Laken (The Phoenix Club Girl Diaries Book 2)

by Addison Jane

  Head wounds were a fucking bitch.

  “Don’t fucking move,” Tyler ordered as he stepped into the room, his gun pointed directly at Jester’s head, his finger wrapped tight around the trigger. “Drop the knife.”

  Jester grinned this sickening smile as he opened his hand, and the tiny switchblade with my fucking blood smudged across the tip fell to the carpet. “Bet you think this is over,” he muttered, the smile twisting a little due to the pain I knew he’d be feeling. “Bet you think you’ve won.”

  I tugged my T-shirt up over my head and pressed it to the gash on my forehead, trying to stop the flow of blood that was streaming down my face. I had no idea how bad it was, and for all I knew, my brains were about to fall out all over the fucking carpet.

  “Let me guess,” I growled, wishing I was about to put a clip load into this fucker and solve all my fucking problems. Unfortunately, I had a feeling I was about to do the exact opposite and let this crazy bastard fucking walk out of here. “You had a contingency plan in case I came in here and kicked your fucking ass.”

  “Brooklyn is real pretty, isn’t she?”

  The gasoline had been poured, and that was the match which lit the flame.

  I rushed forward, throwing my shirt to the side. My left hand grabbed a hold of Jester’s tank top, the right driving a hook straight up under his jaw, hoping the blow might shatter his fucking teeth. I kept moving, pushing him backward until his back hit the kitchen wall with a hard thud. “I swear to God...” I hissed, my face right in his, the rage swirling around me like a volatile storm, and it was ready to rip him to shreds.

  “She’s a troubled girl,” he mumbled, dabbing at the corner of his mouth. His eyes unnerved me. They were brown, but nothing like Laken’s warm chocolate gaze that had my sweet tooth working overtime. His were dark, making me think of the color of the ground six feet fucking under. “Her own little demons follow her around.”

  “Ty,” I snapped, holding my hand out and instantly feeling the relief of the cold gun cool the burn inside my palm. I let the bastard go and stepped back just far enough to press the barrel of the gun against his forehead, right between those fucking crazy eyes. “The fuck have you done?”

  Jester spit, hocking a loogie of blood right at my feet while holding my narrowed gaze. “Nothing yet,” he mumbled. There were definitely some dislodged teeth in there. “But if I don’t walk out of here…”

  Gritting my teeth, I reached into my pocket and slipped out my cell phone, hitting speed dial and pressing it to my ear as it rang, all while the psycho grinned back at me with blood smeared across his teeth and dripping from his lip. My body was itching, my skin felt like it was alive, every nerve, every muscle screaming at me to just destroy this asshole.

  Right here.

  Right now.

  The ringing stopped.

  “Hey.”

  “You got eyes on Brook right now?” I asked Shotgun, trying to keep my voice even, trying not to fucking panic.

  It didn’t matter, though, he already knew something was wrong, his words tightened. “No…” he paused, I could hear him weighing up his options already, his mind processing how he was going to find her. “We’re out the front at Dynasty, she went in to help Kennedy with the first rush.”

  “Get eyes on her,” I ordered, my fingers tightening around the phone, threatening to snap it in half if I couldn’t get control of my temper. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  “Got it.”

  The line went dead.

  “Can’t find her, can you?” Jester taunted, his tongue snaking out to clean the blood off his lips. The last thing I wanted was to let him walk, to watch this bastard turn his back and leave, not taking responsibility for the shitstorm he’d created. But that’s what was going to happen, and I was going to try and calm my shit and let him do it, knowing this wouldn’t be the last time I’d see him.

  “Get. Out.”

  His laughter was soft at first as he shuffled out from behind the deadly end of my gun and walked casually over to collect his jacket, one arm still cradled close to his body. “See, that will always be your weakness, Myth,” he noted with a heavy sigh. “You have people you care about. People you love.” He screwed up his nose like the word tasted bad.

  “People who have my back.”

  “People who make you weak,” he crowed as he headed for the door, the soft laughter turning into a manic cackle. “And it’s gonna be that love you have for them, that’s gonna get you killed.”

  I lifted my hand, my aim as steady as fucking hell, and I squeezed the trigger.

  The bang resonated, bouncing around the tiny hotel room, but the satisfying sound of a body hitting the floor never came. Jester froze in the hallway, his eyes no doubt on the bullet hole in the front door, his hand reaching up to touch the blood was dripping from the tiny graze on the side of his neck. A graze that would have taken a chunk of his throat and possibly his jugular had it been an inch closer.

  “You’re wrong,” I growled, my finger itching to pull the trigger again when he turned his head a fraction to the side, so he could see me out of the corner of his eye. “It’s the love I have for them that’s gonna get you killed.”

  Then he was gone.

  I handed Ty back his gun before collecting mine from the floor and reluctantly tucking it away before I moved to grab my club cut. As I tugged it off the counter, it pulled a manila folder onto the floor, sending the contents flying.

  I wasn’t about to stop and pick the fucking things up, my mind focused on getting to the club and finding Brook. But I paused when my eyes caught sight of a photograph as it fluttered to the floor. A family picture with a paperclip on the corner.

