitty thing to say, Xeno. I love you. All of you. That hasn’t changed. Though you’re determined to make it hard for me.”

“But is it enough?”

“It has to be,” she replies with a firm nod of her head. “What I’m feeling. It will pass.”

Despite her conviction, I hear the doubt in her voice. It guts me like nothing else does. “We never lied to you… Not about what we’ve become.”

“I know that but knowing who you are and seeing it with my own eyes are two very different things. It’s… a lot.”

I nod. “I don’t deny that. It will be over soon.”

“Sooner, if you have your way.”

“I will kill David. That fucker has to die.”

Tiny’s nostrils flare as she draws in a frustrated breath. “There are other ways to gut a pig, ways that don’t involve you leaving the country and taking this on by yourself,” she counters.

“Fuck, Tiny. Why can’t you trust me to do this? Have a little faith.”

She shakes her head, her anger blazing now. “This isn’t about trust or faith, Xeno. This is about us. They love you. I love you and we can’t let you do this. I won’t let you do this!” she says, fiercely, her whispered words, harsh. Her cheeks might be flushed, and her hair ruffled from sleep, but there’s no softness left in her words now. This is an order, one that tightens a hold around my heart.

“Tiny, it’s non-negotiable.”

“Bullshit… I spent the last three years thinking about you all. Longing for you. Loving you, fucking hating you. I’ve only just got you all back and I refuse to accept a future without you in it! You stupid, stubborn bastard!” she exclaims, stepping into my space and jabbing her finger into my chest with every word.

“Tiny,” I warn, gritting my teeth.

“No! He’s my brother. Don’t you think I’m owed retribution?”

“So that’s what this is about? You want to be the one to put the bullet in his brain… I didn’t think you had it in you,” I reply, the words coming out harsher than I’d intended.

“I don’t want to kill anyone. Fuck! I’ve seen what taking someone’s life has done to you all. I want David to rot in jail for the rest of his life knowing that I’m on the outside living and loving and happy with the men I love. That would be worse than death for my brother. A bullet to the brain is too kind, too quick. I know that much, at least.”

Her chest heaves with agitation as she curls her fingers into my top, glaring at me. Beneath her touch my heart beats wildly, enraged at her persistent need to fucking push me. I feel the familiar tightness in my throat and the sickness in my stomach that will only abate when I appease the beast within. I will see this through or die trying.

“Do you remember what you said to me after that night at Rocks? Do they even know what you said to me?”

“Tiny…”

“Because I do. I remember. You came to my house. You stood on my doorstep, looked me in the eye and said that I was dead to you. You broke what was left of my heart that night, Xeno, and I’ll be damned if I let you do that again, not after everything we’ve been through to get to this point. I love you but I will not let you break me one more time.”

“I was a kid. I was angry, Tiny. So fucking hurt. I was lost, insane with sadness. I wanted to hurt you—” I counter.

“—And you succeeded. This time you won’t,” she says adamantly. “If you leave for Mexico, if you do this despite everything we’ve said, I won’t forgive you a second time even if you’re lucky enough not to fucking die!” She lets me go, stepping back, her body shaking. We stare at each other, neither one of us wanting to back down, too stubborn in our anger.

“What’s the plan then, Tiny?” I find myself eventually saying.

She looks at me with suspicion as I lean my head back against the door, fucking exhausted with it all. The fear inside my chest expands, and where once I would’ve used violence to appease the emotion threatening to tear me apart, all I can do is let that fear chip away at my defenses. My fingers curl into my palms, my nails cutting into the soft flesh there as I seek out some form of release. I hate this feeling of being so out of control. The thought of putting a bullet in David’s brain was the only thing keeping me sane. If I don’t have that, what else is left to keep me in check?

“I need a coffee. We can talk some more,” she says, lifting her chin stubbornly.

My gaze trails over her face, lowering to her neck and resting on the two-inch horizontal cut that’s already crusted over. She won’t scar, but that means shit. We’re all fucked up from the wounds that have never healed inside. A familiar rage builds in my stomach and I know that I need to find a way to override it right this fucking second, that I need to find a way to work through my issues, and given violence isn’t an option right now, the only logical way to do that is through dance.

My dance. Bachata.

“I’d rather dance.”

“Dance?”

“Yes. Will you dance with me, Tiny?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right—”

Grasping her arm I pull her towards me. “Dance with me.” It comes out as an order but really, it’s a plea. Acting one way, feeling another. Typical fucking me. Earlier I had shown her anger when really all I felt was fear. Still fucking do.

“Are you trying to seduce me into submission? Is that the plan, Xeno?” she asks with a soft voice, her gaze landing on my hand wrapped around her arm. There’s caution in her gaze, a flash of fear. I release her.

“I’m fucking this up…”

“Fucking what up?”

“I don’t want to seduce you, Tiny,” I say in frustration. “I just want to dance. Nothing more.”

She holds my gaze for a long time and I’m fully aware that at this moment she’s fighting her own demons. Eventually she nods her head, determined. “Then let’s dance.”

