SWNOVELS Finale: A Dark Gang Romance: Chapter 23
The air thrums with heat, with anticipation, as we enter the cage slowly one by one. Clancy is first to step onto the canvas, her red, knee length dress floating around her bare legs as she moves seductively. Behind her six dancers follow, all wearing the same red dresses, made edgy with black leather straps that criss-cross around their breasts. Like me, their eyes are shadowed with black liner, their lips red slashes, hair hanging loose. With every step, we bang our black canes onto the floor, the pounding of our bare feet adding to the sound and drawing the attention of the audience who begin to quieten in anticipation of the show. My fingers curl over the handle of the cane, a silver gun, chosen purposefully for the aesthetic of this performance.
Lola, the dancer that Clancy has been seeing on and off over the last few weeks, looks back at me, her long, tight curls falling over her shoulders. She’s a beautiful woman, sexy, sensual. I can see why my best friend is so attracted to her. River too, according to Clancy. They’ve already been on a few dates together as a trio and shared a bed.
“Ready?” she whispers.
“Ready,” I reply softly, feeling the familiar tingling beneath my skin that I always get just before a performance. Tonight I draw on that feeling, immersing myself in the moment, and forgetting everything else.
Around us the chattering dies down as the warehouse falls into darkness, the flickering candles on each table the only discernible light as we take up our positions in the cage. Somewhere in the audience, Grim and Beast sit with York and Xeno, the pair opting to accompany me this evening. Zayn and Dax are back home with Lena, keeping her company whilst Gray has his first night off in weeks. I’m also eerily aware of the Deana-dhe who are also here tonight, somehow feeling their eyes on me even though the whole place is steeped in darkness. Their attendance hasn’t gone unnoticed, and throughout the evening there has been talk of the mysterious, dangerous men deigning us with their presence.
“Let’s do this, girl,” Lola says, reminding me that the show must go on.
A smoke machine starts pumping out dense vapour that creeps across the canvas, grey tendrils tumbling and whirling as we stride across the floor. Clancy stands to my left, and Lola to my right. The rest of the girls crouch down behind us, their palms pressed against the canvas, and their canes lying on the floor by their sides.
Start a War by Klergy begins to play, and the cage is suddenly illuminated with an eerie blood-red light, turning the grey smoke into a sea of blood. If the title of the song wasn’t a dead giveaway, then our costumes and stage design is. This is a dance about fighting our enemies and winning. I may not be able to see into the future like Arden appears to be able to do, but I am certain of one thing, David might’ve started this war, but I intend on finishing it.
Whilst the three of us stamp our feet, marching on the spot in time to the music, the rest of the dancers rise up slowly from the floor. They twist their bodies, making shapes with their arms, like immortal creatures returning from the dead. Once they’re standing, chins tipped up, canes held out in front of them, the silver gun handles pointing at the audience, they start marching on the spot too, synchronising their steps with ours.
When the next beat drops, and the pounding of the drums becomes more frantic, we transition seamlessly into the next portion of the dance. This is all about timing, control. Every step, every move I make is mirrored by the others. We dance as a unit, like an army, and it’s fucking powerful. I feel the surge of energy rising up from my feet, right to the tips of my fingers. Bending forward at the waist, I lift my head and pump my arms as though running into battle, my cane clutched in my right hand.
With every step that follows, every jerk of my torso, slide of my leg and twist of my head, I feel a rush of adrenaline, of power spreading through my veins. My hair whips around my face, and as I slam the cane onto the canvas, it’s my brother’s face I imagine pummelling. I take out all my frustration, fear, anger, and anxiety on the cage floor, using my feet and my cane to beat down the image of my brother in my mind’s eye.
But with every war there are the innocent bystanders drawn into a fight that doesn’t belong to them. Casualties of war. My mum wasn’t an innocent bystander in this war between me and my brother, but she was still a casualty. Her death is on my hands as much as it is David’s. I had the power to protect her like I did Lena, but because of my feelings towards her, it didn’t even cross my mind. That’s on me.
As the rising tide of the song hits its crescendo, I imitate being shot, flinging my arms to the side, my cane still clutched tightly in my hands. That fantasy bullet rips through my chest and I stumble back, pressing my hand over the centre of my chest as though stemming the flow of blood. But I’m not knocked down. None of us are. We keep marching. Another shot is fired, and I fall to one knee, only to rise up again. Using the cane as support, I fold my hands over the handle and push upwards, twisting my hips and throwing my leg out to the side, following through the movement.
Then we really sink into the dance. We’re nine women in perfect synchronicity. Powerful, sexy, compelling.
