Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2)

by Suzanne Halliday

  Wearing what is best described as a little black dress, she suddenly worried that it was too much. Too edgy. Too right on the line of being slutty. Short—too short, it was an off the shoulder slouchy thing that molded to her breasts. She’d pushed the arms back to her elbows and slid on a bunch of brightly colored bangles that twinkled under the lights.

  With her long black hair, ruby red lips, and the exaggerated stage make-up, she looked like Snow White trolling for her Prince. But it was the boots she wore that made the outfit. And they were outrageous with a capital O.

  Thigh-high suede with platforms and fuck-me-till-I-scream heels that made her walk with a hip rolling swagger got the cowboys on their feet in a hurry.

  Sass immediately commandeered the microphone, adjusting it to her height. Slapping her hands on her hips, she stood there in her Daisy Dukes and grinned broadly at the enthusiastic crowd.

  Someone yelled, “You look fucking hot tonight,” which got Tori laughing.

  Snickering, she jeered, “Hey, I remember my first beer, too!”

  The room erupted in cheers and applause.

  “Pretending to read from an imaginary piece of paper, she chirped into the mic . . .”Okay, kids. I’ve just been handed a note here from Pete. Apparently, some dumbass peckerwood built a statue of his horse in the men’s room toilet and clogged the pipes.”

  Screams of laughter filled the air.

  “So, gentlemen . . . from now till closing . . . y’all are instructed to hold onto your shit!”

  Tori was a natural. Who knew? What was the definition of vamp? Because Mrs. St. John needed her own one-woman show to showcase her theatrical talent. Her mama sure would be proud.

  In full cowgirl-diva mode, Sass fluffed the exaggerated hairstyle she had going on, then put both hands on her girls and gave them a good wobble, which was met with thunderous approval from the rowdy crowd.

  In the voice Tori said was her very best Southern Gal twang, she worked the crowd over like a pro.

  “Now, I know some of y’all are wondering who’s who,” loud catcalls and whistles split the air, “but before we take care of all you, uh . . . cowboys,” she drawled so cutely, Angie had to giggle, “to all you ladies out there? Girls, while your men are staring at us. . . . relax! You can stare at our men while yours act like idiots. Gentlemen, where are you?” she called out.

  Roaring with good-humored laughter, Alex, Cam, Drae and Parker swung around, faced the crowd, and raised their hands. A comic low rumble of discontent from the men in the bar met this announcement while a distinctive, appreciative hum from all the ladies got louder and louder.

  Tori was a genius. She’d hilariously defused any bullshit coming at them from the women in the audience and effectively brought them in on the joke. Which in turn guaranteed that all the men could feel free to go hog wild without paying a price later. Win—win!

  “Okay, so who’s ready to get their karaoke on?”

  More wild applause.

  “Well, get ready to dance your panties off. Without any more yackety yak, let me introduce to you . . .

  “Ass!” And with that, Lacey sashayed forward, her blond beauty shimmering in the spotlight. The tight blue sheath that clung to her from collarbone to mid-thigh looked adorable from the front but when she turned around, shit got real. The entire back of the dress was open from the collar down to the top of her butt and was cut in a way that totally accentuated the woman’s outrageously perfect ass.

  Settling into a flirty pose, she blew a kiss to her husband and beamed at the enthusiastic response from the crowd.

  “Boots!” Tori hollered next as Meghan came forward and quite literally knocked socks off in an emerald green lace dress—one of those stretchy things that could stop traffic. Especially so since this one showed off her voluptuous attributes with a choker style neckline that opened to a heart-shaped bodice.

  Angie noticed Alex down in front throw up his hands like he was shooting, “Score!” as the guys smacked him on the back and roared with delight.

  Meghan had applied a soft sheen of glitter to her ample cleavage which replayed down the front of her toned legs, but the icing on her sexy cake were an outrageous pair of high heeled, cowgirl boots complete with rhinestones and crystals that caught the stage lights, and frankly, made her look like a million bucks.

  Acknowledging the booming applause, Meghan also moved into an exaggerated pose, next to Lacey, with a foot up on a wood box at the edge of the stage.