Pushing off the door, I grab my mobile phone, feeling the heat of her stare as she watches me select a track. I Just Want You, an instrumental bachata track by Marco Lopetuso, begins to play.

“What’s this?” she asks, cocking her head as she listens to the song. Her long brown hair falls over her shoulder, and I have the urge to run my hands through the silky strands.

It’s not a song I’ve ever played in my lessons at the Academy or shared with anyone else before today. It means something special to me. This is a song that I’ve invented countless routines in my head to but never shared, and that’s because of the woman standing before me. I never wanted to dance to this track with anyone else but her. Deep down, hidden beneath the lies I told myself, it was always her.

My Tiny.

The girl who holds my beaten-up, broken heart in her hands and has ever since we were kids. The woman who tears me up inside because I love her so damn much, and don’t know how the fuck to handle that. The dancer who makes my skin burn just to move with her. She’s the one I’d die for above all else. She’s the one I’ll kill for without fucking question.

I’m a man of few words, yet I’m filled up to the fucking brim with intense emotions. Over the past few days, I’ve felt them all. I’ve been plagued by rage, shame, helplessness, guilt, insecurity, love.

Somehow this track allows me to express them without losing my ever-loving mind. When things get really bad and violence isn’t an option, I dance to this track until I can breathe again. Now I want to share it with her.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

“I’ve never danced to this song with anyone else before…” I say, swallowing my nerves and ignoring the roaring, pulsing, rush of blood in my ears and the fucking heat the burns beneath my cheeks. Turning my back to Tiny, I pull off my sweater and t-shirt needing to relieve myself of the confines of my clothes, not because I want to seduce her, but because suddenly I can’t fucking breathe. I push away the memory of Frederico holding a knife to her neck as I concentrate on the song.

“You’re undressing?”

“It helps…”

“With what?”

“Me to breathe.”

“Breathe?”

I swallow hard, itching to hold her and yet wanting to run. The building pressure inside of me grows. “I don’t know how else to explain… Can we just dance…?”

“That’s why I’m here, right?” she answers, waiting for me to make the first move.

Stepping close, I place my hand on the middle of her back and clutch her hand against my chest. Her eyes widen as I position my legs and press my thumb against her spine as the familiar beat kicks in on the track.

“This is bachata,” she says.

“Yes.”

“Why now? What’s changed?” she whispers as our bodies mould together and we move to the distinct beat of the music. It’s natural, the way we dance together. Instinctual. Like coming home. I knew it would be. Dancing with her at Tales, then briefly at Jewels gave me a taste of how it would be to dance bachata with her. I already know that I will never want to dance bachata with anyone else ever again.

“Does there have to be a reason?” I ask, dipping her backwards slowly, before lifting her back up again. My hand slides down her back, over her arse and under her thigh, hooking her leg over my hip. She grinds against me as I stare into her beautiful brown eyes. Eyes that seem to change shade with her mood. Right now, they’re a deep brown. Sensual. Alluring. For a moment, at least, the anger and fear are gone. I swallow hard.

“Do you want to know what I think?” she whispers, her forehead pressed against mine, our lips grazing as she clutches the back of my neck and runs her fingers over my cheek.

“What, Tiny?” I reply, easing her leg down, and capturing her thigh between my own as we rock rhythmically from side to side.

“This dance is a goodbye. You’re going to go to Mexico regardless of what I say. You don’t believe you’ll come back any more than we do, so it’s easy for you to break our hearts when you won’t see the repercussions of your actions.”

Her voice cracks, her body trembles, but she doesn’t stop moving; instead, she raises her hands to meet mine. We dance like this, our bodies parted, but our palms pressed together for the next few beats of the song. I see the emotion playing in her eyes. She’s always wanted to dance bachata with me, and now she is. Right now, it’s a dance of mixed emotions. Her fear, my pain. Her love, my determination. Her courage, my stubbornness.

“You’re wrong…” I reply, releasing one hand, encouraging her to turn in a circle as I move behind her, keeping my distance for the next portion of the song. My gaze tracks the seductive sway of her hips, as she steps in time to the rhythm of the music. I’m enraptured by the way she moves and how fucking perfect she is.

“I am?” she questions as I step closer, lining myself up behind her. My chest, hips and thighs all pressed against her now; she fits perfectly.

“Dancing with you is helping to ease this feeling in my chest,” I admit.

“What feeling?” she questions, turning her head to the side and looking up at me as I slide my hand upwards and rest it just below her breasts. I feel the delicious curve of the underside of her breast as she places her hand over mine, our fingers entwining. My cock jerks, and I will myself to keep dancing and not rip her clothes from her body and bury myself inside of her.

This isn’t about sex. This is about so much more. Bachata is both sensual and controlled. The control is in the steps that are timed to the beat, but the sensuality is found in the closeness of our bodies pressed together, the building heat of cheeks brushing cheeks, lips grazing lips, fingers gliding over skin. It’s a dance that speaks to my soul. I need passion and love, I crave it, but in a way that can be contained. Bachata allows that.