  And suddenly, Jester’s voice started echoing in my head.

  “… that loser just signed up to manage Atlas Clarke.”

  “Holy fuck.”

  “What?” Tyler asked, his eyes following mine and instantly narrowing in confusion. “Is that—”

  “Yeah,” I snapped, snatching the picture up off the floor and jogging toward the door. “Come on, we need to get to Dynasty.”

  LAKEN

  “We’re opening in around ten minutes.”

  I took a seat next to Kennedy at the bar as Angel, a club girl and also our new bar manager at Dynasty, explained to the group of us how the night would progress.

  The club was already pumping, so full of people there was a line down and around the block, and it looked fucking amazing, might I add.

  For opening night, the club had gone with a theme to drum up business—Masquerade. I think it had worked far better than anyone had expected because who didn’t like a night where you got to pretend you were someone else?

  Everyone was wearing a mask—it was a requirement to get in the door.

  Well, everyone except the club members and security guards.

  They weren’t having any of that shit.

  Party poopers.

  Angel snapped her fingers, drawing our attention.

  “Kennedy, could you shoot down and grab some more tequila out of the back room. The group who has the area booked first is all businesswomen, so I’m feeling a wave of margaritas and cosmopolitans about to come in.”

  Kennedy grinned, snapping off a salute and moving around the bar to check how much space we had and how many extra bottles we would need. Tonight, thankfully, we were only working in the VIP area where it was a little less crazy than the main floor.

  “That group will be out of here at ten, and we’ll have an hour to clean up before the second comes in… a bachelor party.”

  I could practically hear the collective groan throughout the group of ladies.

  “Laken, I’ve got you on stage at midnight. Kira and Lisa will follow,” Angel noted, flicking through her papers.

  Kennedy was quick to get to her feet from beneath the bar. My best friend stared right at me and shook her head, but it was hard to read her expression through the angelic white feathered mask which completel
y covered her eyes. It was a more innocent contrast to the dark red and black lace number I was flaunting. “It’s gonna be a hard one tonight, but there’ll be an extra couple of club members up here, so lean on them if you need to.”

  I noticed even before opening that the VIP area had been a little heavy with security. Every time I turned around, there was a club cut or some Hulk-like figure with a button-up black shirt and a walkie-talkie strutting past.

  We all knew opening night was going to be crazy, but this was already next level. The girls all rushed away heading for tables, checking glasses, making sure we had money in the till.

  Kennedy didn’t move, though her eyes followed me as I rounded the bar. “You don’t have to do that anymore,” she sighed as she slumped onto a bar stool.

  “You worry so much,” I teased, not wanting to think about it more than I had to. I knew Kennedy hated that I was here as a club girl. She wanted me to move on from that life, knowing how much damage it had done to both of us, but the only way I was going to be able to do that was with the club’s help in paying for college. And they weren’t going to hand over tens of thousands of dollars just because I was pretty.

  “You deserve more,” she argued, finding that hard, motherly tone I kind of missed.

  “And this is how I’m going to get it.”

  “Lake, we are not in Utah anymore,” she continued, relentlessly.

  With an expensive bottle of vodka in my hand, I turned back, holding my arms out. “I know that, and let me tell you, I’m happy as hell about that fact,” I told her before pouring the potent liquid across two shot glasses, filling them to the brim, completely emptying what was left in the bottle. “But you do not need to protect me. I’m perfectly fine with taking my clothes off and having strangers throw money at me.”

  Liar.

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  Liar.

  I picked up both shots, holding one out to her. Kennedy rolled her eyes but willingly snatched it from my hand and threw it back. With a smile, I did the same, both of us slamming the glasses down onto the bar together.

  “I need to get those extra bottles before the VIPs arrive,” she announced, backing toward the stairs. “We aren’t done with this, though.”

  She worried, and to be quite honest, it kind of made me feel good. Sometimes it was nice to know someone cared enough to have you on their mind or in their thoughts. And with Kennedy, if something was worrying her, it always made me think twice and second-guess the choice I was making. Simply because I knew without question that, that part of my brain, the part that made you consider your self-worth, could sometimes tend to lead me in the wrong direction.

  “Laken!” I looked over to see Meyah waving at me from the door. “Can you come and help me shift some furniture?”

  I quickly rounded the bar, jogging in my heels over to her. I’d had practice in these things, years of it, but I still feared the day when I might break an ankle on them.

  Here’s hoping.

  Meyah and I made our way around the booths on the second story, shifting a couple of things to make room for more chairs the boys were bringing up after a guest list had been increased.

  The club had begun to fill slowly, the volume of the music transforming into a dull thud as grinding bodies took their drinks to the dance floor.

  “One more, then I’ll let you head back to Angel,” Meyah announced loudly. “She’ll be needing you very soon.”

  “It’s amazing they managed to salvage these pieces,” I said in awe as we stepped into the last booth that looked down over the dance floor. My fingers swept across the carved wood barrier, the intricate designs adding to that old Hollywood feel the club had been focused on.

  Back in the theater’s glory days, these booths would have been available for the important people who didn’t like to sit with the masses.

  Now, though, they were being used for club members or VIP parties and bookings were already a full three months ahead.

