Tough Break (The Shakedown Series Book 2) Page 8

  More women than men sat in the first row of tables. By the looks of their floral dresses and unabashed clapping, a burlesque club was a new experience for them. Come to think of it, Declan probably imported them to show her the club could be safe and fun. If every night had been like tonight, perhaps she'd have found herself in a different place.

  As she split the curtains to exit the stage, she paused and glanced backward at one of the young women near the end of the last table on stage right. Clean-faced with no makeup, she glowed with happiness. Phee winked at the girl when she yelled, “You're amazing!” It was the greatest compliment she could ever get—simple and honest. No, “You're so fuckable, baby.” No adjusting erections under pants. Not that the latter happened often at Shakedown—at least not until recently.

  Regret crept in for one minute. If her life had started out differently, maybe she could have been that woman, sitting in a dance club with girlfriends, never worrying about making it to the parking lot unscathed, or sleeping through the night, or any of the other dozen things normal people never worried about.

  Maybe she'd go say hello to those gracious ladies. They seemed harmless, and it was intermission. The crowd wasn't as large as most Saturday nights.

  She hurried to the makeup room and grabbed her largest feather boa—a fat, snow-white, pure ostrich feather one that reminded her of all those Busby Berkeley movies she’d loved as a kid—and headed out to the main floor. Unlike Starr and Luna who loved to mix with the patrons, Phee rarely paraded herself through the tables like a cigarette girl wielding her wares—or a stripper trying to sell a lap dance. Too much potential for hands to make their way to her ass.

  “Hey, Jackie,” she said to the bartender. “Can I get a glass of prosecco?”

  “Sure thing. Give me something to do. Man, it's been slow tonight.”

  “Yeah, growing close to Thanksgiving, I guess?”

  “Must be.”

  It wasn't unusual as business slowed down closer to Thanksgiving, picking up with a vengeance with their annual Christmas show before the holidays. Then there was New Year's Eve, which was a human zoo. While most people got time off, she and her sisters worked most holidays.

  Jackie uncorked the bottle and filled a champagne flute halfway. “You're in a good mood.”

  “It was a good night. Hey, you know where those women in the front row are from?”

  “North Carolina and it shows. They're super-nice and big tippers.”

  Phee took a sip of the prosecco, adjusted her boa, and headed toward them. A man sitting at the far end of the bar closest to the main floor swiveled on the stool and stuck his legs out, barring her progress. She sidestepped his legs and gave him a good-natured smirk as she passed. He wouldn't blow her good mood.

  “Ladies.” She paused at the middle of the table. “Having a good time?”

  “Oh, hi.” A woman in a black dress spattered with huge yellow flowers jutted out her hand. “You are something else.”

  “We could never do what you do,” another woman in hot pink said.

  “Oh, sure you could. A little glitter, a big boa…”

  The lover of yellow flowers laughed. “Maybe if I was ten years younger and twenty pounds thinner.”

  “Actually, in burlesque, you need something to jiggle.” She gave them a shimmy.

  “Yeah, and give myself a black eye with these.” The woman lifted her boobs.

  Phoenix couldn't stop smiling. Their light, happy energy was what she needed.

  She let them fondle her boa and answered questions about what keeps pasties in place. She was sure she convinced at least two of them to look for dance classes when they got home. Someone must teach burlesque in Charlotte, North Carolina.

  When Cherry took the stage to belt out her parting signature song, Phee excused herself so they could watch the show.

  Maybe she'd celebrate her decent night with a second glass of prosecco. There had been no men with guns. Declan was finally understanding she was serious. Progress, at least.

  She set her empty glass down at the bar and waited for Jackie to finish up a drink order at the other end. Loud drums kicked up a notch, their beat thrumming through her body. Her boa slipped off her shoulder, and she tugged it back in place—except it didn't go very far. She twisted to face the same pants-adjusting guy from the other night.

  So much for her wonderful night. Deflated of any good vibes, that old wariness attached itself to her insides. “Excuse me.” She adopted her best glare.