  Tori giggled into the mic. “And I, of course, would be the Sass!” she proclaimed with a stripper shimmy that would rival that of the most seasoned pole dancer.

  Parker and Drae high-fived, which only made Angie laugh more.

  “Which brings us to a very special appearance tonight by the newest lady in our modest sewing circle.” That comment was met with loud guffaws and a number of pithy shouted comments.

  “Hold on to your privates, boys, ‘cause this one comes with not only a big brother,” Angie heard Alex let out a thundering, “Boo-yah,” “but an ambulance chasing boyfriend as well!”

  Loud boos and groans filled the room. Angie giggled knowing that Aldo was probably shitting himself by this point and hearing Parker referred to as her boyfriend, well . . . fuck it. Wasn’t far from the truth.

  “So let me hear a supersized cowboy howdy for the spicy senõrita known as Desert Angel!” With that, Tori backed up and took her spot next to Meghan and Lacey in what was now apparent as their own version of the Charlie’s Angels pose.

  Showtime!

  Striding confidently into the spotlight, Angie knew she had this and that they were gonna have the time of their lives.

  At first, she pretended to be shy and embarrassed by the attention, going so far as to strike an innocent, pigeon-toed pose as she twirled a curl and hid her eyes while the men went apeshit.

  Softly speaking into the microphone, she used a little girl voice and started speaking in nervous, rapid, breathy Spanish. The whole room got quiet to hear what she was saying.

  When she had everyone’s rapt attention, she laughed loudly, waved a hand at the audience and joked, “Nah, I’m just messing with you! Arizona proud! Born and raised right here in the red rocks.”

  The room erupted with regional fervor and appreciation. She grinned. Drunk cowboys were so easy sometimes!

  “Who’s ready to rock?” she asked . . . nodding at the dude handling the impressive karaoke setup and moved into her assigned spot in their group pose. Flashes from cell phone cameras twinkled and she heard Lacey compliment her, “Nicely done, Angel!”

  Yeah. No shit. When she took her place, and stood, legs wide in a pose she’d practiced that paid homage to every comic book vixen every imagined, Angie knew the thigh-high boots and the barely-there dress held in place by her breasts, were a provocation she’d have to answer for later.

  And then the fun began. She wasn’t spouting nonsense when she said these girls needed a record contract. All of them were natural singers and took to the playful stage acting to sell their performances like fish to water. In short, Ass, Boots, and Sass kicked the butt and then some.

  The competition rules say each group chose four songs and then a song from the house list that had tunes from every imaginable genre and time. For their last number, the crowd got to request a song and the karaoke DJ made the final choice. Half an hour of spotlight hell!

  Lacey got things started with a spirited rendition, sexy mama style, of Hit Me with Your Best Shot. One of their advantages was the fact that Tori grew up watching her mom organize beauty pageants so she knew a thing or two about talent competition. So while Lacey sang her heart out, strutting back and forth across the stage with a rock swagger Pat Benatar could be proud of, the girls ran through a series of bumps, grinds, dance steps, and synchronized shimmies that thrilled the crowd.

  It was exhilarating, being on stage with her friends, enjoying the response, and watching their guys down in front actually getting into their performance.
She couldn’t wait to tell Soph how much fun she was having.

  Though she didn’t say it out loud, Ang was hoping that by embracing what she really wanted out of life, she’d set an example for her big sister—hoping that she’d find the courage to do the same. Sophie had some shadows in her personal life that had made being happy a hit or miss proposition.

  “That was great!” Lacey gushed when the song was over. “Did you see Cameron?” She was giggling and peeking at her husband over Meghan’s shoulder. “It’s not often that he looks so . . .”

  “Shit kicked?” Tori interjected playfully

  “Mmmm,” Lacey murmured. “Your turn to kick some butt, Mrs. St. John!”

  Playing to the crowd, Tori danced up to the microphone and asked, “Where are all the good girls in the house?”

