Tough Luck (The Shakedown Series Book 1)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  The counselor tilted her head. “Starr? Perhaps you could start?”

  “Sure. Abandonment. Neglect. Abuse. Starvation. Squalor. Terror. Drunkard. Addict.” With each word, her father grew more still. He should be squirming in his seat, hanging his head, anything but hardening up.

  “Starr, come on. One word.” Luna's face reddened. “Mine is peace.”

  Her father's lips twitched up as he glanced at Luna. “That would be nice ... for a change.” His voice cracked—actually cracked. He sniffed, shook his head.

  There wasn't enough air in this room with no windows and nothing but industrial carpeting and uncomfortable seats. “I have another word,” Starr said.

  “Go on,” urged Sharon.

  “Agreement.” She and her father had struck a deal years ago. Luna knew she’d handed over her life’s savings to the man in secret. She didn’t know about the promise he’d made for the money—to stay away from them forever. Starr would keep that part of their devil’s bargain to herself. “Robert, remember the last time I saw you? Remember that.”

  Luna cocked her head. “Starr, come on. The last time we saw him was ...” She didn't want to say it, did she? Outside a government office. It was the day they knew Phoenix was going to live, and she and L. were getting sent away.

  She shook her head. “I saw him once more after that.”

  His eyes cleared for one second as he sucked on his bottom lip. “Yeah. I remember.”

  Yeah? That's all he could say? She glared at her father. “Heard you got married again.”

  “Yeah, well, she wasn't ... good for me. We aren't together anymore.”

  “We know. Jail, huh?” Starr wasn't interested in pussyfooting around. If Luna wanted a reunion, it was at least going to be honest.

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “So, I'm sure you know I did a few stints, too.”

  “We do.”

  “You always were a straight shooter, Starr. I like the name Starr, by the way. It suits you.”

  A snake of ickiness trailed through her body. She didn't want this man to notice anything about her.

  “You think?” Phoenix's voice startled her. Phee turned from the doorway—God knows how long she'd been standing there—and the sound of her jogging footfalls faded down the hall. Tears welled in Luna's eyes. They shouldn't have come. It was all too forced, too much too soon, and it wouldn't change a damned thing. There weren’t any answers here.

  Starr rose. Filling Luna's head with any more false hope that they'd suddenly become the perfect family was just “stuff and nonsense,” as her mother used to say. Stuff and nonsense. Yeah, that was all they were left with. Oh, except for the nightmare memories. She'd be damned if she'd let this shriveled shell of a man force those on her or her sisters ever again.

  She grasped her handbag. “I'll go and see Phee.”

  “Phee for Phoenix, huh?” Their father asked, his interest making her skin crawl.

  “Phoenix Rising,” Luna announced, like a proud mother.

  Dear old Dad smiled, actually beamed at that, and she'd never wanted to punch someone so badly in her life. How could Luna think this would work? The man didn't deserve any more of their life, no matter what she'd promised her sister.

  She shook her head and headed out to find her sister. Phee had probably been right all long—just stay away.

  Outside, Phoenix, who hadn't lit up a cigarette in four years, leaned against their car, smoking. “Don't say a word.”

  She joined her sister and leaned her ass against the car. The metal nearly seared her skin through her jeans shorts. She pushed off and began to pace once more.

  It was another thirty minutes before Luna came out to the car. None of them spoke the entire four-hour trip home. It was for the best. When they got home, they each retreated to their own rooms. Phoenix wouldn't come out, even after Luna had made Phee's favorite, lasagna. That's when she knew that reconciling with their father could be the death of them. No matter Luna’s good intentions, some things couldn’t be forced. They couldn’t just forgive and forget the fact they all sported at least one scar on their skin from a belt, a stick, or anything else their father got his hands on. Phoenix had at least six.

