Tough Luck (The Shakedown Series Book 1) Read online

  Tough Luck

  Elizabeth SaFleur

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright ©2020 by Elizabeth SaFleur. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Elizabeth SaFleur LLC

  PO Box 6395

  Charlottesville, VA 22906

  [email protected]

  www.ElizabethSaFleur.com

  Edited by Patricia A. Knight

  Proofed by Bare Naked Words

  Cover design by LJ Designs

  ISBN: 978-1-949076-19-6

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Epilogue

  Also by Elizabeth SaFleur

  About the Author

  1

  “You did what?” Starr glared at her sister. Maybe the music at Shakedown had impacted her hearing. After all, she had been on stage for the last thirty minutes.

  Luna shrugged delicately. “I didn't think he'd find Dad so fast. I mean it's been so many years, and we had no clues at all except for that last address and—”

  “Behind our backs, you hired a private investigator to hunt for our lunatic, deadbeat father who dumped us in foster care sixteen years ago and hasn’t been heard from since?” She swung her gaze to her other sister, Phoenix. “Did you know about this?”

  Phee crossed her arms, flattening the red feathers sewn across the bodice of her costume. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

  She supposed her sister was right. Of the three of them, Phoenix would be the last of them to look up the man who caused three eleven-year-olds to end up at a city office with Child Protective Services etched into the glass door. Protective her ass.

  She placed her hands on her hips. “Luna, you broke our rule.” The triplets had sworn never to make life-changing plans without consulting each other. “Of all the promises to break, you had to choose this one.”

  She released the metal hooks of her corset and expanded her ribs. The tang of cigar smoke rose from her costume like an invisible cloud. No matter how much Woolite she invested in, the tobacco scent clung like a parasite. What was it about the burlesque club that made men light up like movie land gangsters?

  “I brought it up a month ago, and you didn't say no.”

  “We didn't say yes.” Starr dropped her corset and snatched her next costume off its hanger. “Why, Luna? We are finally in a good place, with steady work in a nice club, instead of those rat holes we'd spent years in. For the first time ever, we have a routine. We’re settled.”

  “Well, we have an appointment with the investigator. Monday.”

  “No.”

  “It's just to learn where Dad is.”

  Was Luna really whining?

  “I couldn’t give a shit where he is,” Phee scoffed and turned away.

  Starr yanked the white sequin dress over her hips, snapped the straps over her shoulders, and shimmied the fabric down her thighs.

  Luna, her face screwed into a frown, turned to Starr. “Please?”

  Her sister had to be smoking something. Was Mercury in retrograde? Had the Earth’s polar ends flipped and no one told her? “Where did you get the money for this anyway?”

  Luna didn't look at them. Instead picked up a lipstick, stared into the mirror, and smeared more on her bottom lip.

  Starr drew closer. “L, where?”

  Her sister smacked her lips at her reflection and turned to face her. “Declan.”

  Phee spun, her eyes slanted, her mouth pursed into a grimace. “What? You did not just say that. You went to our boss?”

  And, just like that, this situation went from bad to worse.

  “Who has money and connections. He's always told us to come to him with anything at any time.” Luna shook her boa free from its hanger, tiny black feathers peppering the air.

  “Mix business with our personal shit?” Phee's mouth tightened further. “We don't do that. It’s part of our deal, a deal we all swore to years ago when we’d been fired from a job because of a stupid break-up between you and the club owner.”

  “This is nothing like that.”

  Phee grasped the largest of her red fans. “You have gone mad. We're not done talking about this, L., but it’ll have to wait until we get home. Now, we’re due on stage.” Phoenix yanked open the door and let it slam against the concrete wall. Blaring horn music spilled down the hallway.

  Luna turned to Starr. “Guess she's really mad.”

  “You think?”

  Her sister munched on her bottom lip. “And you?”

  “Yes. I’m mad. Why would we want to find that man?” Her eyes threatened to spring tears, but no way was she going to cry. Tears spilled over men, especially those who messed up as royally as their father, never changed anything. “Going to Declan wasn't the smartest move, though I gotta hand it to ya’, you’ve got balls of brass risking Phee's wrath. Greater men have fallen.”

  Luna swung her boa over her neck and tramped to the door. Pausing, she turned to Starr. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you both. I just wanted to ... I don't know. Anyway, sorry, but think about it?”

  Starr should have said something right then. It's just she didn't know how to touch her sister's apology or what she’d done.

