by Bea Paige
“Motherfucking cunt. Do not touch our girl!” Dax spits.
Realisation dawns on Frederico’s face and through the haze of alcohol and cocaine, he begins to understand the error of his ways. Pity then that Dax has his throat gripped so tightly, he can’t actually speak.
“Dax, it’s cool. He’s fucking high,” I say, pushing the flat of my hand against his heaving chest. I can see the remnants of white powder dusting Frederico’s nose. He’s our age, and something close to sympathy overtakes my anger. I reach up, trying to pry Dax’s hand from around his throat. “This is the drug talking, Dax. No one needs to get hurt tonight. I doubt he’ll even remember what he said come morning.”
My stomach coils at the look of cold disgust on Dax’s face aimed squarely at Frederico. He won’t let this go. He won’t let him go. Shit.
“Dax, it’s not worth it.” I stand before him, trying to ease him back but I recognise that look in Dax’s eyes. I’ve seen it before. He’s going to erupt, and when he does, it won’t be pretty.
“Please,” I cajole, cupping his face. Dax flicks his gaze to mine, then releases Frederico who gasps for air.
“Come near her again and you’re dead,” Dax promises, before wrapping his arm around my shoulder and attempting to walk away.
“Ah, come on, man. Just a little taste. I promise I’ll get her ready for you boys. Sharing is caring, right?” Frederico pushes, too fucking high to see sense after all. I stiffen, ready to put myself between Dax and the fucking imbecile when York lunges for me, wraps an arm around my waist and yanks me backwards out of harm’s way.
“No way, Titch. He had his chance to walk away. This dude fucking deserves all he gets,” he murmurs into my ear.
I watch with sick fascination as Dax launches himself at Frederico, laying into him with a punch that launches him backward into the baying crowd who push his stumbling body back towards Dax. Blood pours from Frederico’s nose, the combination of regular cocaine use and the power of Dax’s punch most likely breaking his nose. The kid’s so out of it that he doesn’t even register the pain or the heavy bleeding.
“What? We all know that you’re all fucking her. Sharing ain’t a problem with you lot, is it?” he argues back, blood leaking into his mouth and staining his white teeth, red.
York tenses around me, out of the corner of my eye I can see Zayn’s expression change from derision to explosive anger, but it’s Xeno’s calm control that scares me the most.
“Do it,” he snarls.
Dax looks between me and Xeno, and nods once. There is no hesitancy in Dax’s attack, just a resolute kind of rage as he runs at Frederico like a cyclone about to destroy everything in its path, and by destroy I mean kill.
“Stop!” I shout, struggling to get out of York’s hold and pull Dax off of Frederico now that he's straddling Frederico’s chest, pummelling him with vicious blows. No one seems to care that he’s turning into a bloody mess aside from me, and whilst I hate the cocksucker for what he just said, I don’t want this to go any further for Dax’s sake.
“Fucking stop!” I yell again, elbowing York’s chest so he loosens his hold enough to let me go. I fly towards Dax, yanking at his arm. When he gets like this, I fear for him. You don’t live with abuse and have it not affect you in some way. Dax is used as a punching bag on the daily, and this is the result: an unstoppable, uncontrollable rage. If I know him like I think I do, he’s imagining his dad’s face beneath his fist right now, because when the rage takes over all you see are the people who hurt you the most.
“Enough!” I pull at him as hard as I can, and somehow manage to yank him off Frederico. We end up in a heap, sprawled out on the floor. The kid’s a mess, his face swollen and bloody, but he’s still breathing, just.
I don’t think, I act.
“We need to get out of here,” I shout, rushing to my feet. I pull Dax up with me, catching the violence in his eyes that has my heart racing and my blood pumping. “We have to go!”
Tugging on his arm, we push through the crowd. I don’t look back. The Breakers know what to do. They’ll run too, and this mess will be cleared up by Jeb.