  16

  Luna Belle peeled off her pink corset. The ensuing roar from the full-house crowd nearly took out Nathan’s eardrums, but she didn't shrink back. How had he believed she was the shy one? More than two hundred sets of eyes remained riveted on her sparkling bra, but the crowd thankfully stayed in their chairs. He turned back to rounding up glasses and putting them in the bin. Luna was pretty, but she wasn't Starr, who he hadn't seen for the last two days. His mind kept drifting to images of her, and what she might be doing with her time off. He also stared at his apartment walls and had imaginary conversations with his parole officer about MacKenna. They usually ended with her seething mad for not being told of him last week.

  Jackie ducked under the waitress stand. “Heard you had a little bit of trouble the other night.”

  The gossip about his run-in with MacKenna and their shared past had sure made the rounds quickly.

  She cocked a hip. “Anything I can do to help?”

  Was she kidding? “Nope. Thanks.” No one was getting hurt because of him, especially not a woman, no matter how sexist that sounded even in his own head. Now how did he tell Starr that Ruark was only playing her to get to him?

  Nathan threw the bar rag over the edge of the sink and turned to Jackie. “I'm going back for more Jack, and it looks like you could use some oranges. What else do we need?”

  “Bombay. We'll be through with this bottle in no time.” She lifted a half-empty gin bottle.

  He made his way back to the warehouse, looking toward the dressing rooms for a glimpse of Starr. Nothing. He swiped back the black curtain separating the hall and the storeroom and jerked to a stop. Starr sat on a stool, scrolling through her phone. Her face, illuminated by the bluish light, could have passed for an ethereal being. Like an angel.

  She looked up. “Oh, hi, Nathan.”

  “Starr.” He swallowed.

  She stood and stretched. “How are you doing?”

  How was he doing? He was a goddamned mess. Imagining Starr with Ruark had occupied the better part of his days and nights, and now the speech he'd rehearsed abandoned him. “Fine. You?”

  “Just waiting on Luna. Her car's broken down.”

  She tucked her phone into her bag and looked like she was ready to scoot past him.

  Do it. “Heard you were off for a bit, and you might be rehearsing for a new show.”

  “Yep. We're tired of our old acts.” Her brow wrinkled. “Hey, you okay?”

  “You got a sec? It's about Ruark MacKenna. He's not a good man.” Blurting out the truth for the second time seemed as good a plan as any.

  “Oh?” She crossed her arms. “Did you meet him in prison?” Her tone was light, almost like she hadn't wanted to ask.

  “No, but things happened between us a long time ago. Lotta bad blood, and what he said …” God, he didn't want to tell her.

  “About his brother?” She looked down at her hands, twisting around her phone.

  “Yeah, I went to prison for killing his brother. It was an accident. Plain and simple. You gotta believe that.” Or, not so simple, in reality, and she didn’t have to believe him. She didn’t have to do anything. “And, they…” Shit, he was no good at this talk-it-out-thing. He drew in a breath and blew it out.

  She blinked up at him. “I believe you.”

  The tightness in his chest eased a little at hearing that, but Ruark wouldn’t back off. She needed to know that. “It’s just—he’s not above physically hurting you to get to me. I don't want you to get—”

  “Used? Hurt? Don't look so surprised. He doesn't really want me. Yeah, I know. I'm not stupid.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “Shit, I would never—”

  “No, I know you're not calling me stupid, but I saw him coming from a mile away. The
man wears a Rolex. He doesn't want someone like me.”

  Someone like her? What was she talking about?

  “I know what men like him want. They just want to win.” She pursed her lips. “And, he’s not interested in winning me.”

  “He'd be lucky.” Hell, he'd be blessed.

  She lowered her lashes, a puff of air escaping her nose. “Yeah, I'm every man's dream. Every girl wants to be where I am.”

  “Angels envy you.” That did not just come out of his mouth. She blinked at him as if she hadn't heard him right. Hell, he hadn't heard himself right.

  “You don't have to say that, Nathan, really.”

  He looked down at her. “I never say things I don't mean.”

  She cocked her head as if still unsure what he meant. Her bottom lip quivered, and her gaze fell to his chin. “You shaved off your beard.”

