Tough Break (The Shakedown Series Book 2)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  “Well, that's something.” He chuckled softly, and his footfalls told her he was finally moving to the door, the soft punch of his cane accenting every step. It suddenly stopped. She could feel him staring at her, but then the soft click of the door opening and shutting told her she was alone.

  She rolled to her back again. Why was it so hard for her to admit the truth to herself? She admired Declan Philips. He was a fool to be in love with her, but he was a good man. Therein lay the problem. She didn't know what to do with a good man. She only knew how to avoid them, and as much as he believed his loyalty lay with her, she knew never to trust words.

  I'd never hurt you was the phrase spoken before they did.

  I love you was the phrase uttered before they didn't.

  22

  Declan pulled into his parking space at Shakedown and turned off the ignition. He spent a few moments tuning into the rain punching at his roof. He hadn’t slept well, but then any man worth his salt wouldn’t after wheeling the woman he loved out from the emergency room. Then, to watch her continue to torture herself by reliving the past?

  He knew last night words weren’t going to win Phoenix. The woman needed action, and he knew which ones—starting with ridding himself of the MacKennas for good. It was time to visit the head of the snake. He was calling Tomas MacKenna first thing. Enough waiting around for his errand boy son to make it happen.

  He cracked open the door and stepped out. He cursed when his foot landed in a small river coursing toward the gutter. He dashed toward the entrance, his cane slipping on the slick asphalt. Once under Shakedown's awning, a small figure huddled by the door turned. Thin, bare legs peeked out of a tattered jean miniskirt.

  He raised his voice above the rain lashing the awning. “Hello, Naomi.”

  She turned, dropped her cigarette, and ground it out underneath her boot. “Hey, can we go inside? My clothes are sticking to me.” Her hair hung in thick, wet strands and she stomped her feet as if trying to get warm.

  If he guessed correctly, she'd walked the entire way from Maxim's to Shakedown. At least now, he wouldn't have to hunt the girl down himself—something else he knew he'd have to do. Otherwise, Phoenix would. He knew her too well. She didn't like loose ends either.

  He drew out his keys and unlocked the front door. “Been out here long?”

  She shrugged and popped her gum. “A bit.”

  He gently pulled open his custom-made glass door, which thankfully had arrived and been placed during a lull in their recent storms. He couldn’t look at that red wooden eyesore another day.

  “Wait here.” He shrugged off his coat and hung it in the coatroom. He brought out a hanger to find Naomi had disappeared. It wasn't hard to find her. He followed the small wet puddles she left all the way to the main floor. Her gaze fixed on the stage as her jaw worked her gum.

  “Naomi, your coat.” He held out his hand.

  She turned. “Nah, that's okay.”

  “You're soaked.”

  She huffed and slipped off her coat—a pink turkey feather monstrosity he'd seen on hookers down at East Baltimore Street. “It's vintage, so I want it back.”

  “Of course.”

  After hanging the hideous thing over a barstool, he turned to her. She was back to staring at the stage.

  She pointed toward the red velvet curtains. “So. That's where your girls dance.”

  “We have shows Tuesday through Saturday nights. Closed on Sundays and Mondays.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You close?”

  He supposed that would come as a surprise to her given most strip clubs in the city were open seven nights a week. “What can I do for you? Coffee?” He slipped behind the bar and turned on the coffee machine.

  She strode over and put both forearms on the bar. “I want a job.” Red welts marked both wrists.

  He inclined his chin toward the damage. “Jones do that to you?”

  She quickly slipped her arms to her lap. “So, you once said I could work here.”

  The coffee machine gave off its distinctive hum. He pulled out a bag of coffee grounds from under the counter. “I said I might have an opening for a waitress, but you made it clear you didn't want to do that.”

  “I don't. What will it take for me to dance here?” She glanced around. “Looks like we're alone here. I could show you a lot of things.” She leaned the top half of her body on the bar again.

