Tough Luck (The Shakedown Series Book 1)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  In a millisecond, Phee's eyes glassed over. She blinked. The tears filling her eyes overflowed and ran down her cheeks. Had she ever seen Phoenix cry as much as she had lately? Was any of what they’d been doing, helping her?

  “You want to know why I won’t go out with Declan? I'd only hurt him in the end. I’m … damaged.”

  Oh, God. Just like Nathan…

  She really believed she was so damaged she didn’t deserve a good man. Their father didn’t deserve the second chance Luna was pushing for, but Phee did, and more. She didn't know what else to do, so she let instinct take over. She jogged to her sister, threw her arms around her, and held on. One little shake from Phoenix's shoulders and Starr's own eyes too filled with tears.

  “No, you won't hurt him. You’re better than that. Phee, you have so much love to give.” Starr breathed in the familiar scent of her cinnamon-scented shampoo. They all used it. “Yes, I'm in love with Nathan. I don't know how far things will go, but there's one thing I know for certain.” She pulled back and held her sister's gaze, her hands cupping her shoulders. “No one—and I mean no one—will ever separate me from you or Luna again. Not Nathan, not Dad, not Declan. I won’t let it.”

  Phee didn't say anything.

  “Believe me.” Why would she, though? Of the three of them, Phee’d had it the worst. “This Dad thing? You don't have to have to spend any time with him. Okay? You don’t even have to dance in this show.” She meant it.

  Her sister just nodded.

  The fragility of the delicate frame under her hands scared her. Her sister's attitude had made Phee seem larger, more physically imposing than she really was.

  Phee swiped under her eyes. “Just hormonal, that's all.” Her eyes cleared, and she swallowed hard, but at least her features were no longer frozen. “I won't let him take dancing from me. He won't take anything from me ever again.”

  She wouldn’t let Robert O’Malley take from her again, either. “Hey, how about we find those blue salsa dresses? The ones with the angled fringe and the mass of crystals here.” Starr ran her hand over her left shoulder and over her heart.

  Phee's mouth twisted upward. “Much better. The salsa dresses would work for all of us.”

  “We're triplets. We pretty much look good in the same things.” She bumped her shoulder against Phee's.

  “Some things look better on you.” Phee walked back to the garment rack and began swiping dresses left and right.

  “Like gold?” she teased.

  Phee's hands stilled, but she didn't turn. “Like love.”

  Starr got it. In fact, maybe she'd ask Nathan to marry her. Her life wasn't going to be about men, but it might have room for one man.

  33

  Of all the MacKenna-forced changes in his life, moving into Trick's apartment was the easiest. He'd woken up that morning plastered to Starr’s back, which was all the incentive he needed to start something. He'd flipped her over to find sleepy eyes glazed with hunger, just as they’d been every morning that week. Where they’d lived or slept didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was she was with him.

  “Please, Nathan.”

  He circled his finger between her legs. “Please, what?”

  “Fuck me.”

  He pushed a finger into her, and she groaned.

  “But more.”

  “You want more?” He curled his finger inside her.

  “Yes, like that, like you love me.”

  He grinned. Oh, hell yes.

  He withdrew his finger, captured her wrist, and pulled her arm up over her head. Her delighted gasp made him harden to steel. When he pitched deeply into her, she blew a puff of air in his ear and whispered, “Oh, God”. Fuck, he hoped he'd never get used to her tight clamp around his cock, his body instantly filling with warmth everywhere as if he'd been lit up from the inside.

  He nipped her neck just under her ear, which earned him another satisfying cry. He picked up the pace. Her hips met every thrust. It was her signal to go harder and faster, and god, he loved that he knew she had signals.

  Her lips locked on his. She keened into his mouth as he took her over the sweet edge of oblivion and then followed.

  During sex, she was loud, and he liked it. She held nothing back, not her love of sex, not her stubbornness to keep seeing him even though she shouldn't. They'd had some rip-roaring fights about separating, one out on a public street. A woman walking by had offered to call the police on him. He hadn't noticed before, but, women, strangers, came to each other's rescue as if sisters in arms. He'd never paid attention, but then he’d never been in love before. There’d been no love in his marriage.