  His hand went up to his skin, now clean of stubble and whiskers. “Uh, yeah, it's hot in the summer.” Plus, he'd just wanted to—given his commitment to a clean slate and all.

  She inched closer. He was so much taller, larger than Starr. He could engulf her entire body inside his arms. And, God, he wanted to. He’d pull her into him, and inhale her unique scent until his lungs were full of it and her. Ruark—or any man—would have to cut off his limbs to get to her.

  Her pink lips curled up, and her smattering of freckles stretched across her cheeks. Kissing her would be amazing. His hands itched to reach out, grasp her hips, and yank her flush to his body. The urge to do so rose so urgently that he had to step backward for fear of making an unwise move.

  “I liked your beard.” She closed the distance he'd just put between them. The sweet scent of cinnamon and rosemary wafted between them. She was prettier up close, something he’d noticed that day in the utility room. How was that possible?

  Jesus, she was doing that thing again—really looking at him. The pull to claim her obliterated all common sense. It didn't matter how many times he mentally flogged himself for his possessive lust. He'd spent years stamping out any want, any desire, for things he couldn't have. He was tougher than this. Stop. Just stop. He needed to resist her pull, stay strong.

  “The thing is, Nathan.” She moved even closer, and his head swam with her perfume, his eyesight full of her face and hair. “If any man had a chance with me, despite your past, it would be someone like you.”

  God, she eviscerated his ability to resist. And, shit, his mouth just found hers. The second his lips met her softness, shocking warmth filled him. He pulled back. She hadn’t asked him to kiss her. Had he offended her?

  She curled her hand around the nape of his neck and brought him back to her lips. “I thought you'd never do that,” she said into his mouth.

  He kissed her again. When he broke the contact, her eyes had softened toward him.

  He should walk away; let her get on with her life without his kind of trouble. “I'm off tomorrow.” His mouth clearly didn't agree.

  She released her hold on his neck, her face drawing back so he could get a full view of those sea-blue eyes and her freckles.

  “Oh? Me, too.” She tilted her head. “Hey, you ever been to Annapolis?”

  17

  If anyone knew how life could change on a dime, it was him. One moment, he'd been a married college student slinging back beers in a bar with friends and on the weekends helping Declan stack crates of shipments. The next, he'd sat in the backseat of a police cruiser, so fucking naïve, not realizing it'd be the last car ride he'd take before settling on the cracked vinyl seat of a bus taking him to prison. Even that memory couldn't shake his good mood—hell his fan-fucking-tastic mood—thanks to his date with Starr tomorrow.

  A greasy burger scent arose as he opened his car door—time to stop at a service station and vacuum out all the crap left from too many fast-food meals.

  A plaintive meow sounded at his feet. The stupid cat rubbed itself back and forth across his ankles.

  “Sorry, cat. Got nothing for you.” He slid into the driver's side. Before Nathan could close the door, the cat jumped onto his lap and crawled across to the passenger side. Like a queen, the thing lay down, and looking at him, let out another cry. What the eff?

  He reached out to move the cat back to the ground, and it hissed. He drew his hand back. “Fuck. It's my car.” Part of him was proud of the scrappy little thing. Just the other night, it got pummeled by two punk ass kids and he—she?—was still fighting. Still ...

  “Get out.” He hitched his thumb as if the thing could understand him.

  With a long sigh, he hoisted himself out, moved to the passenger side, and opened the passenger door. The thing glared at him with its one good eye like he was the devil. After they stood staring at one another for at least two minutes in some strange human-feline showdown, Nathan gave up. He shut the door, went back to the driver's side, and started the engine.

  “You piss in my car, and I'll throw you out.”

  The whole ride over, the stupid cat whined and moaned like it was being taken to a slaughterhouse. He pulled into his parking spot and opened the door. He scrambled out and held the door open.

  “Well?” Now it went silent. “Fine. Spend the night here.”