  Empire was impressive, but Dynasty was something else. The old theater had been completely restored, which was not an easy feat, especially given I’d heard the stories of how this place went up in flames with Ripley and Dakota inside.

  Where the seats were downstairs, they had been completely ripped out and made into a level dance floor, and the stage was rebuilt to accommodate the DJ booth and a couple of poles. It could even hold a band if the boys decided to do that kind of thing.

  Meyah laughed softly as she took a seat, one hand supporting her large round stomach. “These aren’t the originals,” she admitted, running her hand over the carved wood.

  I turned to her with a frown. “They aren’t original?”

  Meyah grinned, looking up at me. “They were almost completely destroyed in the fire. Ripley recreated these from some photos we had of the old ones. We didn’t want to let the fire change the vision the boys had for this place. That would have been like letting the bad guys win.”

  Inhaling deeply, I nodded.

  I knew what she meant.

  I’d been letting them win for too long.

  Unfortunately, mine didn’t come in the form of arsonists or gun-wielding crazies. They weren’t something physical I could see and just kick the living fucking shit out of them until they left me the hell alone.

  Mine came as guilt.

  As shame.

  As a result of privilege I never deserved.

  Mine came in the constant reminder that people lost their lives because of me.

  “Laken?” I jumped, pressing myself back against the edge of the booth, my heart thumping in time to the pounding bass that filled the room. Meyah stood beside me, her eyes smiling.

  “Sorry, what?”

  She laughed. “I said Shake mentioned he found you and Myth in a compromising position at the gym last night.”

  I swallowed hard, tugging at the front of my shirt to try and get the air flowing and cool the flush working its way up my body. A body I’d had to fight hard with last night not to walk into Myth’s room and beg him to finish what we’d fucking started.

  It was a moment of weakness.

  And that was how all good addictions began.

  “I think people forget it’s my job here.” The words even made me cringe. I thought I knew what I was getting into. Thought I’d somehow come to peace with this lifestyle I’d made.

  But I never anticipated Myth.

  “I think you may have underestimated the things the men in this club see,” she corrected, placing some coasters onto a short glass side table.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Any of the other boys come anywhere near you since you’ve been here?”

  No.

  Her smile got a little wider, but before I could spout off some bullshit excuse about why she was wrong, something below us caught my eye. A flash of a pastel pink feathered mask at the edge of the crowded dance floor. “Is that Brooklyn?”

  She’d been determined to come out tonight, using every argument in the book until one finally forced Repo into conceding. It probably hadn’t been that hard if I were honest. I was really starting to see Repo’s soft spot for her.

  Meyah shuffled closer to the edge, peeking over the side as far as she could. “Yeah,” she answered with a frown. “She was helping the girls stack the bar. I was pretty sure Repo told her to stay up here and not go down to the main floor, though.”

  I wasn’t surprised.

  But for a second, I was scared.

  She had her back against the wall.

  And she wasn’t alone.

  “Do you know who the guy is with her?” I asked, keeping my eyes focused on Kennedy’s little sister and a man who seemed to be standing a little too close, his hand reaching out to curl around her hip. He was wearing a mask too, a black one covering his whole face.

  Brooklyn pulled back suddenly, pressing her hands against his chest to try and make some space between them. My eyes were narrowed, trying to focus on her mouth, attem
pting to figure out what she was saying, but all I knew was she was upset, angry, and pointing her finger sharply toward the exit.

  My hands gripped the banister as a swarm of butterflies took flight in my stomach. I looked up, Meyah’s concerned gaze meeting mine. “I’ll grab one of the boys. Get them to go and gra—”

  Movement caught my eye, and I turned back just in time to see the guy rear back his fist and drive it into Brook’s stomach.

  “Shit!” Meyah cursed, her hand clutching her pregnant belly as she rushed out of the booth in search of someone to help. But I knew she was never going to reach them in time, most of the boys were spread out around the now crowded club or right out the front in the new gentlemen’s bar attached to Dynasty but wasn’t open yet.

  This guy already had his arm around Brook as she curled over in pain, forcing her through the crowd toward the exit.

  I couldn’t let her leave with him.

  I gritted my teeth. I could run out the way Meyah had and hope to make it time to cut him off, but with the sheer number of people in here right now, I couldn’t guarantee it.

  “Fuck it!” I cursed, gripping the edge of the banister in my hands and frantically shaking off my hooker heels before pulling myself up onto the ledge. It was only seconds before people started to notice me and looked up.

  I ignored them, or at least I tried to.

  I was two stories up, maybe more.

  And I’d never been a big fan of heights.

  But the asshole was about to pull Brook right beneath me.

  Inhaling deeply, I crouched down and released the breath as I leaped over the edge. I felt so light for those few seconds, ignoring the screams I could hear resonating in the club over the top of the music that was playing.

  I hit him. Hard.

  It knocked the air from my lungs and threw all three of us onto the floor, the people at the edge of the dance floor spilling their drinks as they leaped out of the way. My knee was the first to connect, and a sharp pain shot up my leg and through my body. I rolled, squeezing my eyes shut and gritting my teeth through the pain.