We rock our hips in time to the beat of the music, her arse pressed against my thickening cock. She hums, the soft sound vibrating through her back into my chest. I can’t help myself; I lower my lips to hers, brushing over them softly. The pain beneath my rib cage expands. I nearly lost her. I still could. I will if David doesn’t die.

“What feeling?” she persists, kissing me back. The edge of her tongue runs over my lower lip, teasing, stirring up more feeling, more pain.

“The rage. The pain. The love. It’s too much,” I admit.

For a second her step falters, but rather than stop dancing she spins around to face me, pressing her palm over my heart. “Too much?”

I concentrate on the basic count of the dance, the rising tide of the music. I use the familiar percussive beat to focus my mind and steady the bulging, rasping pain in my chest so that I can answer her truthfully. “I have to dampen every emotion. Love. Hate. Rage. Fear. Lust. Joy. I’m not normal, Tiny.”

“Why did you never say anything?” she asks, as I grasp her upper arms and she rolls her shoulders, undulating against me. “I could’ve helped you.”

“I didn’t know how to love the right way. I still don’t.”

“Then let me teach you.”

“It’s not as simple as that…”

“It can be, if you let it. Will you let me help you?”

For a while I can’t answer, not in words anyway. Instead, I guide her around my bedroom, the hugeness of the song and the intimacy of the space only serving to heighten the emotion further, not dampen it down like I’d hoped. I’m barely holding on.

“Xeno?” She reaches up to cup my face, her thumb dragging over my split lip and bruised cheek. Stepping into her parted legs, I rest my hands against her upper chest, holding her just beneath her armpits then lift my arms up, supporting hers on top of mine as I crouch into the hold, my hips rocking, encouraging her to do the same. Of course, she moves with me, and when I gently push her rib cage with my right hand, she knows what I mean to do and rolls her body with mine.

“I’ve already made so many mistakes when it comes to you, Tiny,” I mutter against her cheek, my lips brushing over her skin. Her fingertips trail down my neck and across my pecs. Her touch feels like fucking fire.

“We’ve all made mistakes,” she counters as I place my hand on her right shoulder and push gently so she spins under my arm, her hair whipping through the air as she moves. Reaching for her hip with one hand, and cupping her shoulder with the other, she lifts her leg and rolls her shoulder in one smooth motion. She fucking slays me. Dancing with her is as easy as breathing.

“I tried to make you choose because how could you possibly have a heart big enough to love all four of us when my heart was barely capable of loving at all?” I say, my thumb sliding down her spine and pinning her to me.

“Xeno…” her voice breaks, and the love she pours into her steps and the intensity of her stare almost floors me.

Digging deep, I concentrate on our movements, the beat, the count of our steps that intensify with every percussive beat. Tiny is a beautiful bachata dancer, a natural. Her expressive tendencies adding flare to her arm movements, and her perfect timing from years of dancing hip-hop ensuring she hits every single beat.

“I’m a man of too much. Too much hate, too much rage, too much fucking love.”

“Too much is better than none at all. I’d rather have every last drop of your love, however you choose to express it, than nothing at all. I’d rather you live than die, Xeno.”

“Fuck, Tiny…” My lips hover over hers, dusting her with softness when inside all I feel is this carnal kind of love, a savage possession, a turbulent need. It cuts me open.

“Keep dancing,” she says, as though sensing the sudden change in me. “Concentrate on the steps, the beat. Let it soothe you, Xeno. Let’s heal each other. It doesn’t have to hurt.”

In response, I pull Tiny against my chest, her torso resting against mine, her breasts pressed up against me as we move. With our hands still clasped together, I rest my cheek against hers as we dance in a tight circle to the beat of the song. Her thigh is tight between mine and she sways her body, her right foot rising with a cock of her hip. Every movement hits perfectly with the beat of the music and gradually, every step we take eases the ache as a flood of endorphins enters my system. It’s a rush like no other. I instantly feel myself relax, and the rising, broiling tide of my emotion dies away.

“You’re not alone, Xeno. You don’t have to kill for any of us to ease your suffering. We’ll find another way,” Tiny says, pulling back, her eyes begging me to listen, her words promising safety and comfort.

The problem is I’m a product of my own making, and maybe if we didn’t have this threat hanging over our heads, I’d be able to believe another way is possible. But it isn’t.

Cupping her face in my hands, I press my lips against hers. She sobs against my mouth, her hands rising up and curling into my hair as she clutches me to her. I taste her salty tears and the metallic blood from my split lip. I feel her pain and fear, and as she scrambles up my body, wrapping her legs around my waist. I hold on for dear life. We kiss like two lovers who know their time is up. We kiss knowing this might be the last chance. I’m going to kill her brother, and Tiny will stick to her word just like she should. The song ends and I ease Tiny out of my hold and take a step away from her. It feels like an ice bucket of water has been chucked over my head.

“There is no other way. I leave Friday morning.”

She gives me a heartbreaking look, then nods. “Then you leave me with no other choice.”