Laken (The Phoenix Club Girl Diaries Book 2)

by Addison Jane

  I caught the chuckle in my throat. “After all this time, you’re still making up excuses to get drunk?”

  “After all this time, you’re still making up excuses not to see me?”

  There it was, the kick in the gut I knew was coming because he was right. It was hard as hell to get us both in the same country, let alone the same city, and yet here I was, still trying to keep the distance between us, still trying to protect him from my mess and the stain that usually comes along with my name.

  Professional fighter almost kills opponent, does time, joins biker gang.

  “I’m taking your silence as acceptance of my love,” he declared. “I’ll text you the deets.”

  “Kai…”

  “See you Friday night at nine. Bring your girlfriend!” he chimed happily before the phone went dead.

  There was no point in arguing with him when he was like that. Kai was determined, and when he wanted something, he was going to get it, come hell or high water. If I didn’t show up, he was going to come looking for me and bring his whole fucking entourage—that was the last fucking thing I needed.

  Yes, my fucking little brother had an entourage.

  “Goddammit,” I cursed under my breath before grabbing my bag and slamming the locker door shut.

  “You not gonna get in the ring?” Casen inquired as he followed me toward the exit.

  I’d almost forgotten he was there.

  I shook my head. “I’ve got shit to do.”

  “That shit include doing my sister?” Casen called after my retreating body.

  I paused, not bothering to turn back and look at him. “That any of your business?”

  “It is if you’re treating her like a whore.”

  It was like lighting a match, the flame consumed me. My hands curled into fists, my knuckles clicking under the pressure as I looked back over my shoulder at him. I knew he was trying to be somewhat protective, trying to stand up for Laken and maybe make up for the times he’d let her down, but he was barking up the wrong fucking tree. “Your sister is not a fucking whore.”

  Casen stood his ground, his dark eyes so much like Laken’s when she was pissed off. “Then what the hell is she?”

  “What is she?” I laughed and slammed my palm against the swinging door, sending it banging back against the wall as I stormed out. “Mine!”

  LAKEN

  Friday

  “Shit, shit, shit.”

  I frowned, looking over to where Brooklyn was cursing up a damn storm, throwing sofa cushions left and right.

  I cut through the sandwiches I was making, slicing them in half and placing them on the large plate to the side. Us girls had made a feast for the men—they deserved it. Myth had been working out four to five hours a day, and the other guys had been taking turns getting in the ring with him and letting him wail on them for practice.

  There were plenty of aching bodies needing sustenance.

  Myth kept saying the plan wasn’t to fight, but he didn’t want to be unprepared.

  I didn’t want him to be either.

  “Where is it?” Brook murmured to herself with a heavy frown.

  “You all right there, love?” I asked, cracking a smile when she tossed one of the cushions across the room, almost sending it flying out the sliding door and onto the balcony. “Uh, Brook? I don’t think…”

  I was too late, the panicked teen tossed another, this time toward the dining room. It sent the vase of flowers that sat in the middle of the table careening to the tiled floor. My entire body tensed, my nose crinkling as we both watched it fall in slow motion. The smash echoed throughout the apartment, and glass went flying in microscopic shards across the dining room floor, some even reaching the kitchen where I was standing.

  “Oh my God,” Brook whispered, her mouth hanging open as she clutched one of the offending cushions against her chest. “Oh. My. Go—”

  “Is everyone ok—”

  “Meyah, stop!” I tried, holding my hands up as she stepped into the room from the hallway.

  But it was too late.

  “Fuck. Shit. Cunt. Whore. Slut,” she cursed, freezing on the spot and squeezing her eyes shut tightly. She threw her head back, breathing slowly in and out through her nose. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”

  I rushed over, praying like hell the glass wouldn’t go through the bottom of my runners as it crunched with each step I made toward her. The sound alone made me feel sick, but as I reached Meyah, who was still standing as still as a statue in the middle of a damn danger zone, I noticed the red liquid that was spilling out from her foot pooling on the floor.

  It wasn’t just a little bit.

  It was a lot.

  My heart skipped what felt like at least two beats, instantly making me feel a little light-headed.

  The concrete scratched at my cheek as I lay on the ground, watching my blood seep slowly toward the edge of the pool.

  I thought being shot would hurt more, that I’d probably cry and sob.

  But the weird thing was, I almost didn’t feel any pain at all.

  It was the other things I noticed more.

  How much harder it was to take a breath.

  How extremely tired I was all of a sudden.

  How I wasn’t scared anymore.

  Everyone was screaming.

  The ground felt like it was shaking.

  There was a popping sound.

  It sounded like fireworks, but I didn’t remember ordering any.

  “Oh crap,” Dakota cursed, shaking the daze off and wrapping her arm around Meyah’s waist and helping her hop to the sofa, her entire face now clenched in pain. “Brook, grab me a towel. If we can’t stop it, she’ll have to go to the hospital.”

  I could feel the sweat collecting in the center of my back, and I just knew that if anyone looked at me right now, my entire face would probably be ghostly white. “The hospital? For a little piece of glass?” I asked, watching the bright red trail across the soft gray carpet. There was no way those were coming out without some heavy bleach and a mallet.

