Tough Love (The Shakedown Series Book 3)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

“And beautiful.”

  She popped open the clear eyelash box and lifted one of the falsies with her fingernail. “You say that to all your drag mothers.” She unscrewed the tiny top of the glue tube and put a drop on the end of a toothpick.

  Luna’s eyes stung—out of the blue, for totally no reason whatsoever. She had to get a move on herself. She unzipped the bag and went to work organizing her outfits for the night. She had at least five acts to do, and there’d be no time in between to dally.

  As Cherry applied her eyelashes, she glanced over at Luna in the mirror. “So. What do you think?” Her voice had lowered.

  “They look good to me.”

  “No, love.” She swiveled her stool to face Luna. “Phoenix. Retiring.” She glanced around at Aspen, who wasn’t paying any attention to them. Cortelana and Sally Mae strode in, laughing. “I was going to bring it up later, but you know how patient I am not.”

  “It was only a matter of time. She could use the break.” Luna clicked on the lights on her mirror.

  Cherry scooted her chair closer and grasped both her wrists. “When I got the call today, well, I just couldn’t believe it. The Shakedown stage without Phoenix Rising.” She placed a hand against her chest. “Well, I just can’t go there… I thought it was just a phase.”

  “I’d say teaching 100 people a month is more than that.” Phee really had taken to being the teacher over the performer. Regular classes and special workshops kept her busier than ever because Luna honestly had never seen her sister so happy. It was like she found her place.

  “I know.” Cherry pursed her lips together and pulled a tissue from the box sitting on Luna’s stand. She sniffed and brought it to her nose. “It’s just the end of an era I was not prepared for. But…” She straightened and slapped the makeup counter with her palm. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.” She lowered her voice and glanced around the mirror at Aspen, who still wasn’t paying them any attention. “I might even offer my skills to her studio. Someone out there is dying to learn to drag from Momma Cherry’s wisdom.”

  Nicholas/Nikki poked his head around the make-up stand. “Great idea.”

  “You can be my assistant.” Cherry pointed at her fellow performer.

  Honestly, it was an idea she’d love for Cherry to focus on. Luna did not want to get into either of her sisters’ plans tonight. Clearly, Cherry had heard about Phee but not Starr’s pregnancy. Luna would not be the one to spill the baby beans. She had to focus on tonight and think about all the changes happening tomorrow.

  Cherry blinked at her expectedly. “You sure you’re alright?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” She laid out all her make-up for the night: foundation, concealer, contouring cream, eye shadow, three kinds of liner, her own preferred eyelash glue, eyelashes, and… where was that eyelash curler?

  “It certainly is the end of an era.” She swiveled back to focus on her second eyelash. “And Starr taking nights off. It’s not like that girl. Don’t let them abuse your good nature, kitten.”

  “You don’t have to worry about us.”

  “Well, the O’Malley sisters will never be parted, but it looks like you’re going to Diana Ross them soon and make yourself the star you were born to be.” She fluttered her eyes to the ceiling.

  “We’re all stars at Shakedown.” She didn’t want to keep talking about this. It made her oddly tired.

  “You always were the romantic one, Miss Luna Belle.” Cherry winked at her.” And reliable.”

  Was she?

  She dabbed some foundation on the back of her hand and went to work putting on the Luna Belle face. With an applicator, she dabbed and spread the makeup over her skin—something she’d done five nights a week for almost seven years. She could run through these steps in her sleep. Maybe that’s why Phoenix was done, and Starr was beginning to show signs of the same.

  How long could Luna keep up? Keep applying the same shade of Ben Nye foundation—Ingenue mixed with Geisha? Or stop at the drug store every other week for more eyelash glue? Hand-wash her beaded costumes?

  Honestly? A lot longer because she loved dancing. She’d just hoped she’d do it with her sisters for many more years. She was happy for them, but Cherry had it right. End of an era summed up their situation perfectly.

  She moved to contouring her cheekbones, her arm weighted heavy. Normally, she’d get a jolt of energy knowing she was about to go on. Today was too busy, that was all. The usual adrenaline spike five minutes before taking the stage would come.

  11

  Carragh took another sip of the port; not his usual drink, but Declan had never offered anything to him before. He chalked it up to good manners as the man had an open bottle on his desk. “You do know it’s in your best interest to keep this meeting under wraps.”

  Declan swiveled in his desk chair. “I never asked to see you. Why would I tell anyone?”

