She could turn and walk back out, choose a better day, not one on the heels of Declan touching her, loving her despite her best efforts to thwart that from happening. And why was that? How about because she’d not been able to overcome her fears on her own and give herself over to Declan. Bravery was supposed to be her strong suit, but it wasn’t, not by a long shot. There was a reason for her cowardice—and that reason lived in this house.
It pissed her off royally that she couldn’t do what she wanted to do. Her father had taken away a choice from her by injecting her with a poisonous fear.
Further inside, she found an empty living room—more like a few couches and chairs, all appearing donated by their mismatched upholstery and some equally odd-looking end tables. A game board lay open on a coffee table, checkers stacked in neat rows of black and red to the side of it. Laughter sounded from down the hallway. Several male voices and a female. The floor creaked a little as she skulked down the hallway.
Three men sat around a yellowed Formica table under a window overlooking the backyard. A woman poured coffee into cups on the kitchen countertop. All eyes turned to Phoenix. She honed in on one man in particular—weathered, worn, familiar blue eyes widening at seeing her.
Every fiber in her body stiffened. “Robert.” She said carefully.
The chair legs squeaked over the linoleum as he used it to help him rise and then as a crutch to help him stand.
The woman who’d been pouring coffee had set the pot back on the coffee maker and stepped forward. “Hello.” Her warm smile beamed over at Phee. She held out her hand. “You must be one of Robert’s daughters. I’m Maven, the day nurse.” The woman had some grip. She was stocky and likely doubled as a bodyguard by her calm, take-charge way.
“Phoenix.”
Her father hadn’t moved or said a word. His eyelids fluttered in confusion.
“Well.” Maven hadn’t let go of her hand. “Why don’t we settle in the living room? Chancey, help Robert over to his favorite chair.”
No, “Why are you here?” No, “What can I get you?” This woman moved her down the hall and into the sitting room of incompatible furniture. Another one of the men—whose details she didn’t bother to even notice—set her father into a ripped blue and red plaid wingback chair.
“I’ll be right outside.” Maven went out to the hall and sat down on a bench just outside two glass French doors that she’d closed behind her. So, they’d get an audience. It didn’t matter. She’d likely never see the woman again, and she was responsible for these guys.
Robert had barely moved, sitting there like a shaky lump. A belt was cinched tight around his blue workman pants, one shirttail hanging out. At least he wasn’t drooling.
She remained standing. “I have a few things to say.” Though she still wasn’t quite clear what they were yet. He’d once sent word through her sisters that he was remorseful. That he wanted her to feel better. Well, now was his chance to ensure that by listening.
He settled his hands in his lap. “Okay.” So, the man could speak.
“I hate you.” Cherry did say to let it fly. “I will never see you again after today.”
He continued to blink at her, which only raised up more irritation. It fueled something inside because somehow, words then found purchase in her mouth. “Because of you, I can’t be touched. I don’t know how to be loved. I can’t have children. Did you know that? The mere thought…”
His eyes widened. “Who did that to you?”
“Who do you think?”
His eyes clouded and he cocked his head. “Well, whoever did doesn’t deserve you, pretty lady.”
“I’m not pretty. Not anymore.” She festered inside and it showed.
“You are. You remind me of someone long ago.” His lips curled, revealing yellowed and rotting teeth. “Cara. A beautiful girl. Blue eyes. Same red hair. She had spirit, that one.”
“Damn you to hell,” she rasped. “You get to forget me and I’m left with…” She raised an arm and let it drop to her side. “This.” Whatever this was.
She stepped forward, the sickening stench of old flesh wafting up. “I flinch anytime a man gets near me. Which is ironic as hell, given I’m a dancer and it’s mostly men who like to see it. If you had just manned the ever-loving fuck up I could have done anything. Been anything other than…” Other than what? She loved dancing, but it was a risky business, not to mention one with a most definite shelf life. But it also wasn’t like she’d ever wanted to do anything else.