  Both of them panting, he eased himself off her and took a moment to let his skin cool. It would have been the perfect time to say those three little words: “I love you.” He really needed to just spill. He drank in her profile as she stared up at the ceiling.

  “Starr, I ...”

  “Shhh.” She raised a finger. After a minute, her eyes cleared, and she smiled at him. “I was running choreography in my head.”

  He chuckled. She was never far from the stage, even one minute after sex.

  She turned to her side, head on arm. “I keep forgetting this one part, so I'm running it a lot up here.” She pointed to her forehead.

  “That help?”

  “Absolutely. Hey.” She leaned up on her elbows, her nudity on full, uninhibited display—a trait he adored in her. “What time is it?”

  “Ten.”

  “Shit.” She’d kicked at the sheets to climb out of the bed. “I'm going to be late.”

  His hand fell to the pillow. “You need to wait for me so I can go with you.”

  “What for? Declan has every bouncer on overtime guarding the place.”

  “That's only when you get there. I'm driving you.”

  “Over-protective male.” She leaned down and pecked him on the nose. “I kinda like it. Now that Declan is reopening, we're going to be busy tonight.”

  Thank God. The eighteen-day suspension Declan endured had Nathan's shoulders and back aching every night from rearranging furniture. While the girls practiced for their show, he and every other muscle guy employed by Declan helped workers with every job conceivable. They switched out a broken railing, put up new mirrors in the bathroom, and moved the newly reupholstered chairs and booths around. The place looked the same to him when it was done, but Jackie had squealed about the new “nouveau beaux arts” look or some shit.

  Starr stretched her arms to the ceiling. “I am so sore.”

  “Too much practice?”

  “No such thing.”

  “It looks like your show's going to sell out.”

  “It was the Baltimore Sun piece. Thank God for Declan's contacts and the Fitzroy Hotel.”

  The number of tickets sold had required a larger venue, so the show had moved to the old hotel next door, which would only add to the ambiance. The ballroom had been witness to a mob murder back in the prohibition era. Declan wasn’t happy about Shakedown not getting the gig, but he capitulated when he learned he got top billing. He brought in special rigging to the Fitzroy for the aerial acts, half of which were paid for by the hotel, grateful for the renewed exposure they were getting. They donated hotel rooms to the out-of-town acts, which helped Starr and her sisters sell out-of-town performers on appearing. With no liquor to buy, most of the tickets sales could easily cover the ballroom rental and produce a tidy profit—stuff Trick went on and on about that was all Greek to him.

  “You getting up?”

  “Hey.” He grasped Starr around the waist before she darted away. “How about a shower together first?”

  “Only if we make it fast.”

  “I like it fast.”

  She giggled, pushed him off her, and headed to the bathroom. She paused in the doorway, her hand resting on the frame. The light silhouetted her curves. “Well?” She laughed. “What are you waiting for?”

  “I love you.” Maybe the words leaped out because t
hey'd sat on his tongue for too long. “I mean—”

  “You do?”

  His heart did that hitching thing whenever near her, not anxious just ... alive. “Yeah. I do.”

  Her eyes twinkled with a happiness he couldn't have dreamed of. “Good. It sucks to be in love alone.” She slipped into the bathroom.

  He sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, half imagining her response. When he heard the rush of water, that was all he needed to rise and go to her. She loved him. Holy shit. It would take a miracle for him to ever let them leave this apartment again.

  The shower proved to be a fine time to demonstrate how much he loved every single damned inch of her. By the time he was able to turn off the water and let her go, the air was thick with steam, condensation trailed lines down the mirror, and even the tile floor was slick with moisture. He’d gotten lost in her hair, her warmth, and her scent. If this was all he'd ever get in his lifetime, it was enough.

  34

  Nathan could no longer watch the woman swinging on the trapeze. She had a death wish. How she sat on that little bar with a huge bubble of material in pink, green, and white hanging off her backside, he'd never know. But between the delighted gasps and sudden bursts of applause, Nathan's pride in the girls grew. The show's crowd was twice what they'd expected.

