CHAPTER 2

Blair’s POV

“Five, six, seven, eight!” I clapped sharply, the sound echoing in the gym. I paced in front of my squad, my boots clicking against the polished floor as I watched them move.

"Alright, everyone, get in line."

They scrambled, bodies moving quickly into formation, a few bumping into each other in their rush. I shook my head and sighed, grabbing my water bottle. I twisted the cap off and gulped greedily, the cold liquid rushing down my throat. My body ached from hours of training, but I pushed it aside. Sitting down with a heavy thud on the bleachers, I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes.

They were good.

But good wasn’t enough.

"Show me what you got," I ordered, leaning back and watching them.

The music kicked on, and for a moment, I thought maybe—just maybe—they were getting it. Then, someone stumbled. Another mistimed a spin.

I groaned and dragged my hand down my face in frustration.

“No, no, no!” I muttered, facepalming myself.

I stood up and marched towards one of the girls who was struggling.

“You there—Jelly? Or whatever your name is—?”

She blinked up at me, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Kelley,” she mumbled, correcting me softly.

“Don’t care.”

The words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t apologize. Her face fell, and she looked down at her sneakers.

Good. Maybe she'd finally listen.

“You’re not bending enough to reach your toes. You have to, or this formation falls apart,” I barked, demonstrating quickly and snapping back up. “It’s not rocket science.”

I turned, my gaze landing on one of the taller guys — what’s-his-name.

I stalked toward him, standing so close that I had to crane my neck up to look him in the eye.

God, he was tall. Easily 6'5", while I was stuck at 5'6" — and that was on a good day.

"Bend when I'm talking to you," I snapped, crossing my arms. "I can't be looking up to you. You look up to me."

He chuckled under his breath but bent his knees slightly so we were level.

I gave him my best glare.

“Now, can’t you lift Roze properly? My grandma lifts better than you and she’s been dead for years.”

A few gasps and giggles echoed, but I didn’t care. Cruelty got results.

Strict was necessary.

Strict meant survival — here, in dance, in life.

If I didn’t hold them to a higher standard, we would fail. And failure wasn’t an option.

Not for me.

Not after everything.

I turned to Mitchell next — a bubbly girl who just couldn’t stop smiling.

“And you, Mitchell,” I said with a sneer. “I know we’re supposed to smile while performing, but not like you’re about to eat someone. Tone it down.”

Her smile faltered instantly, and I almost felt bad. Almost.

What's with that creepy grin anyway? I thought, shaking my head.

“Alright, again! From the top!”

I slumped back onto the bleachers and clapped sharply again.

“Five, six, seven, eight—”

Later That Day

By the time school ended, my body was running on fumes.

My arms were sore, my legs were jelly, and my head pounded from barking orders all day.

I stumbled into my room, barely managing to kick off my sneakers before face-planting onto my bed.

My phone buzzed against the nightstand.

Max: You still on for tonight?

Shit.

The club.

Technically, it wasn’t a lie when I told my teachers I was too busy for after-school activities.

I was busy — just not in the way they thought.

I texted back quickly:

Me: Sure. Pick me up by 8.

Max was older — twenty-one — and basically the big brother I never asked for. He found me dancing alone in the forest once, near my secret waterfall spot, moving like my life depended on it. Maybe it did.

He offered me a job on the spot.

Not stripping — dancing.

Big difference.

I danced at Club Reil, made my money, kept my grades passable, and minded my damn business.

By 7:30, I was in the shower, scrubbing away the smell of gym sweat and exhaustion.

I braided one side of my hair into a tight, clean twist and pulled it into a high ponytail. Once packed, my hair barely brushed my shoulders.

Dressed in a black crop top, black leggings, and a black jacket — simple, sharp, deadly — I slipped on my sneakers and grabbed my key.

The house creaked with silence as I headed downstairs.

Mom was home.

Unfortunately.

Our eyes locked briefly as I reached for the front door.

Her gaze was tired. Hopeful.

I hated that look.

"Hey, honey, where are you going?" she asked, voice soft, almost desperate.

"To a place," I said flatly, grabbing my jacket tighter around me.