It’s not the first time a fight has broken out in Rocks and it won’t be the last. This place runs on dance, music, drugs, alcohol, and violence. There’s an unspoken rule that if someone gets fucked-up in this place, then there’s never any repercussions with the law. No police. Ever. Not unless you want to live. That’s something to be grateful for at least, though I’m not foolish enough to believe that Dax will get away with this. He’ll owe Jeb a debt now, and Dante’s Crew will be gunning for our blood.
Yanking on Dax’s hand, we run. The crowd parts and I head towards the exit at the back of the club not wanting to leave by the front in case we get jumped. Pushing through the fire exit, we step out into the night. Fear lodges in my throat as I pull Dax down the darkened alleyway, my foggy breaths wispy in the cold night air. When I realise that no one is following us, I stop to catch my breath.
“Dax, are you okay?” I ask, pulling him into a darkened recess and pushing him up against a locked door there. He stares at me with an absent kind of violence, locked inside a moment in time that has nothing to do with Frederico and everything to do with the abuse he endures at the hands of his dad. “Dax…?”
He raises his hand, his fingertips shaking as he blinks away whatever memory he’s trapped within. I capture his fingers in mine, not caring that they’re covered in Frederico’s blood, only caring about him, about his state of mind. He would’ve killed him. Maybe the violence had started because he was defending my honour, but it became something else.
“It’s okay. I’m okay,” I reassure him, clutching his hand, and pressing his palm against my cheek. His skin on mine seems to register deep within and I see recognition flicker within his eyes that change from bleak, to wild, to fearful, as he realises what he’s done.
“Kid, I…”
“Shh, shh. It’ll be okay, but we need to get back to the basement, okay?” I move to turn away, to lead us out of the alley and head to safety, but his hand slips into my hair as he tugs me close until I’m flat against his body.
“I saw red…”
“I know. We can talk about this later. We need to go.”
His hold tightens. “He groped you like you were a piece of meat. How fucking dare he touch you like that.”
“It’s okay, Dax. He was high. It’s done. It’s over.”
His fingers curl in my hair, tugging on the strands as his jaw tenses and his arm wraps around my back, trapping me against his body. “You’re ours, Kid. Ours,” he growls and something in his eyes gives me pause.
Possession. He’s always been protective of me, but this is different. This is more.
“Dax…?” I question as he shifts me in his hold, his legs parting. I slot between them, a perfect fit.
“I want to kiss you,” he grinds out, as though saying those words are a combination of pain and relief.
“You want to kiss me?” I parrot back, my voice quiet, a whisper.
He leans down, pulling me tighter against his body. “I’m going to kiss you, Kid.” And this time my response is swallowed by his lips and nose crashing against mine.
“Ow,” I pull back, rubbing at my nose and laughing a little.
“Shit, sorry,” he cups my face with both hands now, pressing a sweet kiss against the tip of my nose. It’s cute and sexy and I don’t know what to do next. Words trip out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Don’t apologise. It’s me, I don’t… I haven’t… Fuck.”
“What?” he asks, frowning.
“I haven’t kissed anyone before,” I say in a whoosh of breath, partly worried about the fact we’re still standing here and not running, and partly ashamed of my lack of kissing skills and experience. I’m well aware that I’m lagging behind when it comes to this kind of stuff but by the time I was interested in kissing anyone, the only people I wanted to kiss happened to be my best friends and
they’ve never showed me the slightest bit of interest until now.
“What, never?”
“I’ve been hanging out with you guys for the past couple years. I don’t really get the chance to hook up with anyone.” I don’t want to.
“Good.” He grinds out, then bites down on his lip. He smiles a little sheepishly, and my heart lifts as some of the darkness dissolves from his gaze. “Then that’ll make me your first kiss, right?”
“You really want to kiss me…?”
“Are you kidding? Of course, I want to.” He brushes blood-streaked fingertips against my cheek with shaking hands. Nerves steal my voice and all I can do is look at him helplessly. “Tip your head to the side, Kid,” he says, his tone gravelly, deep, as though something is lodged in his throat.