His head cocked and he eyed her as if he didn’t quite understand her words.
Her teeth ached. She’d been clenching them so hard in between words, surely she broke one.
He shifted in his seat a little. “Who are you again?”
The man had no clue as to who she was. That’s when the real fury rose. “Fuck you, Robert O’Malley.” Cherry was right about one thing. It felt good to say whatever words rose up. “How dare you get to forget what you did to me.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Her throat seized and her last few words were nothing but a squeak.
“You beat us. All three of us. But that last time? Luna and I were the only ones home. Thirteen stitches were laid across my scalp. You did that.”
He looked mystified—absolutely, positively perplexed.
“There’s a man, a good man, who loves me, though why, I’ll never know. And you know what? He doesn’t care about why. He just does. He shouldn’t have to put up with all the crap I channel from you. You.” A sob lodged itself so tightly in her chest, her throat burned from squeezing it back inside.
He raised his hands in surrender. “I—”
“You nothing.” She yanked up her sleeve, a barely visible thin line across one wrist. She’d had a plastic surgeon remove the major part of the scarring, but it was still visible if one really looked. She’d done it with her own hand when things were really bad in that foster home. “See this? Never fucking again. I’m done. I’m sick of being the victim of your weakness.”
Something thunked inside her. A heavy lump, ever-present in her chest, shifted. It wasn’t gone, but it had most definitely moved.
Then came more thoughts. Declan wasn’t getting what he wanted because of what this man did to her. This man had not only abused her and her sisters but everyone that they contacted was touched by what he did—or in Declan’s case, not touched.
His eyes squinched but then cleared for a second as her epiphany had reached him. His mouth dropped open, and his face went slack. “You’re…”
“Your nightmare. It’s your turn to hold the pain. I don’t need it anymore.” She yanked her sleeve down. Truth was, she wasn’t yet out of the woods. Rather, the idea of feeling good, of letting go, of being different was enough.
“It’s over. Because I say so. Good-bye, Robert O’Malley. Tell the devil in Hell I said maybe next time.” She turned away from him. It was the last time she’d ever lay eyes on the man—at least alive. She didn’t need any more than the last 15 minutes with him to nail that proverbial coffin shut.
She cracked open the doors. “Thanks, Maven. He’s all yours.”
The woman merely nodded, a grimace across her face. “Oh, Miss O’Malley,” she called. Phee stilled her hand on the front doorknob. “You take care.”
Phee nodded once, yanked open the door, and headed down the steps. With each one, her lungs opened up a bit more. At the bottom, she took a moment to stand there. All the last few years she’d wondered how she’d handle seeing him again. Now she knew. Could someone get high off screaming at someone you’ve wanted to for so long? Why, yes, they could. She was living proof of it.
“So, how did it go?” Cherry asked as soon as the car door opened.
“It went.” She dropped herself to the seat.
“Am I dropping you off at Declicious’ house?”
“No. I need to go home.” She wasn’t running to him. There were two other people who needed to learn of her move more. “I need to talk to Starr and Lu
na. In person.”
“Ah, of course. They need to learn of your triumph.” She put the car into drive and peered over her shoulder at oncoming traffic.
“Is that what that was?”
She faced the windshield. “Girl, anytime someone speaks the truth it’s triumphant. There’s so little of it today.”
“You should run for Congress.”
Cherry’s gaze flashed to her. “Oh, my God, have you seen what they wear on Capitol Hill? No way.”
Phoenix threw her head back and let something else fly—a deep-throated laugh that she felt all the way down to her toes.
43
“Ruark made parole.” Three words that curled Declan’s insides into a tight fist. In two days, the man would be walking the streets again. To make matters worse, damnable Carragh MacKenna was at fault.
Nathan paced in the storeroom. “Carragh stood up for him. Stood there and said Ruark was going to work for him.” He paused and stared hard at Declan. “That he would be the one to ensure he had a place to live.”