  She slipped her feet into her heels, drew in a long cleansing breath, and checked her make-up. In this lighting, she almost looked like a teenager, which honestly, she’d never had the luxury of being—not really, not like other girls had. When your drunken lush of a father dumped you in a foster home, going straight from eleven years old to adulthood occurred overnight. What did Luna think finding him would resolve? They were twenty-seven years old. Too old to pine for a man who didn’t want them.

  She could not think about this right now. She had to get on stage. Later, she’d figure out how to stop Luna’s quest. Peeling back a corner of their past would only lead to stuff they didn't want to know, like what a bastard their father really was. If she had anything to do with it, she and her sisters would head in one direction only—to the future.

  Starr made it to the stage just as Cherry’s voice boomed out their na
mes. “I give you, Luna Belle … “ The dramatic pause was broken up by delighted applause. “Phoenix Rising …” More applause. “And, Midnight Starr…”

  Starr split the heavy curtains with one hand and stepped into a bright wash of lights, smoke, and men’s shouts hanging heavily in the air.

  Cherry twirled her hands. “Boys! Be good to my girls …” She stepped back to let the three of them take over the space.

  God, Starr loved that first moment when the music started, when the pounding of the drums and the appreciative whoops and hollers rolled right over her. Instantly, life was better.

  She pranced to the edge of her corner of the stage and launched into her signature move. She bent a little at the waist, put her finger to her lips, and made a quiet “shhhh” sound. It had its usual effect: the noise abated a bit, and that smidge of control over the audience warmed her whole body.

  The pounding of the bass drum grew more insistent, and she raised her fan high, shimmying her breasts in a clatter of beading. All thoughts of horrible fathers and their even more horrible childhood faded just like the crowd had on the dark main floor just feet away.

  Male shouts close to the stage on her right egged her on, and she winked toward the darkened corner, only catching a glimpse of some handsome male features. She never could make out the men and woman sitting at the cocktail rounds on Shakedown’s floor unless she drew so close to the edge she could fall off—but she could hear them, and tonight, their enthusiastic shouts and applause nearly shook the floorboards under her heels.

  Three young men had commandeered the cocktail round just off stage right, which had the best view. She drew closer and waved her fan toward them. They stood and hooted, their palms loudly slapping one another in an exaggerated clap. She began to back away.

  Later she’d blame Luna for why things went so badly. Thanks to Luna’s news, she was off her game. She spun on her heel, turning her back to the three twenty-somethings—the stupidest thing she could have done.

  As soon as a warm grip on her ankle registered, she stopped.

  Seriously?

  “Get off me,” she snapped at the inebriated frat brat who’d bellied onto the stage and wrapped his hand round her leg. He waved the other stuffed with dollar bills. She inwardly cursed her rookie move. She knew better than to turn her back on a crowd of drunken men, even at Club Shakedown.

  His friends behind him whooped like the hormonal mob they were, and his hand climbed further up her leg. Her feather fan slipped from her grasp, and the stave ends cracked hard on the stage. No, no, no. She glared down at McGrabby's cherubic face. With any luck, she'd freeze him like Medusa. Instead, her attention fired something in his eyes—a dark, brainless lust just like she’d seen in all those men at that strip club she and her sisters had abandoned years ago.

  It wasn’t hard to deduce how the kids commandeered the best seat in the house. A $1,500 bottle of scotch lay on its side, empty. They were the progeny of a Daddy Warbucks, and tonight, Daddy's credit card was paying for a very expensive binge. Time to cut them off.

  She grasped the thick velvet curtain to balance herself, lifted her other foot, and brought the heel of her shoe down on his marauding hand.

  “You fucking bitch!” plus other expletives, ripped from his mouth.

  She twisted her ankle to dig the end into skin, sinews, and bones. His contorted face was worth losing a crystal embellishment from the heel. Maybe her move would leave a scar, a reminder not to stick Daddy's money where it didn't belong. She was a dancer, not a sex doll.

  A loud crash of chairs being overturned cut through the thumping backbeat and horns of the music. Bodyguards broke through the darkness of the main floor. So, the cavalry had finally arrived. As the kid was yanked off stage, his fingers dragged down her fishnets, shredding the entire side. She stumbled a little on her heels. Act over.

  Man, tonight was one for the books. First, Luna’s move, and now this?

  She recoiled as another hand grasped her around the elbow. Nathan had shot through stage right, his huge frame towering over her. He pivoted her so his body shielded her from the growing mayhem a few feet away.

  “You okay?” Fire blazed in his eyes, and his large hand squeezed her elbow.

  “Cage the animals, and I'll be great.”