  Along with huge swaths of parachute silk and gauze to add ambiance, large screen TVs had been set up in four corners so no one missed any of the acts. The incessant horns, drums, and flapping of fabric lost all musicality and dissolved into noise. He should be used to this by now. The club was noisy as hell, but perhaps this crowd’s size was getting to him. It was five times the size of Shakedown, and the press of warm bodies made him gulp air as if there was a limit to the oxygen in the room. Or perhaps it was because Ruark MacKenna hadn’t made an appearance anywhere in over twenty days, something he should be glad about, but instead, served to increase his unease. The man was planning something.

  Nathan wiped his forehead with a napkin and continued to scan the floor. So far, the crowd was fairly tame despite the delighted applause and shouts of appreciation for the acts. Guess the no-alcohol rule helped keep things to a civilized level.

  Moving deeper into the vast ballroom, he glanced around as much as he could and marked the exits to either side out of habit. Max roamed the place like a panther stalking prey, his back as rigid as Nathan's felt. Cocktail waitresses hurried between the table rounds. A greasy bacon scent wafted up from a tray Gabrielle held as she scooted by.

  He eyed the broad back of a man with unruly black hair, lifting a drink to his lips. A stab of anger pierced his gut. The man turned. He was not MacKenna, so his body stood down—a bit.

  With dry ice smoke snorting through its nostrils, Phoenix Rising took to the stage on a mechanical bull. He had to admit it was an impressive act. The next act was the hunter-prey bit Starr had told him about. The stagehands erected the forest of mannequins dressed in safari gear. Nathan had a momentary jolt of fear only seeing Phoenix and Luna take the stage for the act. Starr's idea should include her, but yet she didn’t dance.

  Instead, Luna and a girl he didn’t recognize stalked the stage in undulating movements like sensual birds on a mission. At the end, the mannequins broke apart into individual limbs when the heavy netting dropped from the ceiling to ensnare the predators. Luna placed one foot on the head of one of the captured mannequins and struck a victory pose. The act had the audience on its feet.

  Cherry Noir stepped out on stage again as stagehands dressed in black began to pull the captured mannequins off the stage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, especially, you gentlemen. Protect your loins because our next act is not for the faint of heart. I give you our guiding light ... A woman of vast power and prestige ... Our protector of the valiant ... She will only take you if you are worthy ...”

  Cherry really needed to just get to the point.

  “I give you ... Midnight Starr.” Cherry bowed and stepped backward just as the curtains jerked to the sides.

  The stagehands cleared the stage just as Starr stepped into the center light accompanied by the strings and brass opening of Ride of the Valkyries. Placing her hands on her hips, she cocked her head and let the crowd take her in.

  Fuck him—she was a sight.

  Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, half in braids laced with gold and silver threads, and the other half in loose waves. Breastplates covered in crystals, along with armbands, leg guards, and a cape with yards of fabric trailing behind her completed the outfit. Two men stepped out on either side of her wearing black lycra bodysuits and horse head masks. As Starr glided forward, drenched in so much light it made his eyes hurt, the horse people waved the hooves on their hands and clomped their hoof-like shoes alongside her.

  “That's my girl.” A guy had sidled up to him, way too close to for comfort.

  “Huh?” Nathan stared at the guy.

  Watery blue eyes peered up at him. “My daughter.”

  His belly curled tight. So, this was Robert O'Malley, Starr’s deadbeat dad. With lines across his face, sallow skin, and shaky hands, the ravages of alcohol abuse were evident. Knowing what he’d done to those girls, Nathan wanted to pummel the shit out of him.

  Instead, he held out his hand. “Nathan Baldwin.” He represented Shakedown, so he’d at least feign manners.

  The skin on the man’s hand was thin as paper. “Starr's boyfriend.”

  Someone had filled him in—and it wasn’t Starr. That meant one of the other girls might have, like Luna. Shit, this man didn’t deserve any of them.