His fiancée, Starr, hadn’t said a word. But she didn’t need to. Starr’s eyes—so similar to Phoenix’s—swirled with a hot blue fire. She raised her hand when Nathan reached out to her.
She stepped forward. “Declan, I haven’t told Phee. I thought maybe you would want to. I don’t think I could handle my anger and hers all at once.”
“I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am, Starr.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“But it’s my responsibility.” He swallowed everything else he thought because it didn’t matter if anyone knew or understood his next move. But it was, indeed, time for him to move.
“Nathan. Starr. Doors open in an hour. I have some calls to place. Can you ask Phoenix to wait for me after the show?”
That at least got a smile from Starr. “I’ll do my best.” She moved as if leaving but stopped herself. “Oh, and I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I will. Phee went to see our father this afternoon.”
“What do you mean, she saw your father?” He was overjoyed that she was ready to confront the man but not that she did so without him. That was not their deal.
“Yeah. And not with us but with Cherry. I think she’d finally seen the need to move on. You’re the reason, aren’t you? And I gotta say, if you could make that happen, then you can definitely handle the MacKennas.”
“Thanks, Starr.” He winked at her. Such faith in him meant something. But Nathan was right about one thing—one didn’t handle that family. One bested them.
Once alone, Declan started that process.
He couldn’t say why he’d been delaying the inevitable. Perhaps because he had more cards to play. Saving them as a last resort was prudent. Or perhaps he couldn’t let go of the hope the MacKennas would just grow bored with him. But that was the problem with sociopaths. They never lost interest. They merely changed the game.
He’d introduce a new one himself.
His banker was the first call. After understanding his borrowing capacity, he called his real estate broker—the woman who had sold him the Shakedown property many years ago.
“Marta, I want every available property within a one-mile radius of Shakedown checked. I’m a motivated buyer. Anonymous as usual.” No reason to alert the sharks to his appetite. He’d see what properties the MacKennas currently owned and buy as much left over as he could.
He also ran home, retrieved his mother’s diaries from his home safe, and put them in his safety deposit box—after photocopying three key pages and dropping them in the mail. Tomas enjoyed courage from his adversaries, did he? The psycho hadn’t seen anything yet. It was time to lay down his winning hand.
Then he’d deal with one burlesque dancer who still didn’t understand going it alone was no longer necessary.
44
Phoenix was a sight. Her tumble of red curls hung loose and free and lifted and wrapped around her neck as she twirled. Her eyes sparkled at the audience and her smile was wide and relaxed. He thought she was fire before?
It took a minute to understand what was different tonight. She was in head-to-toe white. Not her usual color choice, but the pearly color was stunning on her. The long gown picked up fractured light as her hips swayed, not unlike a mermaid tail might in the sunlight.
The entire dance cast sauntered and pranced on stage—Phoenix, Cortelana, Aspen Snow, Nikki, Sally Mae, Starr, Luna, and of course, Cherry, who belted out a song he didn’t recognize as the queen traversed the entire thirty feet, back and forth. Had the show morphed under his nose? He’d appointed Cherry creative director long ago, and she’d never disappointed. Truth told, he enjoyed experiencing the show for the first time with the audience. Perhaps that was yet another reason to be drawn to Phoenix. She never failed to surprise him.
The dancers moved in a seamless braid, spinning around one another, trading off an enormous peacock feather fan as if battling for the feathers like a prize. Red-lipped mouths fell into exaggerated “O”s as Nikki in a bright red tutu grasped the fan and tromped to stand behind Cherry, fanning her like a pool boy waving a giant palm frond. Aspen dipped under, her arm swiping the fan right out from Nikki. On and on they battled in a swirl of fringe and tulle and sequins.
The final notes of the song lifted and fell into silence—rather abruptly. The cast froze in various posts. Phoenix ended up in the center, flanked by the other dancers and holding the fan high to clamshell it behind her head like a trophy. All she needed was a giant Scallop shell to stand on—and be nude—and she’d be the perfect depiction of the Birth of Venus. He would drop to his knees at the sight.
