Page 330 of Blackwood

“Literally.” Knox jerks a thumb toward backstage. “Right now, as we speak. They’re changing the choreo, the outfits, the hair. I just heard Rico screaming ‘If one more bitch asks me to hot-glue anything in the next thirty seconds, I swear I will light myself on fire.’”

“What the fuck did she change it to?” I ask.

But before Knox can answer, a voice booms through the speakers. “Now entering the floor. From Wexley University, The Trifecta.”

Every head turns. And then, holy fucking shit.The girls step out. Gone are the rhinestones and feathered skirts and in their place are fight night legends.

Ellie’s in high-waisted black leather pants with thigh slits that leave nothing to the imagination, paired with a cropped black tee that readsREZ IS MY REASONin screaming red block letters. Her curls are slicked high, lips cherry-glossed, grin lethal.

Haley struts next to her in skin-tight black leather shorts and a ripped tee that saysCHASIN’ DESHAWNin the same dripping font, hair in two sleek braids, eyes smoky enough to set off a fire alarm.

Then Bella. Fuck. Me.

Red leather pants like second skin, her black combat boots gleaming under the stage lights. Her shirt is a blood-red crop—cut to show skin, ink, and attitude. Across the chest in bold black lettering:I COME HARDER FOR THE HOLLOW KING.with a small black heart icon under it like a fucking signature.

I actually choke as“Disco Inferno” begins.

Knox leans forward and mutters, “Rico deserves a raise and a restraining order.”

I just grip the seat like it’s holding me back from charging the stage. “She’s a goddamn genius,”

Cade whistles low. “Damn, sweetheart.”

“This is gonna kill me,” I mutter.

Cade raises a brow. “It’s Nationals, babe. This is branding.”

“But if she so much as glances at that guest judge.”

“Santibañez?” Knox snorts. “Dude, he’s gay.”

“I don’t care. If she licks him like she did me on fight night—”

“You’ll what?” Cade asks, fighting a smile.

I glare straight ahead. “I’ll jump the goddamn rail.”

Cade claps me on the shoulder. “At least let her win first.”

She and the girls hit the floor in perfect sync, hair whipping, knees sliding, and bodies hitting those accents like the music’s wired straight into their veins. It’sDisco Infernoreborn, same fire and sin, but stripped down and polished to something meaner, cleaner, and twice as hot.

The lights flash gold and crimson, strobes chasing over their skin. Sweat gleams down the curve of her throat. When she drops into that body roll—slow, controlled, teasing the crowd before snapping back up into a punch of choreography—it’s game over.

The judges lean forward. The audience loses their rhythm trying to keep up. The final bass drop hits, and the girls freeze in place. Their shoulders heaving, eyes electric, completely drenched in heat and hunger and every drop of power that routine could possibly hold.

The arena fucking erupts.

And the judges, those bored, stiff-ass fossils who looked like they were counting ceiling tiles fifteen minutes ago are on their feet.Clapping. Even that tight-ass guest judge, Alejandro Whatever-The-Fuck, is smiling like Bella just made his whole damn month.

“Dudes… I think we’re going to Paris,” Knox says, voice hushed but hyped.

Cade exhales a breath like he’s been holding it the entire performance. “They did it.”

The announcer’s voice comes through the speakers, cutting clean through the roar, “Can we have all of our trios return to the floor for final scoring.”

The three trios stand center stage beneath the blazing lights.

Ellie, Bella, and Haley huddle tight in the middle—arms looped, foreheads pressed together, shoulders shaking with adrenaline and hope.