I do as he asks, tipping my head to the side, trying not to think too much about the mechanics of a kiss or whether I’ll mess this moment up. This time when Dax leans in to kiss me, our noses don’t crash together, but my heart? That crashes and thrashes like a piston inside my ribcage, reminding me I’m still here, still alive and not caught up in one of my fantasies I’ve been indulging in over these past few months.
His mouth feathers against mine, hesitant at first, uncertain, but even that light touch is enough to make my knees quake. I’m aware of everything. His heaving chest, his firm body pressed against mine, the tremor of his hands clasping my face. I curl my fingers into the material of his t-shirt not sure if I’m pulling him closer, or hanging on for dear life. My skin tingles and my breath hitches as his tongue sweeps across my lower lip. He groans, one hand sliding into my hair as the other drops to my side, wrapping around my lower back. His fingers flex and just for a moment he hesitates, his mouth parted as though he’s deciding whether he should step over the invisible line that exists between me and him.
“Kiss me, Dax. Please, just kiss me.” I don’t mean for it to come out breathless, but I can’t help it. I feel lightheaded as it is. Swallowing my nervousness I close the minute gap between us and press my lips against his. I want this. I’m done waiting. My fantasies aren’t enough anymore. This was the last thing I thought would happen tonight, but now that it is I don’t want anything to get in the way.
Dax grunts, his fingers tightening in my hair and tugging on the strands as his tongue bypasses my lips, searching, cautious and oh so fucking gentle. For all his violence, Dax kisses with a softness that makes me want to clamber up his large frame and wrap myself around him. Instinctively, I press my crotch against him wanting to relieve the building sensation I feel between my legs. He’s hard and I stop grinding, not sure what to do. I have no experience dealing with this and I’m well aware that the movement of my body is making him react this way. A rumbling kind of noise vibrates through his chest and rather than breaking off the kiss, Dax slides both his hands over my arse, squeezing tighter and just like that, I forget that this is my first kiss. I forget we’re in an alleyway running from his violence.
My body melts into him as though we were always meant to be this way and my hands find their way up and under his shirt, loving the way his skin feels against the palms of my hand. Tasting the remnants of whisky on his tongue, I revel in the feel of him. Emotions catapult inside my chest like a pinball in one of those arcade games we love to play, ricocheting against my internal organs. My heart beats faster, my stomach fills with a million butterflies, my lungs desperately claw for air as I forget to breath and just dive headfirst into moment more than willing to drown.
They say your first kiss is unforgettable, that no matter who it’s with, it will be ingrained in your soul forevermore. Good, bad, indifferent, it doesn’t matter. This kiss is one for the memory banks. It marks me, making a notch in my heart that I will treasure forever. This kiss is perfect.
We lean into each other, me on my tip-toes, held upright in his strong arms. Dax crowding over me, making me feel both small and big all at the same time. When we part, all heaving chests, and whispered thoughts, I smile up at him, pressing my hand over the thrashing beat of his heart.
“You’re my dark angel, Dax, do you know that?
“I am?”
“Yeah, you are.” He smiles, and it’s so beautiful that for a moment I can’t speak.
“Will you always protect me like that?”
“Always, Kid.”
Capturing his hand in mine we run down the alleyway, unaware that our kiss and whispered promises were witnessed by another.
10
Present Day
Just like the night of my first kiss, my heart pounds in my chest trying to search for a way out of this situation. Back then Dax would always come to my aid, whether I wanted it or not. Perhaps it was because he understood the kind of home I came from, perhaps it was because he could reclaim some of his own power by protecting me. Either way, he was always the one who came to my rescue first. That’s what makes this so hard. I never wanted to battle against any of my Breakers, and especially not Dax who gave me my first kiss and allowed my heart to blossom with love.
“Braaap, braaap. Here comes the big man himself. It’s TEARDROP DAAAAXXX!” Little Dynamite calls over the mic.
