Serial

Chapter Thirteen

I didn't scream as I cascaded through the air, my head approaching the ground below. I didn't even have time to think about was what would happen if I hit, though I'd surely break something. If not my neck, then my arm—or God forbid—my leg. My dance career as I knew it would be over; at seventeen I knew I only had a limited number of years before I was relegated back to the corps de ballet, basically becoming a glorified backup dancer to the principals.

It was a ballerina's worse nightmare: being injured and having to take time off in the prime of her career. The death of dance.

And if I couldn't dance, I might as well be dead, too.

I reacted instinctually, pulling my muscles tight while spreading my arms out like wings. I didn't close my eyes, but looked straight ahead instead of at the floor because I knew it would make the experience less scary. When my face was just a foot away from meeting the hard surface, I felt a hand grip me tightly across the chest and another clutch onto my inner thigh. Then, as if I were being pulled back by a strong bungee cord, my momentum continued to the side and then back upward until I settled into a graceful pose, one toe connected at the knee of my other outstretched leg, arms splayed apart and back arched toward the sky.

Zhara and I barely breathed as we held the pose a few counts, and then he lifted me back upright and set me down gently again on one leg.

"Beautiful you two," Miss Diane said, nodding approvingly. Today we were working on different lifts and dips, called "fish." Despite the danger of falling, lifts were actually a lot of fun. Well, if you had a strong partner and trusted him. If you didn't, then it was more like an extreme sport. Luckily, there wasn't anyone I trusted more than Zhara.

Even if we did sometimes fight like siblings.

"The dream team is back in effect, bitches," he said quietly under his breath after thanking Miss Diane for the compliment. Something she didn't hand out lightly.

After catching our breath, we turned to face each other again and I chasséd toward him before brushing my leg out in front of me and reaching for Zhara's shoulders. As he lifted me up into the air, I threw my legs up toward the ceiling, balancing over his shoulders and focusing my eyes on his butt.

"Those tights are especially sheer today," I said, unable to ignore the shape of his butt through the thin fabric.

"If I could dance naked, I would," Zhara answered back, holding my hips up with his palms. "But naked ballets don't bring in the same clientele."

"No, but they'd probably pay better," I said.

I held my stance as he began to lower my legs, which swung down just to the side of his right thigh. He adjusted himself into a deep lunge, moving his hands lightning fast until one was underneath the backs of my legs and the other held me in the middle of my back. I released my hold on him completely, trusting him to hold me up as I crossed my arms delicately over my chest. A few strands of hair brushed the floor below.

Then, in one swift motion, he pulled me back up and deposited me back on my feet. Another nod from Miss Diane and we were heading over to the benches for water.

"Please, they couldn't afford me, honey," Zhara said, continuing our conversation on naked ballets as he collapsed onto the ground and reached for his water bottle. He squirted a long stream of the liquid into his open mouth and then glanced at the window that looked into the studio. "But I could be convinced to do a few private performances for the right audience."

 I nearly snorted water out of my nose. "Really? Him?" I asked, looking at the cop that had replaced Marcus for today's detail.

"You know I don't discriminate," Zhara said. "And I'm a sucker for a guy with a big gun."