  “I'll bet you can. But we don't do those kinds of dances here. We hire actual acts.” He placed two white cups on the bar top.

  “Yeah, Phoenix said.”

  “She’s right.” And when the hell did that conversation happen? Perhaps that’s what she was doing on South Haven.

  “Well, how do I get an act together? You seem to be the kind of guy who likes to give advice.”

  He studied her. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Mmmhhh. Tell you what, you come by tomorrow and I'll have Gabrielle show you the ropes. She's our head waitress.”

  “If I had an act, would you at least lemme audition?”

  The coffee machine gurgled behind him. He placed one of the cups under the spigot. “You sure you don't want that coffee?”

  “Nope. Just a job.”

  “Okay. Come back here with a dance, and I'll audition you.” An idea skirted his mind around that. “Better yet, I'll have Phoenix do it.”

  Why hadn't he thought before of having her vet some of the people who inevitably ended up here with the same request as Naomi? His thoughts didn't get far because Nathan strode in. The guy took one look at him and one look at Naomi and chuckled. He was gone through the curtains in a flash, and Naomi was already pulling on her soaking wet coat and headed for the door.

  “You got a ride, Naomi?” Declan asked.

  One of her eyebrows arched up. “You're kidding me, right?”

  “Come on, I'll drive you to wherever you want to go.”

  “How about you give me some money for a cab? Take it out of my first paycheck.”

  The woman had some attitude, but then he'd been putting up with Phee's snark for years.

  He sighed. She'd end up back at Maxim's whether she walked or he drove her. He could at least spare her the hassle of marching twenty blocks through pouring rain.

  After securing her in the back seat of a reputable cab company vehicle, he paused under the awning, the sky gray as ash as the heavens spit down on them.

  Tires splashed and a vehicle thunked over the pothole at the entrance—something else he needed to fix soon. He lowered his gaze and cursed at the slick asphalt under his feet. As if adding yet another insult to the day, Carragh MacKenna's pretentious limo pulled into his parking lot. Perhaps he didn’t need to call Tomas after all. And while Carragh wasn’t the part of the snake he wanted, it was the part he would deal with first.

  23

  Now that he thought about it, Declan shouldn't have let Carragh inside. He should have let him stand in the rain. Instead, he stood in front of Declan's desk, a glass of his finest Scotch in his hand as if they were old friends.

  Carragh slowly turned the glass in his hand as if studying the deep cut pattern. “Why not?”

  “Because it's a bullshit proposal.” Expanding Shakedown with the MacKennas as the lead investor? Over his dead body. He'd wasted the last ten minutes listening to something they couldn't seriously believe he'd take. He'd demanded a meeting with Tomas, not an offer to lose control of his business.

  The man put down the glass and then knocked both sets of knuckles down on his desk. Declan leaned back in his chair, flicked his gaze to the guy's hands and then back up to Carragh's face. He rather enjoyed the man's frustration—displayed in his office, in his club that he solely owned. And it would stay that way.

  Carragh righted himself and shrugged his coat back into place. With a casual scratch across his chin, he slowly shook his head. “My father doesn't make these offers lightly. To get back in the game is an honor.”

 
“So now it's an honor to split my profits?”

  “It takes money to expand. You could have a string of clubs up and down the East Coast. Why not jump on it?”

  “I rather like going it alone.”

  Carragh took in a dramatic intake of breath and huffed it out. “You know what it means to turn away now?”

  He gripped the top of his cane tighter and let the bird head dig into his palm. “I was never in… Cousin.” It was a familial bond he did not relish, but this game of sometimes-you're-family-and-sometimes-you're-not was officially old.

  “That your final answer?” he half-laughed.

  Declan's chair thunked forward. “I only give final answers.”

  “Jesus, Declan, just say you'll consider it so I can go report back to my father and then maybe we'll both get to end this stand-off.”

  “No.” Declan rose from his chair. “No in-person meeting. No more discussion.” He rounded his desk.

