Tough Break (The Shakedown Series Book 2)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  Carragh sighed. “Declan, it’s the least I can do given my brother went so rogue.”

  “You’re the reason he got out in the first place.”

  “What can I say?” The man shrugged. “Like you, I believe in second chances. But sadly, Ruark is beyond saving. He snuck out in the middle of the night. Didn’t know where he went until now.”

  To St. Louis, to his mother’s gravesite.

  “Lucky for you, I got word he was seen hovering by the waterfront. I figured he’d make a pitstop here.”

  “I don’t care what you do with him. This is over. The shit I have on your family—”

  “Yes, yes, I know all about the diaries.”

  “Remember that.” He swiped hair from Phee’s face. She scrambled to standing. He pushed her behind him.

  “We could agree on many things, Declan. Like developing this waterfront. So, tell you what. I won’t alert anyone there is DNA all over this office, evidence of a crime, and you keep your mother’s things to yourself.”

  “Or I could torch the place.” It’d be the only thing that would get rid of the blood all over his office for good.

  Carragh gave him an amused smile. “But you won’t.” His eyes sliced to Phee, who wobbled a bit behind Declan.

  “Why do you care about this place?”

  “Turns out we’re not so different, Declan. Your loyalty knows no bounds. Well, neither does mine. Like, I said. Family is everything.”

  “You’re not my family.”

  “But I could be.”

  A female murmur sounded behind him. Phoenix grasped his arm.

  “I want no part of your family,” he said.

  “You have no choice. And who knows? We might be more related than you know.”

  Fuck him. Another suspicion cemented into reality. “Stay away from Luna.”

  “You’re in no position to tell me what to do.” The man strode out, following the trail of blood his brother left as they dragged him out of the club.

  51

  Declan finally got Phoenix alone in her bedroom. Those sisters hovered like nobody’s business when there was a fuss to be made.

  He’d hauled Phoenix out of there as soon as possible. Taken her home—to Moonlight and her sisters. As much as he’d have loved to have locked her up in his home, she belonged at her apartment for the time being. That didn’t mean he left. Phee was his now. Everyone around her needed to understand that fact despite that Friends Forever, Sisters Always thing they tried to pull on him as soon as he stepped inside the door. Luna in particular showed a fire when speaking that phrase to him tonight. It was her answer to his question, “Can you leave us alone for a bit?”

  Of course, Declan had to shut the club down for the second time in a month. It took a supreme effort to rid his office, hallway, and parking lot of the MacKenna showdown. Max proved pivotal. Leave it to the ex-gangster to know of a cleaner who’d ask no questions. Within six hours, it was as if nothing had occurred. He’d lost the night’s receipts, not to mention the payroll expense. It was worth it if it meant he’d live another day to love the woman who now lay cradled in his arms.

  Sunlight streamed in from her window, making her hair light up like fire. She’d melted in his arms as he gently rocked her in her rocking chair for the last hour. Such a simple pleasure to feel the back and forth—except for the incessant whining from Moonlight, who sat on the edge of the bed and complained loudly.

  “This her usual seat?” he asked.

  “Every seat in this house is her usual.”

  That made him laugh for some reason. Maybe because he’d been worried such a display of violence had undone all the progress they’d made.

  “I told you to go home and instead you came back to Shakedown. Why?” If only she had listened to him.

  “You were alone there, and I just couldn’t. I had to come back.”

  Always worried about others. Her compassion may have been buried for years, but it’d risen with a vengeance lately.

  “Declan?” She pushed up to stare into his eyes. “What about your mother’s headstone?”

  “It’s in the warehouse.” Tucked away until he could return it to its rightful place.

  “I’ll help you put it back.”

  He brought her head back down to his shoulder. “I can handle it.”

  “If I hear the word ‘handle’ one more time, I’m going to make good on that napkin.”

