Lyrical: Prologue


My mum was a wise woman.

She often told me that the strongest, most courageous of us all are not the ones that mete out blood and violence but kindness and understanding in the face of opposition.

She was a good person, unlike me.

I learnt the value of kindness and understanding from her.

I learnt the importance of friendship and loyalty from the Breakers.

And I learnt to be a ruthless, violent bastard from the Skins.

Right now I bet my mum’s rolling over in her grave, praying to anyone who’ll listen to save my wretched soul. Some nights when I’m stuck in my head, I sure as fuck feel her disappointment. It weighs as heavy as the bad choices I’ve made and the souls of the men I’ve killed.

I’ve killed people.

I might not wear the tattoos beneath my eyes like Jeb does, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Sure, they might have been bad men. They might have deserved to get a bullet between the eyes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I took their lives. It also doesn’t change the fact that I used a dance I love to seduce their wives to find out as much as I could about them. I never slept with the women, not ever, but being their private bachata teacher was how I learned their husbands’ secrets. It’s amazing what a woman will say when they think they’re going to get fucked. I don’t feel any guilt. Those women have better lives without their sadistic, violent husbands ruling over them. The truth is, I’ve done many things I’m ashamed of but killing those men, so the rest of the Breakers didn’t have to, isn’t one of them.

Zayn, Dax, York, they’re my ride or die.

The choices I make are for those motherfuckers, my brothers. Every damn time.

When we were kids our crew gave us purpose and dance held us steady, it gave us an outlet that didn’t end in violence. We tried so fucking hard to fight the inevitable, and for a time we stayed out of trouble. We were the best dance crew in London, and when Pen joined us, we became a goddamn family. That tiny little girl who’d walked into our basement battered, bruised and with balls of steel, had done something no other girl could.

She made us love her.

With her by our side we found solace in dance. Peace. We formed a bond that meant something, that meant fucking everything, and over time our friendship grew into more. We would all do anything for her.

She taught us how to love, and then she broke our fucking hearts.

I told her that we’d returned to reclaim what’s ours. She believes that’s her.

She’s wrong.

I let her destroy us once before. There isn’t a chance in hell I’ll allow her to do that again.

She can tempt me with her fire and her fury. She can kiss me and almost bring me to my goddamn knees. She can dance until the very fucking pit of my soul starts to revive but I cannot, will not, let her back in.

And neither will they. I’ll make sure of it.

We aren’t the boys she once loved anymore.

They’re dead.

And when we’re done, a part of her will be too.

I don’t get off on that fact. It’s just a certainty that none of us can avoid.

We’re the Breakers and we break things after all.


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