  Just as Nathan was closing the door, the thing darted out and curled itself around his leg. Damn, the beast purred. If tonight couldn't grow any stranger, the critter followed him inside and silently leaped to his one and only chair like he/she owned the place. It circled twice and then lay down. If this creature had fleas ... Given the state of its fur, he was sure it did. When he got closer, the damned thing hissed at him, and then swished its tail and curled onto its side. Okay, the thing wasn't going anywhere.

  Shit. He stepped backward, almost afraid to turn his back on the cat. He closed the door behind him and shook his head in the empty hallway. He was losing his damned mind, or perhaps his good mood piqued a hidden Good Samaritan gene. The thing might try to claw one of his eyes out in his sleep, but he'd be damned if it crapped in his apartment. He found himself back at his car. If 7-11 sold engine oil and pot scrubbers, surely they carried cat food and cat litter.

  18

  Nathan raised his face to the sunshine and tuned into the water slapping the side of the pier. A seagull cry mixed with the laugher and chatter from the café across “Ego's Alley,” the skinny channel way that separated the land and the pier he and Starr were sauntering down. Annapolis was one hopping place. By the size of the crowd, it was a wonder they’d snagged a spot in the parking lot.

  Starr squealed. “Look at the size of that one.” She pointed at a gleaming white yacht.

  They'd watched at least a dozen schooners, yachts, and boats that cost more money than he'd make in a lifetime, sail by, tack at the end, and come around for another show-off sail by.

  Her gaze followed its glide. “I bet you could sleep ten on that one.”

  “It'd be a tight squeeze. Looks can be deceiving. Six of us spent a week during spring break on one of those boats. I’m shocked we didn't throw each other overboard by the end.”

  He hadn't thought about that in so long. His life had been divided in two—before incarceration and after. “Before” was a blurred Monet painting, overwritten with the hard, dis-jointed lines of a Picasso.

  “When was that?” She hooked her hand in his arm as they made their way down the long dock.

  The touch was unexpected and genuine and lit up his insides like a Fourth of July celebration. “Long time ago. University of Maryland.”

  “Oh, right, mechanical engineering. Must have been nice there.”

  He liked that she remembered that detail about him. “Yeah. Hey, let's sit at the end.” He held up the picnic she'd put together in a small duffel bag. Next time, he'd take her to one of those cafes across the thin waterway. She wore a pretty sundress, and she'd look good sitting in one of those little café chairs sipping an iced tea. Like a model.

  “It must be ten degrees cooler here than Baltimore.” Starr twisted her hair up i
nto a messy knotted bun. “I swear I could live here, by the water. Baltimore's harbor is nice, but ...”

  “Nothing like this one, huh?”

  They let their feet dangle off the edge of the dock and put the picnic stuff between them.

  “Thanks for coming with me, Nathan.” She threw him one of her signature smiles, and his chest threatened to bloom damn hearts and roses like those stupid cartoons. Since they'd kissed, he couldn't stop thinking about her lips, which, just like her hands, were softer than anything he'd touched in years.

  She squinted out over the inlet. “I like watching the boats. Wondering where they've been, where they're going.”

  “Around the marina. Rich people don't want to be too far away from their assets.”

  She bumped his shoulder with her own. “So cynical.”

  “Nah, just been around.”

  “Well, if I had all the money in the world, I'd live on a sailboat.” She arched her back, her face raised to the sky.

  He could see it. Starr wearing tight little shorts and a tee-shirt, hoisting up a line with enthusiasm, the strands of her hair, red, now streaked with gold in the bright sun, twirling in the breeze—like it did now.

  “With a lot of sunscreen, of course.” She pressed a finger into her arm and watched the brief impression pink up.

  “Need more?” He pulled out a bottle tucked into the side of the bag.

  “Nope, I'm good. The SPF 100 is doing its job.” She sighed. “I'll bet if I sailed around the world, I'd finally get a tan, though Phee says it'd just be my freckles blurring together.”

  A strange sound bubbled up in his throat. Oh, a laugh. “That's one thing I haven't had trouble with.”

  “See? Men get it all. They tan. They age better than we do.” She pulled the bag closer and unzipped it. “And they can eat twice as much as we can. Hungry?”