  “Okay. You can come.” He’d learned one thing over the last few weeks—his woman was stubborn but not always wrong about it. It would feel good to have her with him when he’d return his mother’s gravestone—an act he couldn’t have imagined having to do before tonight.

  She settled her face against his neck once more. “I don’t know where my mom is. She wasn’t buried. She was cremated.”

  “You don’t have her ashes anywhere?” He adjusted her on his lap. His leg throbbed, but she didn’t need to know.

  “No. When we were taken from the house, they were left behind.”

  Pure sacrilege. “I’m sorry, Sunset.”

  “It’s okay. They weren’t her. Do you remember the night we danced all those waltzes? I said there was a reason I loved the Dance of the Flowers. It was the last song she and I had danced to in our living room together.”

  He murmured, unclear what to say to that.

  “She was teaching me some ballet moves. I understand if you don’t want to open that school now.”

  “Oh, we’re opening. But only if you’re leading it.”

  “Okay.”

  That was too easy. “What made you change your mind?”

  “I don’t want to dance for others anymore, and before anyone thinks it’s because of what happened to me in the past, it’s not. I want to make sure women like me have something else. Options, if that makes sense.”

  “It does.”

  “And something else Cherry said to me recently about not wasting time.”

  She pushed off him once more, easing herself up. Lifting Moonlight in her arms—because the thing hadn’t gone far as if she understood the need to stay close—she turned to him. “So, yes.”

  He cocked his head in question.

  “We’ll move in with you.” She brought Moonlight to her chest and their two faces stared at him. One yellow eye and two bright blue eyes that he could stare at for the rest of his life.

  52

  They say a picture paints a thousand words—or in this case, the image on his cell phone screen of the concrete retainer wall with Staunton Mental Institute etched into its side. So, Ruark MacKenna lived another day, albeit committed to a mental health facility.

  Declan almost didn’t click on Carragh’s message, but he had little choice. Alive or dead, the mystery of whether Ruark was still a threat or gone from their purview forever also lived. Then there was that not-so-little mystery of the drugs that had been planted on him a few weeks ago.

  Declan ran his hand down his chin. He’d been in such a good mood, too.

  He stilled, thinking about his choices. He could give into the thought once again that life was fucking unfair. Or, he could tune into the greatest blessing of his life, who stood in the middle of an unfinished warehouse, peering up at the ceiling.

  Time to choose, so he did. He chose Phoenix. He gazed up at her and pocketed his phone.

  Ruark was like a cat with nine lives, though he had none of Moonlight’s charm. Yeah, he’d gotten used to the furball that had taken over his house the last few weeks like the prima donna she was. He’d almost lost a mid-century leather chair that she claimed as a scratching post. Phoenix got this spray that turned her away—for about half a day.

  Phee’s shoes made that wonderful brushing sound on the concrete as she spun in a wide circle. It reminded him of her time on the stage on those rare nights when the crowd was thin and he could hear every move she made. But she hadn’t been onstage in a while. Instead, she’d been planning The Phoenix Rising Dance Studio.

  “Well
?” Declan rocked back on his heels and watched her face spread into a smile. “It’s going to take a lot of work but we’ll manage.”

  “Like that first time you brought us to Shakedown. It was little more than this.”

  True, the warehouse was nothing but concrete, steel girders, and late November gusts blowing through that could knock a grown man down. They could turn it into something. He had the funding, thanks to a little rumor about some “mob killing” at Shakedown—a rumor he didn’t start and knew Max didn’t, either. That meant only one person did—Carragh. Why, he’d never know because he was beyond done with that family.

  At least business at Shakedown, just next door, was booming with nightly packed houses thanks to the holidays and Starr and Cherry’s sudden interest in revamping the shows. He’d suspected they hadn’t made many changes before to not upset one of their most popular acts—Phoenix, the woman who hated change. Yet now she was changing everything. Pushing, actually.

  She stopped suddenly. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Declan Phillips.” She strode up to him. “No more ‘fine.’ No more ‘handle,’ remember?”

  “Ruark was just committed.”