  His mitt wrapped around the end of her boa, and it slithered from her arm like a snake releasing its prey.

  He tossed a smirk onto his face. “Earn it back.”

  Fresh anger coursed through her limbs. Her boa was $300 worth of the finest ostrich feathers and she wasn't about to let him fondle it. “Already earned it.” A sick chill crept up her spine.

  “Oh?” The guy shrugged, his stare drilling a hole into Phee's sternum. She held back a shiver.

  She held out her hand to the boa thief, a request for her possession. He rose, a clear erection tenting his slacks. His hand wrapped around her wrist.

  She hissed and nearly bit her tongue from her teeth clamping down.

  “Let go of her. Now.”

  The guy lazily swung his head and stared at Declan. “Just appreciating the merchandise.” The guy released her wrist, and she yanked her boa to her chest. Her skin prickled as if the air conditioning rained down on her.

  Declan jerked his head toward the front entrance. “Outside. Now.”

  Max pushed the guy toward the exit. Where had he come from?

  The guy held up his hands, that lazy smirk still drawn across his face. He then leaned over to her. “Carragh says hello, by the way.”

  Carragh MacKenna. She sucked in a gasp. The minute they'd learned of Declan's affiliation with that family she should have yanked Starr and Luna out by their hair if that’s what it took to get the three of them out of there.

  Declan grasped the guy's shoulder. “What did you say to her?”

  “Not talking to you. Talking to the pretty little lassie here.”

  Declan's fist came out of nowhere. The guy had too much muscle to pitch backward very far, and his fist quickly rose to deliver a return punch across Declan's jaw.

  Declan righted himself and swiped his mop of silver-flecked hair from his forehead. “That was quite the mistake you just made.” He let his cane slide through his fist, the tip landing with a resounding thunk on the carpeting.

  She had never seen Declan like this before—eyes fired, lips thinned to a straight line, and a twitch in his jaw. His reserve had slipped. Her heart lurched and clawed inside her rib cage as if trying to break through, and still she remained… frozen.

  The guy shrugged his suit coat back into place. “Nice way to greet your family.”

  Phoenix blinked at the two men in a full-on stand-off. Why wasn't she moving? Running?

  “I'm going,” the guy said.

  Declan followed him out, his cane punching the floor through a stunned crowd. Still, her feet remained cemented in place.

  She'd let her guard down. Stupid. Stupid. Worse, she hadn't fought back. When had she forgotten how to do that?

  16

  Carragh held out a linen handkerchief, which Declan waved off. He reached into his suit coat pocket, retrieved his own, and ran it over his bloodied lip. “Your men ever step foot inside my club again, I'll end them.”

  Exhaust from the man’s idling limo rose in the air. One of his guys filled the passenger seat while the other, the one he'd punched, leaned against the car like he hadn't a care in the world. A brunette woman sat in the back and checked her manicure. A wine glass dripped from her other hand. The scene was casual as if his dancer hadn't been manhandled thanks to their presence.

  Phoenix had been having a great night—her smile, her relaxed shoulders, and the way her arms drifted up into the air as if she floated. She'd even come out to the floor, the first time in a year. His guys
ruined the evening for her.

  “You didn't like meeting your cousins?” Carragh's lazy smile held no warmth. His ice-blue eyes glared down at Declan and his slick black hair shone under the parking lot light, a scene straight out of a 1970s hustler movie.

  Declan squared himself to Carragh. “If we'd been outside, I might have put them in the ground.” As it stood, he'd breached a major rule of club ownership—take all disputes outside, no punches inside. The image of that guy's hand wrapped around Phee's tiny wrist rose and he wasn't half sure he might not clock the guy again for good measure.

  Carragh tsked. “Ease up, Declan. No harm. No foul.”

  “See your family is up to their old tricks. Harassing women you think are important to us? I know the drill. First Starr, now Phoenix. Luna next?”

  Carragh's face turned to stone. “No one's getting harassed.”