  True, he’d forced his way inside, telling the man he was there to warn him. Declan had protested, but the glimmer of interest in his eyes was enough for Carragh to press for a closed-door meeting.

  Declan tapped his armrest. “You here to warn me the police might find yet another guy face-first in the water not 300 yards from here? Or more drugs being potentially planted in my car?”

  Carragh could say the two were unrelated, but he might be guessing. “I don’t know anything about either of those.” He truly didn’t.

  “Then what do you know?”

  “First, I’m going to tell you something in good faith.” He opened both palms. “I trust you’ll keep it under your hat. I bought that warehouse down the street.” It cost him a pretty penny—six million—but it was worth it for his father not to have it. Plus, he’d needed Declan to trust him to reveal his own secrets, like how he might have been working against him more actively than he’d have first guessed.

  Declan’s nostrils flared. “Planning on opening up your own import-export?”

  “I don’t know what I’m going do with it, but I didn’t want my father to have it. Just like you, I don’t want him to have this club.” More truth tumbled from his lips. Why not continue the trend?

  “Don’t patronize me.” His incessant rocking of his chair stilled. “You want to start your own operation.”

  “I do, but it doesn’t have to be what my father was into. Diversification, Declan. You should try it sometime.”

  He had bought property up and down the waterfront to throw a monkey wrench into his father’s plans—but it could come in handy for his own ideas for import-export later.

  If Carragh knew anything about his father, it was the man wasn’t a thinker. He was more muscle and bluster. If he discovered a Starboard Enterprises bought some property, it’d never occur to him to ask who was behind it. If he did? So what? Carragh would simply claim the property was going to be a gift to the man later. It was a gift he would never deliver, but what would the man know?

  In the meantime, Carragh worked on setting up his own alliances. Sean wasn’t fully “in” on the plans yet, and Carragh wasn’t sure he ever would be. His cousin was suspicious of him? He was growing the same of Sean.

  “So, what are you planning?” Skepticism swam in Declan’s eyes.

  “How much do you want to know?”

  “Not sure I want to know anything. Just want you to keep it out of my club.”

  “I may not be able to do that.” His father, if he couldn’t have Declan join the family firm, would try to ruin him. “If you let me help you, trusted me—”

  “And why would I do that? You shot your own brother.”

  “To save who you care about.” He raked his fingers through his hair. Dammit, this wasn’t how he wanted this conversation to go. Declan may not believe he was a MacKenna but he sure had the stubborn streak of most of the males in his family. He also was smart. Not many people turned the tables on him.

  “Take yourself out.” Declan rose. “We’ve got nothing else to discuss.”

  He rose. He knew when a m
eeting was over. “I’m going to stick around. Watch the show.”

  “Carragh.” His warning tone really irritated. “I meant what I said. Stay away from Luna.”

  Funny how people kept telling him that. “You know how well telling me what to do works.”

  “She doesn’t want you.”

  His gut twisted unexpectedly. “That what she said?”

  Neither of them had to name Luna to know exactly who they referenced.

  Declan slanted his eyes up at him. “What do you know? You do care about her.”

  He shrugged. So, the man had seen something in his eyes. He was damned sick of hiding his interest anyway.

  “Why?”

  “Why are you with Phoenix?”

  “None of your goddamned business.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” He couldn’t articulate why he couldn’t stay away from Luna.

  Declan’s voice stopped him at the door. “Ask yourself this. Is she safer with you or without you? That’s the only question you should be asking if you care about her at all.”

  Fair point. “With me.” He didn’t know shit about that, really, but he was damned sick of being told what to do around the woman. “Keep vigilant, Declan. My father’s not one to let a loss go unpunished.”

  Which was another reason he could shoehorn into his box of reasons to stay close to Luna: he felt the need to keep watch on Shakedown—and her.

  He tapped the door frame. “It’d be a shame to lose this place. If you’d sell, I would take care of everyone here.”

  “People don’t convey like draperies.”

  “Yes, well… My offer to buy still stands.”

  “Still not selling.”

  He murmured. “Still taking in the show.”

  He headed out to the main floor, just in time to see a lithe redhead with perfect legs and lips he was dying to taste take the stage.

  12

  Luna stepped into the center of the oval spotlight. “If You Wear That Velvet Dress” by Jools Holland and Bono, her favorite song to dance to, had the audience hushed and reverent—just the way she liked it. It was like holding them in her hands.