My eyes snap open, zeroing in on Dax as he strolls onto the dance floor, bare chested, powerful, and oozing a dangerous kind of sex appeal that makes my mouth go dry and my knees, god-fucking-damnit, weak. His slacks are low on his hips, showing off his prominent v-muscle. He was always built and the biggest of the guys both in height and width. That hasn’t changed. His biceps are as large as my thighs, his shoulders broad, his chest muscles defined, and his abs ripped. Somehow he’s developed into a beast of a man that has all the thirsty bitches in the crowd cawing over him. I don’t blame them. There’s no denying his physical prowess, but his physique isn’t what gives me pause.
It’s the artwork tattooed onto every inch of skin he has on show.
The only part of his body left uncovered is his face and head. Dax’s whole upper body and torso, from the slow slung waistband of his tracksuit bottoms, up his arms and neck are covered in beautifully detailed tattoos. It’s too dark to get a good look at the smaller ones, but there’s no mistaking the fallen angel on the centre of Dax’s chest with dark black wings that spread out across his pecs and up across his shoulders and upper arms. I know I’m staring, but I can’t help it.
Here's my dark angel.
None of the others knew I called him that. It was just something between us and now he has a piece of our love tattooed eternally onto his chest. Blinking back the tears threatening to pour from my eyes, I grit my jaw.
God fucking damn it. This is emotional warfare.
Forcing myself to focus, and as is customary in battles, I keep my gaze fixed firmly on Dax, hoping I’m not giving anything away. It’s a good opportunity to check each other out as we circle the dance floor trying to psyche the other out. Dax locks his gaze with mine. His face is void of any emotion, but that isn’t what cuts me the most. It’s the betrayal I see swimming within the murky depths of his eye.
Well, fuck him.
Fuck. Them. All.
I wasn’t the one who broke us first. I wasn’t the one who decided that dance wasn’t enough, that I wasn’t enough. This is utter horseshit.
I’m the first one to make my move.
I zone out. It’s something I do when I’m at my most vulnerable. I look into myself and find my strength in the one thing that has got me through life, dance. I allow movement to take over my body because it’s never been the music that drives me, it’s always been the dance.
Freestyling for me is as easy and as natural as breathing.
This is my battlefield, and I don’t fucking lose.
Without even thinking, I form a series of hip-hop moves that are timed perfectly with the beat of the song. I pop and lock, drop and spin. Vaguely, I can hear the crowd go wild, but it’s as though I’m underwater. They’re muffled, distant. I make shapes with my body, twisting my arms up and around my head so it looks like I’
m double jointed, when in fact, I’m just well versed in this kind of dance and know how to move my body just the right way. With sweat pouring down my back and strands of hair sticking to my cheeks, I throw a front flip, landing in front of Dax. I jerk my chin, looking directly into his eyes, knowing exactly what he sees in mine: challenge and blind fury.
Sound rushes back in as the crowd loses it around me. Even Little Dynamite bigs me up, impressed with my moves, but none of that matters. None of it. Instead of cursing me out like is customary in these battles, like I expect, Dax leans over and brushes his lips against my cheek. A sweet kiss that hurts me more than I can explain.
“Dax,” I mutter. Forgetting we’re in a club full of people, my hand lifts automatically to his chest. He captures my wrist, folding his fingers over the exact same spot Xeno had gripped me earlier and squeezes tightly, his whole demeanour changing.
“You lost the right to touch me like that three years ago. Next time you try, I won’t be so lenient,” he snarls, then rips himself away from me and eviscerates my heart with his dance moves.
Dax was always the least confident dancer of us all but watching him now, that’s changed. He’s stunning, articulate with his movements. Watching a big guy move the way he does seems like an impossible feat and yet he’s as light on his feet as I am.
Like the rest of us, Dax danced hip-hop because it was a cool thing to do, but unlike the other guys, contemporary dance was his first love, just like mine. We bonded over the fluidity of the dance and the way it allowed us both to express our inner turmoil. It suited us both. Seeing Dax move now, interspersing hip-hop with contemporary has me hurting in a way I never dreamed possible. He circles me, using up the whole space, and just like a predator closing in on its prey, he stalks me with perfect poise and a rage that has me cowering. Dax is articulate with his pain, with every movement, each one telling our story so succinctly that you’d have to be stupid not to understand what he’s saying.