  “Keep them out, or I'll see they're not able to walk in anywhere again. Or walk period.”

  “My, my, Sean touched a nerve by approaching Miss O'Malley there, didn't he?” He instantly sobered. “I don't care where you get your dick wet. What I care about right now is turning this family around.”

  “And you thought putting those two within fifty feet of my stage is turning things around?”

  “I was at our mutual friend Henry's. Didn't realize they were here until I got Sean's text to come join him. They aren't used to the finer things in life—yet.”

  “Never again, Carragh. Don't think for one second I don't mean what I say.”

  “Oh, I believe you. You are a MacKenna, after all.”

  Declan huffed. “You don't listen, do you?”

  Carragh’s gaze flicked up to his man. At least the guy dropped his gaze. A silent admonishment? Declan didn't buy one word Carragh had said about them not being plants.

  “Won't happen again, Declan. You have my word.”

  “No, it won't. Set up a meeting with Tomas.”

  A muscle twitched under his right eye. “I told you they won't be back.”

  So, the man didn't like to be one-upped. “Tomas and I will talk business and I'll decide what happens and what will not.”

  The man reclaimed his cool. “What made you change your mind?”

  “Who said I've changed my mind?”

  Carragh eyed him. “My father will expect a counteroffer. Be prepared.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because—” he glanced over at the Shakedown sign “—contrary to what you may think, we are on the same side.”

  “I doubt that, but if you insist, tell me what it will take for Tomas and the rest of you to disappear altogether.”

  “Disappear? Nothing. Back off a little? Accept him.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Somehow, I knew you'd say that.” Carragh knocked on the top of his limo, and the guy who leaned against the car pushed off and got into the passenger seat up front.

  Carragh hesitated a moment and then took a long inhale. He turned back to Declan. “Ruark's parole hearing is coming up. Thought you should know if you didn't already.”

  The shit show that was the MacKenna family never ceased. He'd have to warn Nathan and Starr. The man nearly killed them both.

  Tonight, however? He had to go deal with the woman who'd haunt every second of his dreams tonight like she did every night.

  He opened and closed his throbbing fist as he stalked to the club entrance. His leg ached a little, but it sharpened his brain.

  He had learned important things in recent days, and probably something even more important in the last twenty minutes.

  One, Carragh was working on his own, and Tomas must know it. The top of the food chain sent those guys, not an eldest son gone rogue.

  Two, even if Phoenix was hellbent on leaving Shakedown, he would have to double his protection of her.

  Three, his Plan Z concerning her was getting enacted tonight. There was no more time to waste.

  17

  Phoenix gulped down the last of her second prosecco. Her throat resisted the bubbles, their scald making her eyes prick. After Declan and Max threw out Mr. No-Manners, her insides had fired. Too little, too late, however. Anything could have happened with that guy.

  Luna took Phee’s last dance spot so she didn't have to go back on stage, at least. She was in no shape to face a crowd. Instead, she sat at the end of the bar, Max standing close by but not too close.

  Across the floor, Declan relayed orders to Amos and Nathan in that quiet way of his. He was a good club owner, his lip a little swollen from taking a punch. For her.

  Gabrielle sidled up to her. “Declicious certainly protects his ladies.” The woman winked at her and then continued her mooning at him across the main floor.

  Phee turned to the bar where Jackie eyed her. “What?”

  Jackie chortled. “Nothing. Gabrielle…” She jerked her eyes to the waitress. “Your car's still broken down, right? Is Declan able to give you a ride home tonight?”

  The woman was so transparent. If reverse psychology didn't work on her, trying to make her jealous wouldn't either.

  Gabrielle sighed. “I wish. Max is instead.”

  Jesus. Phee pushed off to head to the dressing room, but she got stopped in the hallway, of course.

  Declan blocked her advance. “We need to talk.”

  Phoenix crossed her arms, the music distant in the background. “I'm not going on again.”

  “You don't have to,” Declan said. “But we will have a conversation.”