  He held on to the man’s hand longer than he should have and stared without blinking. “Yes. I’m a lucky man. I get to look after her.”

  Robert huffed a bit. “Guess she filled you in.”

  “She did.” Only then did Nathan let go of the man’s hand. “I’m always watching over her.” The message had been sent—and by the look of the guy’s face, he understood “watching over” meant protecting her from him.

  Nathan returned to watching Starr prance through thin clouds of dry-ice smoke snaking across the stage, giving her the illusion of walking on clouds. She struck a strong, centered, and inhumanly beautiful figure. She always did when on stage, but tonight she was in rare form. His girl really did love the spotlight, and it loved her back.

  Robert clapped his hands together and lowered himself to his seat. A sick chill climbed up the back of Nathan’s neck at the clear admiration emanating from Starr’s father’s face. Supporting her, sure, but this guy’s eyes roamed Starr a little too intently.

  Starr raised her arm, and a lightning bolt shot straight from her arm—a trick of the lights, one he'd seen at Shakedown, but it was still damned impressive. She’d been stressing about this new dance she'd put together for tonight, but hadn't told him a damned thing about it.

  As she sashayed with both power and grace across the stage, more lightning bolts emanated from her fingers. He grew so enamored at the special effect, he almost lost track of her costume. Her movements, liquid and fluid, made the glitter move across her ass cheeks and appear to be water sheeting on her skin. Holy shit. No panties. Sparkles dusted those glorious cheeks—naked cheeks.

  His brain inventoried her costume, or rather the glitter and body paint that replaced a costume. The armbands and the guard on her thighs looked like fabric. The rest? Sparkles and crystals stuck to bare fucking skin. He grew dizzy yet strangely stiff, and if those men in the front row didn’t stop jeering … Fuck. A guy standing a few feet over adjusted his pants, and he nearly lost his shit. It wouldn't be his finest moment to clock a patron during Starr’s show.

  When Starr finally drifted back behind the curtain, Cherry urged the crowd to acknowledge the act even more, as if they required any more encouragement.

  He tamped down his Neanderthal desire to run backstage and throw a blanket over her. She was a burlesque dancer, for Christ's sake. She stripped down to pasties and a G-string sometimes. Since they'd been
together, she hadn't done that, and he'd like to think he had something to do with that. So, he stayed put.

  He crossed his arms and focused on the stage and other acts—a dragon-slaying number, a mild striptease to an old-time Burlesque song, and a bizarre piece where the woman came out dressed like a burrito. Only when the finale was announced, when all the performers took the stage, did Starr emerge once more. She still wore her nothing-costume, earning a resounding roar from the crowd.

  Robert slumped in his seat, but his gaze was trained on Starr. A sick feeling settled in Nathan’s stomach. He debated whether he should look for Starr or stay and watch the man. Starr won.

  He ambled over to Trick, who stood in the back, arms folded across his chest. “I'm taking a break.”

  “Yeah, go and see your woman. You've been chomping at the bit ever since she stepped out in all her Valkyrie glory.”

  Yeah, he owned it. He was being the jealous boyfriend. “She looked good.”

  Trick eyed him. “She did. Just make sure you're not wearing that face when you go back to see her, okay? She probably worked hard on this thing, and your jaw looks like it might shatter any minute.”

  He scraped his hand through his hair. “I'm proud of her.”

  “Make sure she knows it.”

  He was proud of Starr. It's just ... fuck, he didn't like the way all those men watched her. He didn't like the way her own father looked at her. Of course, he didn’t get three feet toward his destination when Max signaled him. He raised a flask. Great. Somebody had snuck in alcohol. At least he got to help throw someone out.

  35

  Starr's whole body buzzed with the adrenaline rush of a good performance. Her muscles sang. She hummed the Ride of the Valkyries. Maybe that'd be her new theme song. She hopped a little on her standing leg as she yanked off her boot. A dusting of gold glitter drifted to the carpeting. Oh, well. For once, she wouldn't need to sweep it up since any minute, the hotel staff would be hustling them out.