Page 72 of Freestyle (Academy of Stardom 1)

“Not the basement?” Zayn asks, looking between us all. He reaches for my hand, taking it gently. It’s a simple gesture, one of solidarity and friendship. He doesn’t need to tell me he cares. I already know, and yet, why does it feel so different now?

Xeno shakes his head. “No, not the basement. Not anymore.”

York steps close, lifting my chin, his icy-blue eyes full of ire. “That fucking bastard,” he growls, anger seeping out of every pore as he takes a good look at me. Beneath the anger is pity and for some reason that makes me feel so much worse. I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want to feel so fucking helpless. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. York frowns, reading me, understanding what I can’t even begin to articulate right now.

“York, go with Dax. You know where to find the spare key. Mum and Dad are away for a while, so there’ll be no questions,” Xeno says, before turning to Zayn. “Come with me, we need to speak with Jeb.”

Zayn nods once, presses a kiss against my cheek, then follows Xeno. They both climb back onto their motorbikes, and I watch as they pull on their helmets and speed off down the street.

“Hop on, Kid,” Dax says, guiding me to his bike. I stall, not wanting to be anywhere near an object bought for him by the man who rules the boys I love and who also turns a blind eye where my brother’s concerned. I’ve no idea how many people the Breakers have hurt, or the women David’s beaten, but I’m betting it’s a lot.

Sensing my unease, York reaches for me, tipping my chin up to meet his gaze. “It’s just a short ride to Xeno’s, we need to get you somewhere warm. You’re freezing, Titch.”

“Okay,” I mutter, too exhausted to argue. I climb on behind Dax, and put on the spare helmet York gives me, hoping I can still trust these boys.

“Drive safe, Dax. No wheelies, got it?” York warns.

Dax revs the bike, kicking back the footrest. “What do you take me for, man? I’ve got precious cargo right here,” he retorts, sliding the vizor closed and turning the bike away.

Half an hour later, I’m sitting on Xeno’s bed, wearing his t-shirt and a pair of his jogging bottoms after showering and changing clothes. My hair is still a wet, tangled mess, but I couldn’t find a comb to brush it out and decided that I don’t really care all that much about what I look like. There’s nothing I can do to hide the ugly bruises blooming on my skin, so what’s the point? I gently pull up the sleeve of my t-shirt and press against the purple bruise on my upper arm, trying and failing to stop the cry of pain releasing from my lips.

David has always taken pleasure in hurting me, but this attack was particularly violent. It’s as though he’s been saving up his rage to unleash on me, his favourite punching bag.

“I’ve got some Arnica gel for your bruises. Dax said it helps,” York explains, entering the room as I quickly pull down the sleeve of my t-shirt. “I’ve also made you a cup of tea and a sandwich.”

“Thanks,” I mumble as he places the tray on the side table and sits down on the bed beside me. I hold my hand out for the gel, but York picks it up, unscrews the cap and squirts some onto the tip of his fingers. I look at him warily.

“I promise I’ll be gentle,” he says softly.

I nod, beyond exhausted at this point. He shuffles closer, his fingers pressing lightly against my bruised skin. “He really deserves to fucking die,” York mutters.

Any response I have is swallowed up, buried beneath bitterness and pain. I want to point out that York is part of the same crew my brother belongs to. That he lives by the same rules. What had my brother said?Skins before whores?Is this how it’s going to be from now on? My brother gets to beat the shit out of me for kicks and my Breakers have to stand back and watch because of some stupid gang rule? They rescued Dax and I from Dante’s Crew and meted out their punishment, but I have to take David’s abuse because he’s one of them?

I suck a pained breath through my teeth as York begins to rub in the gel. He works quietly, diligently, not stopping as Dax enters the room and makes himself comfortable on the other side of me. It’s just as well Xeno has a large double bed as the three of us wouldn’t be able to fit otherwise.

“Are there any more bruises, Titch?” York asks.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Want to show me where?”

“On my back, my stomach, and chest.” Behind me Dax growls, and out of the corner of my eye I can see his fist clenching around the duvet, his knuckles turning white. I hold out my hand for the tube of gel. “I’ll do them.”

For a moment it falls silent, but when Dax shifts behind me, drawing in a jagged breath as his fingers reach for the hem of my t-shirt, my heart pounds for an entirely different reason. “Dax, what are you…?”

“Do you trust us, Kid?” he asks so quietly that I almost think that I’ve misheard him. The question is, do I trust them? I want to. I want to believe that they’re still the boys I love, but I the seed of doubt has been planted. I’ve heard the rumours. I’ve seen the evidence of their affiliation and their violence. Yet, right now, they’re just York and Dax, two boys I love, and if I can’t trust in that, what can I trust in?

“Yes,” I say simply, hoping my instincts are right.

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