  The light in her eyes flattened a bit. “Oh, that means…”

  “He lived.”

  “Well.” She chewed her lip. “I can’t say I’m glad. Does that make me awful?”

  “It makes you human.” He slipped his arm around her waist.

  “To think he almost stole everything from us.”

  “And I’m still not over the fact you engaged him that day”

  Just like that, the blue in her eyes churned like a stormy sea. “He was trying to take something from me.”

  His ego, not the most mature part of him, was pleased by that statement.

  “But if I think about it, like really, really think about it…” she huffed, “he made me feel something that wasn’t entirely bad. It was like he was trying to steal my future. And it dawned on me then. I can see the future now. Before, I couldn’t. Not really.”

  If he was one tenth responsible for her giving up that past, he’d count himself the luckiest man in the world.

  “Good. Because…” He slipped her hand into his and pulled her to the center of the space. “What kind of future do you see here?”

  Phee let her head fall back and studied the ceiling. “We going to keep the height?” Her chin dropped down. “Because if you did, we could introduce some aerials acts. Silks, lyra hoops, trapeze. It’s all the rage in dancing classes.”

  “Hell, yes.” Naomi’s booming voice filled the space. “We’re doing it.”

  The girl who’d had her role as administrative assistant to Phoenix for only one week took her duties a tad too seriously. An unspoken threat to Phee’s boss position always lay just behind her words, which were many. The girl talked incessantly. Phoenix could handle her, however. Declan had seen her put the girl in her place a dozen times—always met with familiar eye roll that Phee laughed off.

  “And those bathrooms? Can we start with them?” Naomi hitched her thumb backwards. “They are na-a-a-sty.”

  “Well, they aren’t finished. Probably just put in for the construction crew.”

  She snuffed her nose. “They remind me of Maxim’s.”

  Declan’s gaze shot to Phoenix, expecting a visible body shudder. Instead, a surprising smirk lifted one side of her cheek. “Declan will fix them.”

  Naomi glanced at the phone in her hand and frowned.

  “Still no news?” Phee asked her.

  “Nope. Rachel’s still in labor. Man, is she going to be pissed. Twelve hours and still going? I’d be demanding diamonds after that.” Naomi had appointed herself Shakedown’s Grapevine Goddess, a title given to her by Cherry, who was more than thrilled to have another orphan in her midst to adopt.

  “The baby’s enough. Or so I’m told,” Phoenix said in a pretty good mom voice impersonation. Something about Naomi made everyone “mom” her left and right.

  “Naomi, go grab my bag from my car? I have some notebooks. I want to sketch out a few things for the architect.”

  And there went Phoenix, taking on his role. He chuckled internally. He didn’t mind. Let her design the whole place. Which reminded him…

  As soon as Naomi lumbered down the hall toward the parking area, he reached into his jacket pocket and drew out some papers. “I have something for you.”

  “Don’t tell me. Liability papers to sign in case I make good on the aerial thing.”

  “Something like that. I mean, since liability is something you may want to consider going forward.”

  A pinched vee formed between her eyes. She took the tri-folded paper from his outstretched hand. She opened it up. A slow lowering of her bottom lip into an “O” warmed every inch of him. Surprise, baby. She stood there frozen. Oh, yeah, he’d downright shocked her.

  “But…” She blinked.

  “It’s only fair. I’ll have so little to do with this place that—”

  She lurched for him and his face was suddenly full of red hair and cinnamon scent. He nearly lost his balance but righted her.

  “We’re co-owners of the place. Didn’t want to burden you with the whole thing. So, Elizaveta O’Malley—” he tapped the paper in her hand “—your name is on the deed, and all decisions can be made by you. Provided I agree, of course.” He held out his hand. “Partner.”

  A sheen of wet coated her eyes. She clutched the paper to her chest and took his hand. She pulled herself closer and kissed him. “Thank you. You didn’t have to but… Thank you.”