  A host of arms waved in the air and female shrieks filled the house. “Well, this one’s for y’all!” Tori purred with a wink before ripping into a boot stomping, bring the house down, open-throated version of Carrie Underwood’s song, Good Girl. She might be little, but she sure did pack a serious wallop when throwing down a vocal. The crowd, of course, went wild.

  When it was Red’s turn, she vamped in her sexy boots up to the microphone, with her glorious mane of hair looking like fire under the lights. Gripping the stand, she shimmied slightly and it struck Angie that she looked like a red-haired modern day version of Marilyn Monroe, flirting with the crowd while displaying a stage presence that was mesmerizing.

  With a half-moon tambourine that had a zillion colorful shimmery ribbons hanging off it, she playfully shook it close to the mic to get everyone’s attention—as if every male eye in the room wasn’t already firmly fixed on her boobs.

  Smiling coyly, she told the crowd, “Help me out here, what’s that expression? Rock out with your . . .” She didn’t finish, just let the crowd fill in the rest with an approving roar.

  She tilted her head back and laughed then mocked the audience, saying, “Yeah. .that! Get ready!”

  To Angie’s thrilled delight, Meghan chose a classic Stevie Nicks song, Enchanted, that gave all the girls the perfect backup harmony opportunity. Borrowing from the rock out—cock out category, they ripped into the song with Meghan providing an exuberant, growling vocal and some kickass tambourine moves that got the crowd on its feet. She smiled to herself. One day real soon, Meghan was going to fully understand how funny her fascination with the legendary rock goddess really was.

  Why . . . this was more fun than a Friday night at home in her pjs with a quart of Haagen-Dazs and a chick flick!

  And then it was her turn to take center stage.

  HOLY FUCKBALLZ. PARKER WAS A little stunned at the wild exuberance the girls ignited in the crowd. Honestly? It was awesome.

  Lacey with her beguiling sweetness that spoke of something smoky and sultry just below the surface.

  Victoria—the ultimate contradiction. Tiny and delicate, her feminine outer shell belied the vulgar-tongued, independent, genius within. In her case, smarts did not take a backseat to beauty.

  Meghan. Unf. Seriously. Alex was so fucking lucky. He’d hit the damn jackpot with that lady. She was the perfect mate for his friend. With the type of curves he knew Alex drooled over, she was the ultimate sexy librarian.

  And his Angel. Her dark-haired loveliness against the soft, pale beauty of her flawless skin and those sweet, kissable lips gave her a fairy tale quality that also contradicted the strong-willed woman she grew into.

  Totally getting off on the whole vibe, it was fun as shit to be in the crush of bodies closest to the stage. Nothing like a packed room of people having a great time! And he was having the greatest time of all.

  Abundantly aware that there was a scowling baby-faced pussy with an annoying stuck-up attitude hovering in the shadows, Parker relished being the one publically marking his territory.

  He wasn’t stupid. He got why she hadn’t caused a scene and tossed the ex out on his ass. It was complicated by who he was, where he was from, and how their connection affected the Marquez family and label. The little turd could cause trouble so she was playing nice.

  Didn’t change the fact that he was a loser.

  It was Angie’s turn to take the lead and as she stepped up to the microphone, his heart almost stopped. From this vantage point and with the courtesy of her barely-there dress, he could almost make out the color of her undies. Glancing anxiously left and right, he checked out the reactions of Alex and Cam—relaxing when they didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he should get his damn mind out of the gutter. Ha. Fat chance of that.

  He missed the first few words she said, so mesmerized was he by her long, curvaceous legs in those wicked thigh-high boots. He noted when she was dancing around that they laced up the back. Since then, he hadn’t been able to banish from his mind what she’d look like dressed in only those bad girl boots, bent over one of the padded saddle horses in the tack room, butt ass naked, being pounded from behind by his hungry cock.

  “So, yeah . . .” She was chuckling. “I know all about the legend and lore of Whiskey Pete’s!”

  Hoots and hollers met her comment. Straining to catch up on what he’d missed, Parker figured she must have been playing the hometown girl card.

  “And now I’m back,” Angie chirped happily with a wink and a little ass shimmy, “and ready to show y’all . . .” She looked directly at him. “How the big girls get it done.”