We twist and turn, fighting an imaginary enemy. Legs kick, fists curl and punch, the canes we’re holding onto become both our shields and our weapons. Around us, our blood-red skirts flare with every turn and pirouette, whipping up the smoke and making it tumble over the edges of the canvas and out into the warehouse where it disperses. Our dance speaks of violent things, it deals in murderous thoughts, savagery the only currency running through our veins.
Then the lighting changes subtly from a deep red to a bright crimson and it’s our cue to transition into the next portion of the dance. Bringing the cane around in front of me, I straighten up, kicking the base and flicking it up. I catch it with my other hand so that it’s held horizontal against my body, then lift it above my head. Like Clancy and Lola, I tip my head back between my shoulders, shift the position of my hands so that the cane is held vertically above me now. Behind me, one of the dancers takes the cane from my hands so that I can slide my arms through a loop of red silk that has been lowered from the ceiling. With the silk nestled safely around my back and beneath my armpits, I tighten my hands around the material and nod. Either side of me, Clancy and Lola do the same. As we’re hauled upwards, about ten feet off the ground, a rush of air lifts the skirt of our dresses giving the impression of blood blooming from a wound. Adrenaline pumps through my body, and although I know I’m safe, there’s still an element of fear that I could fall, and that makes this all the more exciting. Even from this height, it’s impossible to see anything other than dark, shadowy figures of the audience. Knowing that Xeno and York are watching gives me a boost of confidence. Tonight, I’m proving to myself, to them, that I can both dance and still hold onto the violence that I need in order to kill my brother.
I funnel it now, that violence, that hate and anger, and I use those emotions in this dance. It doesn’t make me weaker like I thought it might. It makes me stronger. Strong enough to fight my demons, not the internal ones like my Breakers battle with daily, but the very real ones that are intent on hurting me and the ones I love. Xeno was right, I can still dance and face my brother. I knew that deep down, but like always, I allowed David to get into my head.
Not tonight.
Below us, the girls dance with fury and passion, summoning up their own strength from whatever experience that might have brought them to their knees in the past. They use that to dance better than they’ve ever danced before, and a rush of pride fills me up. These women are incredible dancers. These shows are as popular and as successful as they are, not because I’m dancing in them, but because, together, we put on a spectacular show.
As we dance, the remaining tendrils of smoke disperse revealing warriors who’ve battled and won. My skin covers in a sheen of sweat as I use my upper arm strength and strong core muscles to keep dancing suspended in the air. Tipping my head back, I smile knowingly and wait the fraction of a moment it takes before fine water droplets fall from the rain machine rigged up above us. Red dye has been added to the water and as the rain pours in bloody droplets over the three of us, tingles rush up and down my spine. This was Clancy’s idea, and it is incredibly provocative. Grim was right to hire her permanently, she has a brilliantly creative mind. I can put together an amazing routine, but Clancy? She can put on an incredible show.
With one final push, the dancers below kick up the water with their dance steps, and we’re lowered back down to the stage so that we can join them. Releasing my arms from the loop of silk, I put every last ounce of energy I have into the final portion of the routine, and dance with a focus that I’ve never felt so acutely before now. My wet hair whips around my head, lashing my skin as I move, and the skirt of my dress sticks to my bare legs. Despite my damp, cold skin, I feel a rush of heat rise up my body as awareness flickers in my belly, followed by foreboding blooming in my heart.
As the final, haunting verse plays out over the speakers and I stand with a heaving chest, droplets of bloody water cascading over my body, my attention is drawn to York and Xeno as the lights in the warehouse brighten. I find them instinctively, bound in some inexplicable way since we were kids. They’re both staring at me with a look of wonder, awe and love on their faces. I dip my head in acknowledgement, a rush of love and fierce protectiveness rampaging through my veins.
They’re mine. The Breakers are mine to love, to dance with, to fight for, to protect. Always.
With that thought in mind, I seek out the Deana-dhe, immediately sensing their penetrating gazes as they sit at a table in the centre of the warehouse. All three are watching me closely. I look from Carrick to Lorcan, finally settling my gaze on Arden. Nodding my head once, I tell him without words that I will dance for them, because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that one of my Breakers is the person Arden was talking about, and I’m determined to find out who.
With trepidation creeping through my bloodstream, I turn on my heel and follow the dancers out of the cage to the sound of cheers and whistles, the club erupting with appreciation. All the while my body is shaking, not from the rush of adrenaline after a good show, but from fear.
Dancing in front of an audience with the girls by my side is one thing, but dancing for the Deana-dhe privately is something different altogether.
I know it, and so do they.