  Brook raced back into the room, throwing a towel at Dakota, who quickly wrapped it around Meyah’s foot, pulling it tight. “I have this blood thing,” Meyah explained, laying back on the sofa and taking a couple of deep, slow breaths. “I don’t clot like other people, so once I start bleeding, it can sometimes be hard to get it to stop.”

  “Okay, so I’m calling Shake,” I announced, pulling my cell phone from my back pocket.

  Meyah laughed, but it wasn’t her usual bright, sparkling giggle. It was softer, weaker. That combined with the fact she was growing another person inside her, Shake was at the door within seconds, sweeping her up off the sofa and carrying his old lady downstairs to an ambulance.

  Brook’s bottom lip trembled as she watched the door close and Kennedy quickly swept in, wrapping her arms around her little sister. “It’s okay, accidents happen,” she assured her, pulling Brook in close while Dakota and I got down on the floor with a couple of dustpans.

  “Exactly,” Dakota agreed, swiping at the stray pieces of glass. “Shit happens, and Meyah knows that, too. She can’t avoid accidents, so it’s just always better for her to go to the hospital, especially with the little one still cooking.”

  “Isn’t that your dad?”

  I climbed up off the floor, turning in the direction of the television, and sure enough there he was with fifty microphones shoved in his face. The center of attention—just the way he liked it.

  “That’s downtown Los Angeles,” Dakota pointed out, squinting at the television.

  She was right. He hadn’t gone back to Connecticut. “Of course, it is,” I sighed, swiping my hand over my face. I shouldn’t have been surprised. While my father was a senator in Connecticut, he spent a lot of his time in Los Angeles.

  He liked to wine and dine with the famous and constantly be in the spotlight.

  It was an addiction.

  “That’s why I was throwing the cushions,” Brook grunted, screwi
ng up her nose as she hugged one to her chest. “I was trying to find the remote, so I could change the channel.”

  “This remote?” Kennedy asked, holding it up in her hand with a shy smile. “Sorry, accidentally took it to the bathroom with me.” She pointed it at the screen, her finger hovering over the off button.

  “Wait,” I interrupted before she could push it. It was hard to say the words, given that I’d spent so long doing exactly this, switching the channel when his face would appear. I didn’t want to hear his lies or witness that perfectly practiced smile I knew so damn well. But this time, it was different. This time, I knew he was looking to come after me and the people I cared about, so I needed to know what he was up to. “Turn it up.”

  “All the money raised by the event next Friday night will go to Mental Health America,” he proudly announced with a sickening grin. “It’s a great way to give something back to the community who has continuously supported my family and me. Tickets to the ball have already sold out, and every cent of the money being donated will go to Mental Health America, not to mention during the night there will be opportunities for anyone who comes to give more to this amazing organization.”

  “It’s amazing that you’ve decided to foot the bill for this and allow all the money to go to such a worthy cause,” a reporter praised.

  You could practically see it inflating my father’s ego, his shoulders lifting, his chest swelling.

  “Why Mental Health America?”

  He pressed his hand to his chest and released a heavy sigh. The camera zoomed in for a second catching a glassy shine in his eyes.

  “Wow, he’s good,” Kennedy praised as she moved around the sofa and took a seat on the arm.

  “As I’m sure most of you have heard now, my daughter has struggled for a long time with mental illness.”

  I felt fucking sick.

  Each breath beginning to burn as angry tears attacked my eyes.

  He was using my weakest moment to make himself look good.

  “I noticed it first when her mother died…” he paused using the moment to pull people in. “Leah was heartbroken, it almost destroyed her. Then there was the shooting when we almost lost her. We tried to help, but she wouldn’t take it, so she ran. But those demons never stopped chasing her.”

  “What is your relationship like with Leah now she’s back?”

  “It’s a work in progress.” The sheer confidence forced erratic laughter to bubble up and out my mouth. “But I’m determined to make it work, and I’ll use whatever means possible.”

  “And I think that’s enough shit-talking for today,” Dakota drawled, her tone laced with sarcasm and disgust. She reached over the back of the sofa, snatching the remote from Kennedy’s hand and switched the television to mute.

  I could see his mouth still moving, still crowing about how fucking amazing he was, but the frustration was building and swirling within my stomach. “He’s gonna make millions out of this. Those donations aren’t going to charity.”

  Brook dropped down into the armchair in the small living room, tucking her feet up underneath her. “You think he’s lying?”

  “He’s lying.”

  There was no thinking.

  “But how can he get away with something like that, after he’s just said on national television that all the ticket sales and every bit of money made will be donated?” Kennedy asked, popping her hip against the back of the sofa and folding her arms across her chest.

  “He’s done it for years. He doesn’t give the tickets a price. He just asks for anything over five hundred dollars for each one, and because people assume every cent is going to charity, some people will pay a thousand, two thousand, even ten thousand dollars for tickets… because they see that as their donation.” Even the explanation made me sick. “So, when he donates two million dollars to charity, everyone simply applauds. Who wants to question that? The people who paid twenty thousand dollars for a ticket assume everyone else only paid five hundred.”