  A muscle around Carragh's right eye twitched. To the unobservant, one might not have caught it. Prison taught Declan many things, and the tiniest facial tick could foretell a great many things—restrained anger, surprise, or in Carragh's case, frustration he didn't want anyone to see.

  The man sighed. “Whaler's Waterfront Bar. Tuesday. 12 noon. Don't be late.” He spun and headed to the door.

  Ah, so Tomas had agreed to meet. Declan's thoughts of Carragh going out on his own moved from being a mere suspicion to a real likelihood. Had Tomas even come up with this proposal? Or was this all Carragh's doing? And if so, what did he want with a burlesque club? Perhaps he wanted to take over his father’s drug business.

  “And take in your entertainment elsewhere from now on.” The man’s presence was unwanted.

  Carragh paused, put his face into profile. “Good thing I was around when Phoenix fell. You may want me around more.”

  Declan wouldn't take that obvious bait.

  When he didn’t answer, Carragh peered over his shoulder. “Dangerous business, burlesque.”

  The man yanked open Declan’s office door and strutted out.

  24

  Declan stood on the riverbank, the lapels of his suit coat lifting from the breeze coming off the water. The river shone with oil and tiny whitecaps glinted in the twilight. Some might even call it romantic the way the gray water seemed to darken and grow a deep indigo blue as night threatened to fall. That thought was all it took for Phoenix's blue eyes to rise in his mind.

  Jesus, he couldn’t get over that woman if he tried.

  Gravel crunched under tires behind him. Amos' car pulled up near him. Trick eased himself out with Max and Amos following. Good, they'd come together as he'd asked—and not in Trick's car. Too recognizable.

  He turned to them. “Gentlemen. Thanks for coming.”

  “Waiting on Nathan?” Trick asked.

  Declan settled his cane between his feet. “No, only the four of us for now.” Nathan had enough. It was time for him to enjoy his newfound happiness with Starr, even if they did have a parole hearing hanging over their heads.

  “We still trying to keep him out of most things?” Max leaned against the car, stretched out his legs. “The groom in his enchanted bubble or something?”

  “Or something.”

  Trick scratched the side of his beard. “There a reason why we're meeting in an abandoned parking lot a mile from Shakedown?”

  “Yes. Amos, scan Shakedown for bugs. Can you do that before the show opens tomorrow?” He was taking no chances. His “cousins” had been hanging around a little too much for his taste.

  The man nodded, his eyes narrowing with unasked questions.

  It was enough of a surprise that Tomas agreed to meet, but in public? Not like the man, which meant he was up to something. No matter. He'd been biding his time with the MacKennas, and it was time to stop. He wasn't about to be played with any longer.

  “I realize doors open soon, so let me get to the point. Ruark MacKenna will likely be on parole soon. Carragh MacKenna is showing up too often, this time with a bullshit business proposal, and it won't be long before more of them slither out of the woodwork.” Declan drew out three folders from a briefcase by his leg. “These are photos and important information on every MacKenna member I could drum up.”

  Trick took the stack and handed one folder each to the other two men.

  As the men flipped through the pages of photographs and basic information, Declan began the speech he was hoping he’d never had to give. “You're going to see these men show up—often. It's their next play. I'm convinced of it. But none of them steps foot inside this club again. Be ready for them to try to force their way inside. Don't let them by any means necessary.”

  Trick glanced up from the paper he was studying. “Not even Carragh? He seemed to be the only man who could make the others stand down.”

  “Not betting on the ability to hold that power. I asked Carragh to do something he didn't want to and he balked. Then he came to see me this morning—offered to invest in Shakedown.”

  Trick cursed under his breath. “You said he balked at something. What?”

  “To set up a meeting with Tomas, his father. But he did it.”

  Heads swiveled and hard glances were exchanged among the men.

  Trick shifted on his feet. “You're kidding, right?”

  “Not in the slightest. I'm convinced Carragh is operating on his own, wants to stay under Papa's radar. If his father gets wind of that, Carragh’s wings will be clipped within the hour—before he attempts to overthrow Tomas.”