  Boom! His heart exploded in his chest and no exaggeration at all . . . Parker thought his dick might have just grown another head. Right up until that actual second, he wasn’t sure. But the big girl comment that went straight to his groin and his heart in a double shot that pretty fucking much made him feel like king of the universe.

  She nailed her song—totally making the Taylor Swift tune her karaoke bitch. Singing about spaces or something like that—he didn’t know and honestly didn’t care . . . so focused was he on planning out his next move that she could have been singing about giant hairless balls, and he would barely have noticed. The ladies in the club on the other hand, sang along, dancing enthusiastically.

  The boisterous bar crowd and the enthusiastic response to the girls made an energy that filled the room and filled him with an exhilaration that felt like pure adrenaline. Just about the time his fantasies started running wild, he felt a cold chill creep up his spine and tingle along the back of his neck.

  Goddammit. That fucking cretin finally got off his worthless ass, did he? Parker did not feel like playing nice. In fact, he wanted to vault onto the stage, growl menacingly, and beat his chest at the audience, pick his Angel up, toss her sexy ass over his shoulder and drag her into the first dark, secluded, and private space he could find so he could claim what was his. Until he was buried balls deep in her sweet little body and he made her come all over his cock—she still didn’t fully belong to him. Which gave the pretty little pansy ass crowding near his shoulder a foot in the door.

  Meghan noticed the minute Ronaldo crept out of the shadows and moved toward Parker. The pissing contest over who got to claim the sexy señorita singing her ass off was about to begin. The fun was about to get real.

  Truly, nobody was more flabbergasted than she was when the man made his surprise appearance at the Villa. He was nothing that she expected for the ex-fiancé of her almost sister-in-law. Nothing.

  Totally unremarkable, Ronaldo Esperanza was barely meh, in her book. What the hell had Angie ever seen in him? He was little and smarmy and had an obsequious arrogance that creeped Meghan out.

  Catching the Major’s eye was easy enough. He looked like a card-carrying super fan, hanging at the front of the stage, watching her every move. He was so friggin’ cute with his big smile and that messy hair he kept running his hands through.

  One meaningful look from her though and he changed the direction of his attention, looking back over his shoulder at Aldo before elbowing Parker and giving him a chin nod. She was glad Alex was right there; in case something physical broke
out, he could handle it.

  Angie was playing with fire where the two men vying for her attentions were concerned. Parker had been well on his way to staking his patently obvious claim when the surprise from Madrid appeared on the scene.

  Meghan executed a couple of bumps and shimmies along with Lacey and Tori while their Desert Angel started bringing the song home. They’d done a bang-up job so far—enough that Aldo’s scowl of clear disapproval made her want to scream. It wasn’t all that difficult to feel bad for Ang. She hadn’t asked for this weird complication. But it was here on their doorstep—and right royally fucking with Meghan’s bridal chi.

  From her backup singer-dancer spot behind Angie, she watched while the Major wisely insinuated himself physically between Parker and Aldo, also moving Cam and Drae to anchor spots on either end of their grouping. If something broke out, the Justice boys were ready to contain the mayhem.

  She couldn’t see everything going on—the stage lights made that kind of difficult—but she noted that words were exchanged. Judging by Parker’s posture, the words hadn’t been friendly. Alex had his hand on Aldo’s shoulder. Jesus. She hoped the stupid shmuck wasn’t foolish enough to actually challenge any of Angie’s protectors.

  The song ended to rapturous applause. Their four numbers over, it was time for the DJ to announce the wild card song. With a quick five-minute break coming, the girls huddled together giggling and high-fiving—well pleased with their performances.

  “This is fun!” Angie chirped happily. “Who knew?”

  Tori roared with laughter. “We’ve got ourselves a convert, ladies!”

  Not wanting to rain on their happy parade, Meghan wasn’t going to say anything about what the men were up to. There’d be plenty of time for that later. But she didn’t expect Lacey to bring it up, groaning when she did.

  “So, your boyfriend looks like he’s sizing up your fiancé for a butt kicking.”