  His blasted phone, which he’d stopped putting on silent, went off again. He hated splitting his attention between whoever was before him and the damned thing. “Why don’t you take more time looking around? I’ll go deal with this.” He lifted the phone in his hand.

  She lifted her chin and began to pace around the huge space.

  He watched her slink around the room for a few minutes, unable to rip his gaze from her. It was a common problem.

  “Yeah.” He said into his phone.

  “I expected to hear something.” Carragh’s rumbling voice made his gut curl.

  “Nothing to say. You dodged a bullet on murder charges.” Now that he couldn’t be accused of murder, anyway. “Though your brother didn’t get so lucky.”

  A long sigh emitted from the other end of the phone. “Happy Thanksgiving, Cousin.” The line went dead.

  He re-pocketed his phone. Fuck, that man wouldn’t ruin today for him.

  “It’s a girl!” Naomi waved her phone as she galloped back into the space. “I just heard. Finally!” She stopped short and thunked Phee’s considerable hobo bag at his feet. “Let’s go to the hospital. We have to hear what they’re naming her. Man, a birthday on Thanksgiving Day. I’d be pissed. Not getting any good presents or having little pilgrims all over the wrapping paper?”

  Declan had to laugh at that description. It was good to see Phee join him in it. “We should go straight to Cherry’s. Let Rachel and Trick have their moment. Besides, I had strict instructions from Cherry not to be late.”

  Naomi bounced on her heels. “It was nice of her to host all of us at her brownstone for Thanksgiving.”

  Phee gave her a knowing smile. “She just wanted to be in charge. Our group getting too large for our apartment was all the excuse she needed.”

  “Well, I’ve never been to a turkey dinner before.”

  His heart twinged a bit at hearing the girl’s admission. Over the last few weeks, he’d noticed Naomi, at the oddest moments, showed a vulnerability that took people off guard—when she wasn’t running her mouth.

  Phee strode over. “There’s going to be, what? 18 of us? I sure hope she let someone else bring food. We’re only bringing pie.” His girl was most definitely not a cook, but he didn’t mind she wasn’t a kitchen goddess. She was everything he needed everywhere else.

  Naomi spun in a circle, mirroring Phoenix’s early
move. “Maybe I could have one of those fancy townhouses someday, like Cherry.”

  “You will.”

  “Maybe now I might.” Naomi showed off her crooked teeth and then continued to spin with her arms outstretched like a little girl might.

  Phoenix got a strange look on her face and turned to him. “Thank you, Declan.”

  He glanced down at the paper still clutched in her hand. “You deserve it.”

  “No, I mean…” She lifted her chin toward the back of Naomi’s head. “For that. For the hope where there was none. For letting me be the one to bring it this time.”

  He grasped her hand and looped her arm through his. “I have a feeling it’s just the beginning.”

  “Naomi,” she called. “Meet us in the car? We’ll be there in a sec.”

  The girl snapped her gum, a habit no one could seem to break her of, and nodded, never turning around before she strode to the parking lot.

  Phee took both his hands in hers. “I have something else to tell you.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  “No, it’s just something I haven’t said before.” She glanced down at their joined hands then back up at him. “I love you.”

  He had to swallow, hard.

  “And it has nothing to do with you making me co-owner of this warehouse,” she said quickly. “I just… love you.”

  “You don’t need a reason? Most people would.”

  She laughed a little at that. “No reason.”

  “Does this mean I can burn that napkin?

  She cocked her head. “Mmm. Maybe frame it. In case of emergencies?”

  “Expect any more of those?”

  “On second thought, I’ll burn it. My name is Phoenix Rising, after all.”

  He circled her shoulder and led her toward the exit. There was turkey and stuffing and sixteen of their chosen family waiting for them. “Yes, it is.”

  They pulled up to Cherry’s brownstone with just five minutes to spare before being called on the carpet for arriving late. He opened the door for Phoenix and Naomi, who both stepped out, each holding a pie in each hand.