  “Thought Carragh was being groomed to be next in line.”

  “Tomas doesn't share power. I suspect—” and until recently it was just suspicion “—Tomas has no idea what his boys have been up to. All the real estate being bought up and down the waterfront lately might have been Ruark's way of breaking out from under Daddy's shadow—until he landed in prison. Carragh may be picking up on the idea. I don't know, but I'm going to find out.”

  “We'll be ready. Say when.” Those were Max's first words.

  “You're not coming.”

  All three men's eyes darted around to each other. Trick, of course, was the first to speak up with the expected response. “You can't.”

  “I go in there with any of you and Tomas will have thought he'd cowed me a little. Needing protection. Well, I'm not, and I don't. The man isn't going to kill me or rough me up. One mark on me and he knows I'd burn the place down. I'll shut it down, split up the entertainment and get them gigs elsewhere, fully financed. Then Shakedown is just a building with overpriced drinks to offer, if even that.”

  “Maybe that's what he wants.”

  “No, he wants to own me and everything I've ever built. I won’t give him anything.”

  “He could be looking for businesses to launder money, then it doesn't matter what Shakedown turns into.”

  “Eventually it would. There has to be some business for even that to work. Carragh gave me a lot of valuable information the other night. Like how I should show up with a counteroffer—blackmail money. That's not a money launderer talking. No, he wants the waterfront to boom. Easier to hide drug runners coming and going via waterfront in a crowd. Leashing me is a bonus.”

  Amos cursed under his breath. “Man, I'll stick around until this is sorted, but I can't get mixed up in that shit.”

  “Not asking you to. And if you need to go—”

  “No, man. I'm here, but if shit really hits the fan…”

  “You go when you need to. Just tell me. If you disappear I'll wonder what happened.” If he was at the bottom of the river. “Trick. You need time off? I mean, with Rachel being pregnant…”

  “No. Maybe.”

  “I'm shocked she hasn't ordered you to quit yet.”

  “Oh, she has. But you don't abandon people so I'm not about to. Plus, we haven't seen any real violence. I mean, other than Ruark, and I understand he was a wild card. One false move and he's back in prison.”

  “I w
ouldn't consider you leaving abandonment. I also don't get a violent vibe from Carragh.”

  Trick cracked his knuckles. “But you sure he’ll stay that way?”

  “No.”

  Trick quirked his lips and nodded his head a little. “Well, I get now that Phoenix has quit we needed more dancers. But the new hires—”

  “She's not quitting. We have come to an agreement. At least for the time being. We'll see how long it holds.” Because with her nothing was certain. She was shifting sand, but sand he'd bottle before letting her loose and therefore vulnerable to a mob family seeking someone to make an example of.

  “The two new acts will need to be reassured. Move them from probation to permanent. I'm not letting Tomas think I'm folding even a little bit. Quite the opposite.”

  Max shook his head. “Need more of us?” Shakedown already employed 20 of “them.”

  Trick smirked. “We have a bouncer for every other person we employ. How many do we need?”

  No one wanted to answer that question because the truth was the MacKennas would always have more.

  25

  Phoenix tucked a crutch under each arm and swung her way to the front door. The last person she expected on her doorstep in the middle of the day was Cherry, out of drag—mostly—wearing a women's business suit with heels and heavy eyeliner.

  “You know I don't gossip, but this girl has something to tell you.” She pushed her way inside.

  Phee awkwardly turned on her crutches. “You love gossip.”

  “Hmm.” Cherry swiveled her head around the room. She pointed. “Nice new chair. Wayfair or Pottery Barn?”

  “Cherry.”

  She straightened. “Of course, I don't have time to compare decorating tips. I only have three hours before this—” she swirled her hand in front of her face “—has to be full-on. I had to come by, though.”

  “You have my phone number, right?” She laughed. It was so good to see her. A maudlin sentimentality had been creeping up on her all morning for no particular reason.