  I could see the cogs turning in Dakota’s head, trying to work on the math. “So, he skims off the top?”

  “If two thousand people pay two thousand dollars each for tickets, that’s four million dollars. He only donates two.”

  It was a little more than skimming some change off the top.

  Her eyes grew wide. “Holy shit.”

  “Is there anything you can do about it?” Kennedy asked, her shoulders sagging.

  My eyes were drawn back to the television for a second, my father waving off the reporters as his security team hustled him and his personal banker—a small, shy old man who looked absolutely petrified and out of his depth—to a waiting car. Then an idea popped into my head for a second, bringing a smile to my face. “Maybe.”

  The girls’ faces all brightened.

  “Can we help?” Dakota asked, practically rubbing her hands together like a mad scientist.

  But before I could answer, the front door clicked open, and five very tired, very sweaty, half-naked men walked in.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” I told the girls with a grin as Myth stalked across the room toward me.

  He raised his brow and tugged his shirt from around his neck, using it to wipe his face before he pressed his lips to mine in a short kiss that instantly had certain body parts tingling. “Talk about what later?”

  “Nothing,” I answered with a shrug, knowing if I ran it past Myth, he would either say no, or want to come with me, and I just knew it was something that needed a subtle hand, one that sometimes only a woman had.

  “Well, whatever it is will have to wait.”

  My brow pinched together. “Why?”

  “Because we’re going out tonight.”

  Myth turned and walked away, heading toward the kitchen counter and the spread of food that Repo, Shotgun, Rip, and Ty were already shoveling down.

  “We’re what now?” I questioned, ignoring the way Rip almost choked on a spoonful of mac and cheese when he fought a laugh.

  “When I said we, I meant all of us,” Myth reiterated, elbowing Ripley in the side. “We’ve been invited to The Reign Bar downtown.”

  Invited?

  “By who?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  LAKEN

  A smile curled up the corner of my mouth as we rode through the center of Los Angeles in the back of a blacked-out SUV.

  I felt like I knew the place like the back of my hand, having spent at least six months of the year there for most of my life. My mom was considered one of Hollywood’s sweethearts, an actress since she was very small. She was never rude, never unkind, and consistently spent time helping worthy causes and charities. It filled her with joy to use what she had to make another person’s life a little better.

  The world loved her.

  But I loved her more.

  I couldn’t explain how much. Or how she was my rock when the world around us got a little crazy. Or how losing her felt like losing a piece of myself.

  I always knew her being with my dad was a publicity stunt.

  There was affection between them.

  There was a sense of respect—at least, on her part.

  And he doted on her like any husband would his wife. But I learned a long time ago it was always for show.

  Everything was a show for him, a chance to get his face on the news, a chance to get any kind of attention or sympathy from potential voters or investors. He used whatever the hell he could. Including her death.

  “You good?” Myth asked, making me jump and drawing my eyes to the rearview mirror. I was squashed in the middle of the backseat between Kennedy and Avery with Repo in the front and Myth navigating the streets like a pro. That was when he wasn’t watching me.

  I forced a new smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

  “Eye’s on the road, Romeo,” Avery teased, leaning into my space and sticking her tongue out at him. He snorted but flicked his eyes back to the road ahead.

  Shotgun had been back in Pho
enix sorting club business, and Avery had hitched a ride with him to L.A. for the weekend since her classes had finished for the week. I liked Avery, she was cute, energetic and the girl was intelligent.

  “What are you studying at school?” I asked when she sat back with a satisfied grin.

  “Working my way toward a doctorate in psychology.” She started to laugh at the look on my face. “I want to be a clinical psychologist and work with the Special Victims Division.”

  “Like that Law and Order TV show?” Kennedy asked, sitting forward.

  “Kinda.” She nodded. “My sister was raped and murdered. The guy who did it was a wealthy businessman, and he’d done the same to six other girls before her. So, as far as I’m concerned, it was an event that could have been prevented if people knew what they were doing.”

  The bright and bubbly spark in her eyes had darkened, and with it, the air around us began to cool.

  “I’m really sorry,” I offered, forcing a sad smile in support and trying to fight the way my stomach twisted. “You didn’t consider joining the police?”

  “Not really. I think if they had someone who was better at predicting the guy’s patterns and reading the signs, they could have caught him earlier. So, I want to know more about how the brain works in those people, how they make decisions, how they become a monster.” I could see in her mind she had answered this same question a million times. The way her eyes glazed over for just a moment before snapping back into reality and that playful smile and bright eyes returning, almost as if a switch had been flicked. “Plus… I have way too much fun sleeping with the criminals. If I had to arrest them, shit would get very complicated.”

  I huffed out a laugh, Kennedy doing the same, the both of us deciding now wasn’t really the time to ask too many questions or push something that seemed to impact her so much.

  “We’re here,” Myth announced a moment later, all our eyes going to the windows as we pulled off the busy city street crowded with people and lights, then we turned down a back alley. We passed by two guys in black T-shirts holding open some gates, the two cars cruising into the back parking lot which was sparse, other than a couple of cars with The Reign Bar’s logo printed across the side.