  “Max is on it.” He scooped up the fan, thankfully by the staves and not the feathers, and steered her off the stage, just as a slew of indignant shouts and protests spewed from the three kids. In her periphery, she caught Max landing a blow on McGrabby's jaw. A sliver of sympathy arose for the boy, given he was half the bodyguard's size, but Shakedown's warnings were clear. Grab the ladies? You get grabbed.

  “Oh, my, my, my,” Cherry’s voice boomed. “All this maleness, this testosterone—” she fanned her ample bosom “—has gotten me all aflutter.” The crowd whistled and cheered. God bless emcee Cherry who loved nothing better than an opportunity to take over a crowd. The queen raised her voice even louder, “You know the only thing better than a man? Lots of men … Oh, like you… “ Her words faded as Starr made her way down the stage steps behind the curtain.

  Starr pulled her arm free of Nathan's clasp when they reached the hallway.

  He handed her fan over. The anger in his eyes hadn’t abated one bit. “That kid. He reached for you—”

  “Thanks. I'm fine, really. It happens.” Though it usually didn’t at Shakedown. Most of the burlesque club’s clientele sat back and watched from a respectable distance. They were content with letting their imagination run wild but keeping their urges where they belonged—firmly tucked inside their minds. But these kids? Lying belly down on the stage like a flailing fish, offering a sweaty fistful of dollar bills? Save that gauche behavior for the strip clubs in West Virginia.

  A quick inspection of her fans revealed the bamboo staves weren't cracked—thank all the burlesque gods and goddesses. Spending her weekend re-wiring one of her fans was not on her Sunday docket. “Tell Max not to kill that kid, okay?”

  “Not sure Max is open to negotiation there.” Nathan grasped her elbow again, and she flinched.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped.

  He lifted his hands in surrender. “Not trying anything here.”

  “Sorry. I know. Reflexes from …” She stopped herself from going into her whole childhood abuse story. It wasn’t the time or place.

  He swung open the dressing room door for her.

  Phee stepped in behind them and threw down her fans. “What was that?”

  “Some frat boy was hallucinating. He thought the price of admission included me. He was drunk.”

  “Been cut off.” Nathan filled the doorframe.

  “A little late for that,” Phee snarled and grabbed her water bottle.

  Luna slipped by him and into the dressing room. “Cherry’s covering. But, now what?” She plopped down in her make-up chair.

  Starr rested her leg on her stool and studied her stockings. Yep, completely ruined. “Damn, I'm going to have to wear regular stockings for the closer.”

  “Won't happen again. We'll see to it.” Nathan still hovered in the doorway. “Need anything? Like from the bar? Luna, more water?”

  “I'm Phoenix. That's Luna.” Phoenix pointed at their sister. “And you can bring me a taser. Anyone grabs me is going to get lit up.”

  Nathan wisely stepped back and pulled the door close. Smart man. When her sister got rolling, nothing stopped her, and of the three of them, Phoenix hated the fact no one could tell them apart.

  “Phee.” Starr sighed. “He was just trying to help.” He hadn’t deserved her earlier snapping, either.

  “You mean he was trying to impress.” Luna raised her eyebrows up and down. “You should ask him for a drink later. Ya' know, to thank him.”

  Phoenix blew out a breath. “She can't date Nathan. He killed a man.”

  “That would be half the men in this place,” Luna stated.

  Didn’t Starr know it? Perhaps their childhood wasn’t so far
behind them after all.

  2

  Nathan had seen all kinds of stupid in life, but the baby-faced frat boy swaying on his feet defined a whole new level of moron. The brat spat blood at Declan's feet, barely missing the owner of Shakedown’s swanky shoes.

  “Fuck, man. Your monkey here started it.” The kid lifted his chin toward Max, who sauntered up to them wearing a smug smile. The bodyguard had finally gotten to throw someone out on their ass, something Nathan hadn't seen much of at Shakedown.

  “Max ends fights. Doesn't start them.” Declan's face, as usual, held loaded, restrained intensity.

  Nathan leaned against a pole holding up the awning over the entranceway. “You need me to call the cops?” He’d like nothing more than to land the kid in jail for getting within a foot of Starr.

  “No, we’ve got this.”

  “You mean you’ve got yourself a lawsuit.” The kid cradled his jaw like he couldn't believe he got clocked while his other hand, mauled from Starr's heel, hung loosely by his side. Blood leaked through a linen napkin with Shakedown's logo scrolled on it. His two friends, who'd followed them outside to the parking lot, straightened, chests out, shoulders back, chins held high. Their ridiculous posturing made Nathan laugh. Had he acted with such bravado at that age? Yeah, he had.