"Don't wait up. I have a spare key."

Before she could say anything else, I slipped out the door, shutting it firmly behind me.

No goodbyes.

Not anymore.

The air outside was crisp. A cool breeze ruffled my jacket as headlights pulled into the driveway.

"Hey, baby girl!" Max grinned, leaning across to push open the passenger door.

I slid in without a word, buckling up and staring out the window.

"Please drive," I muttered.

"Okey dokey," he said with a chuckle, revving the engine.

Club Reil

Thirty minutes later, the neon glow of Reil buzzed in the night air.

The music from inside pounded like a heartbeat, making the ground vibrate under my boots.

I hopped out of the car, nodding once to Max as he peeled off to find parking.

At the door stood Hawk — the bouncer.

"Hey, Hawk," I said casually.

He was a giant of a man, towering over me with tattoos decorating his thick arms, and a permanent frown carved into his face.

If anyone messed with me, Hawk would probably crush them like a soda can.

"Blair," he said simply, nodding.

Not much of a talker.

Fine by me. I wasn’t here to chit-chat.

I walked past him and into the club, feeling the bass thrum through my bones.

"Well, look who decided to show up!"

Ugh.

Leonard.

My boss.

Annoying as ever.

"Hey, Leonard," I said sweetly, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

He was blonde, blue-eyed, and pushing thirty. Hot in a sleazy kind of way.

"Care to tell me why my best dancer has been ghosting gigs?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Nope," I said bluntly.

He sighed and rubbed his temples.

He knew better than to push me.

"Fine. What's tonight's theme? Stage is yours."

I shrugged. "No theme. Just... give me a pole."

His eyes lit up. "Pole dancing it is."

I didn’t smile back. I didn't need to.

Leonard cleared his throat awkwardly and scurried off.

My glare was better than pepper spray sometimes.

The lights dimmed.

My cue.

I strutted onto the stage, feeling the weight of a hundred eyes land on me.

The moment was mine.

Always had been.

I snapped my fingers once — stage lights exploded around me in brilliant white.

The cheers were deafening.

I lifted my finger to my lips — a sharp shhh — and the entire club quieted instantly.

Power surged through me.

This was my sanctuary.

This was where I was untouchable.

The music dropped — Wobble Up by Chris Brown — and I launched into movement, hips swaying, gripping the pole, body rolling with sharp, practiced ease.

I slid down smoothly, splitting low to the ground — a sharp gasp went through the crowd.

I smiled faintly, hair curtaining my face.

I wasn’t performing for them.

I was dancing for me.

The song switched — Roxanne by Arizona.

I looked up — and my world shifted.

Sitting in the shadows, smirking at me, was him.

A stranger.

Dangerously beautiful.

His eyes locked onto mine like a hunter sizing up prey.

Challenge accepted.

I turned away, grinding my hips slowly, teasingly.

I dropped low, body twisting, breaking my waist and hips into perfect, sinuous rhythms.

He didn’t look away.

Not once.

When I finally snapped upright, breathing hard, the stranger stood — smirked one last time — and walked away.

Coward.

The Next Day — School

I was slouched at the back of the class, blowing bubbles with my gum and tapping away on my phone.

Leather jacket, leather pants, crop top — I dressed like armor.

My nails clicked softly against the desk as the teacher droned on about something I didn’t care about.

"And now... please welcome our new exchange student, Sebastian Rees!"

I lazily lifted my head — and froze.

No fucking way.

It was him.

The guy from the club.

Mr. Dangerous Smirk himself.

Our eyes locked, electric tension crackling across the room.

He smirked.

I smirked back.

Game on.

Girls around me swooned and whispered.

He ignored them — his gaze never left mine.

The teacher pointed. "Go sit next to Blair."

Of course.

Of course he would.

I didn’t flinch.

I didn’t blush.

Instead, I pulled out my nail file and started casually working on my nails as he sauntered over.

He slid into the seat next to me without a word.

His body radiated heat and challenge.

This was going to be fun.

I smirked wider, not even glancing at him as I filed my nails down to perfect deadly points.

Let the games begin.