  “Keep the door open,” she said as soon as she stepped inside his office and whirled to face him.

  “You want to air all this to anyone who walks by, fine.”

  “I have nothing to hide. But apparently, you do.” How could he have let those guys inside the club after the other night? “Fighting with your family now?”

  “They are not my family, and quite frankly, that guy's not good enough to lick the bottom of your shoe. Are you alright?”

  She dropped her arms, and her face relaxed a tad. “I'm fine.”

  That little furrow between his brows, the one he got when he didn't believe her, deepened. “Are you really?”

  “Yes. Fine.” She was. She had to be.

  “I know you will be. I'll make sure of it.” He circled his desk and perched his hip on the corner. He fingered his cane and took in a long breath. “I have something to tell you.”

  “Oh? Want me to be your date at a family reunion?” Jesus, her mouth wouldn't stop lobbing things.

  “I love you.”

  A stupid half laugh-half snort erupted from her.

  He didn't flinch. All that cool slate-blue honed in on her, taking away her breath. My God, the man was serious.

  Spots formed in her sight. “You what?” She had to push herself to suck in air.

  “I love you,” he repeated.

  “What do you mean… love me? You're replacing me.”

  “You are irreplaceable. But…” He reached over to his desk and lifted her napkin resignation and waved it at her. “You quit. And besides, one has nothing to do with the other. It doesn't matter if you leave or stay, my feelings won't change.” He rose to both feet, planted them in a wide stance. “I love you.” There was that serious edge in his voice again.

  Her insides grew warm and heavy. This declaration meant something to him, an instinctual sense that Declan was laying it all on the line, and that somehow, they were at the end as if they'd arrived at the destination of something.

  “You said that already.” Her heart began to punch at her insides. “But… don't.”

  “I'm afraid you have little choice in the matter.” He tried to move forward and she raised her hands—an automatic reaction even with Declan.

  “As I don't have a choice,” he added. “It is what it is. You've known for some time how I feel about you. I've never hidden it, and now it's time to say it out loud. One day you'll see that you and I are meant for one another.”

  And j
ust like that, they slammed into a wall. Of all the arrogant… self-centered… Her brain sputtered even stronger thoughts. “I'm not meant for you. In fact, I'm not meant for anyone. I'm not…”

  “You're not what? Capable of loving or being in love?” Declan's eyes were holding her somehow, squeezing the breath out of her with their intensity.

  She spun away. She couldn't look at him anymore but found herself once more frozen in place. She'd been denying his feelings toward her for so long, to have those words tossed at her so plainly and suddenly—it was too much.

  Move, she silently screamed at her legs, and something inside her broke free.

  He caught her wrist before she got very far. “So, you can leave and upset your career here, not to mention put your sisters between a rock and a hard place—”

  She whirled to face him. “You know nothing about me and my sisters.” He couldn't do this to her. It was madly unfair, and a fury stronger than she'd ever felt gushed from every pore.

  The gall of the man. First, to declare something so heavy and ridiculous. Then, to believe he knew anything that went on between her and her sisters? She glowered down at his hold. His fingers were rougher than she'd expected, more masculine.

  “Let go of me.” Funny, he'd rarely touched her after that first night at Maxim's—just the occasional brush. She wrenched her arm from him.

  “Fair enough. But whether or not you are here or not, it will not stop the fact I'm in love with you.”

  “Stop. Just… stop it.” Jesus, she sounded even ridiculous to herself. “I've given you no reason to love me.” None whatsoever. She’d made sure of it—worked hard at it.

  “Oh, yes, you have. Just being you. You're strong, beautiful, and despite that spectacular temper of yours, you have a kind heart. You help people. It's in your nature. You do it every day with your sisters. So, stay or go. Don't let me be the reason why you run.”

  “Sometimes it's smarter to run. Like I said, I wanted to leave because there are too many dangerous people after this place. I'm going to take Starr and Luna with me. I won't leave them.”

  “Are they as convinced leaving is better, too? They seem to be fine dancing here.”