Declan wasn’t a man who often experienced the sensation of being overcome. He let the feeling wash over him anyway. He cleared his throat and expanded his ribs in a deep breath. And here he’d thought falling apart was for crises. No one told him the complete undoing that came from watching the woman you loved stand in joy. She was made to stand in the center—of everything good.
If only more people could learn what she did. She left her world behind when she performed. No one would ever guess this woman’s past if they only knew her as Phoenix Rising, star of a burlesque revue.
The dancers disappeared one by one from the stage. Cherry gave off her final remarks, which, if tonight was like any other night, would take a while.
He turned to head to the back to catch Phoenix in the hallway. He didn’t want to burst her joy bubble, but someone had to tell her about Ruark and it was going to be him. And that father visit? He’d play that one by ear.
In the hallway, Nathan leaned against the cinderblock wall outside the bright pink door of the makeup room. Bright laughter echoed behind it.
“I see our dancers can still move in those heels.” Their pace beat his.
Nathan lifted his gaze from his phone, and Declan set his back against the wall next to him.
“Yeah.” Nathan chuckled softly. “They’re inside. De-glittering or whatever it’s called. It’ll be a while. Trust me.”
Declan’s eyes cut once more to the door as the laughter continued. “Just waiting for Phoenix.”
Nathan nodded once. “Glad to run into you. Max and I are taking Starr and Luna away after the show tonight. We’ll be back on Tuesday for opening. To get away for a bit.”
More like to get away from Ruark MacKenna, who would be roaming the streets in about 36 hours. “You said Starr and Luna.”
“Phee doesn’t want to go.” The man didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.
“I’ll watch her.”
One side of Nathan’s mouth quirked up, but he returned to studying his phone.
“If you need more than a few days…” he began.
“Thanks. But I’ll see you Tuesday. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Damned emotion. Been creeping up on him at the oddest times, like when a man he still owed his life to declared he wouldn’t run despite the fact his life could be in danger.
Declan clapped the man
’s shoulder and nodded.
The pink door cracked open. “Well, just the man I wanted to see.” Phoenix, dressed in jeans and black flats. A black beret topped her head, her red hair still loose and curling over her shoulders and over a forest green velvet jacket.
He shook himself to the present. “Just what I wanted to hear.”
She swished up to him and pecked him on the lips “I have something to tell you. I saw my father today.” Like a flash, she was past him. “Are you coming?”
“Where are we going?”
She turned. “I thought I’d leave my car here. Let you take me home.”
“My home?”
“Yeah.” She pushed her backside against the exit door bar. “Two days off. I wonder what we could do.”
Hushed words said with a smile? Today most definitely wasn’t going in any direction he could have foreseen. “Well, good, because I have news, too.”
“Oh, I know all about Ruark getting out on parole. I overheard Starr and Nathan so I made her tell me right before I went on stage. Starr has dibs on using her emery board on his balls first. But I get the second crack.”
She was out the door and he barely caught the heavy thing before it slammed shut. “Nathan.” The man hadn’t moved from his spot, probably as stunned as Declan was about the alien that had taken over Phoenix’s body.
“I’ll help Jackie and Max close up.” The man scrubbed his hair, seemingly as perplexed as Declan was.
He may have an exorcism he needed to perform because whoever had possessed Phoenix Rising was not someone that anyone at Shakedown had gotten acquainted with yet.
Or perhaps this is who Elizaveta was all along—and she was only recently let out.
Declan’s front door clicked shut, and Phoenix turned. She took his cane, hooked it on the coat rack, and drew closer to him.
On the way over, she asked they not talk—not yet. He obliged, held her hand, and rubbed his thumb over that spot between her thumb and forefinger, which turned out to be an erogenous zone.
Tough Break (The Shakedown Series Book 2) Page 18