  Faint smoke curled in the beam of light and the tips of the ostrich feathers of her fan fluttered as she swept it down in a long arc. The tinkling piano sounds met with strings and Bono’s voice and she pivoted in a three-point turn. Her belly didn’t do its usual little flip when she executed the move in a perfect line.

  Shapes moved in her periphery, and the flash of watches and rings cut through the darkened audience. They seemed so far away from her, like maybe she was behind glass.

  As the song built, she began to show more leg through her long, blue velvet gown. But it was when she shimmied to the piano the audience broke their silence. A man whistled. Glasses clinked. Her shoe scraped on the stage under her feet. All ordinary sights and sounds on a Friday. Only tonight wasn’t feeling like an ordinary night.

  She twirled, pranced, and took long strides across the stage. She tried to hook into the music, but it wasn’t coming for some reason.

  Luna twirled, felt the soft brush of feathers against her bare arm. She lifted her knees high and her chin even higher. Soaked in the murmurs coming from the audience nearest the stage.

  Her dance steps would never abandon her, and she knew how to dance through boredom. She had to do it now and again, but tonight she really didn’t want to have to rely on her training. She wanted to feel good.

  Three unfamiliar men by the stage gaped at her. She wafted the fans across their heads and one playfully batted the feathers away. Another whistled. More catcalls urged her on, but each kick and prance took a supreme effort, like moving through deep water.

  Then the floor gave way. For a moment, her ankle had weakened, and she’d almost tripped.

  She was so off her game.

  Rough voices somewhere in the dark snapped her out of her thoughts. A fight had broken out. The silhouette of a huge man—likely Max—formed, roughly handling someone in the back.

  She really wasn’t fully present, was she? The emptiness of the stage pressed down on her, as if the open space really was under deep water.

  She had danced solo hundreds of times in the seven years at Shakedown, but she’d never felt alone, or so detached onstage before, at least not until tonight. The reason for her unease was so obvious it was laughable. She and her two sisters would never dance again together, and Luna would be the last O’Malley sister to take a bow on this very stage sometime this year.

  Declan appeared in back, supervising the throw-out of whoever started the fight. That’s when Luna saw him—his familiar shock of black hair and blue eyes aimed her way. Immediately, the heaviness that had taken residence in her chest lightened.

  Luna waved her fans toward the audience, and they burst into applause. Declan angrily swiped at the curtains and disappeared. Carragh still stood in the back—staring at her, hard.

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and cocked his head a little. His regard was magnetic, and lethal to her focus.

  He entered the room like a roll of thunder announcing a storm, and it thrilled her. A tug that began in her belly lowered to between her thighs.

  She should be afraid of him, even hate him. Instead, Luna couldn’t hate him if she tried. And therein lay yet another issue. She didn’t know how to love her sisters and love him at the same time.

  She shuddered at her thought. Love him? She couldn’t. She barely knew the man.

  He stepped down onto the main floor and moved closer.

  Oh, God.

  The storm was about to break.

  His legs carried him further—straight to the lip of the stage. The night was almost over and there was one empty table, begging for his presence. He plunked his ass down and enjoyed the fire in her eyes—the fire with its dual message. Fuck me and fuck off.

  Yeah, she would like to be unhappy to see him—but she wasn’t.

  He, however, was not ambivalent at drinking in her beauty. Sean was right. His mood instantly lightened at seeing her. One glance at her pink lips twisting down at him lit him up on the inside.

  She cocked her ankle and jutted out a hip, the jangle of beads slapping against her thigh—a leg he’d love to grasp and yank open.

  “Sir, what can I get you?” a waitress he didn’t even glance at whispered near his ear. He wasn’t taking his eyes off the stage.

  “Vodka. Straight up. Grey Goose.”

  Luna’s blue eyes glanced his way but quickly moved to the table behind him. So, she was having trouble ignoring him. He rather enjoyed stirring her up. She certainly did that to him.

  Every aspect of her was an invitation to his cock as well as an instant problem. She had ahold of him. No one got ahold of him. Yet here he sat.

  Women were a tangle of contradictions, but he’d never met one who created such a paradox in him.

  Luna had no idea how interesting she was. She was soft and steel, sweet and spice. She was all that was pure and good but as tempting as the devil himself. He fucking loved the mismatches. Everyone in his world were cardboard cut-outs compared to the dancer who glared down at him.

  She turned her back on him, which only presented her very fine ass that she shook with abandon. The things he would do to that flesh… One look at her and his mind and body, normally disciplined, ran amuck.

  If she was his woman, he’d shower her with anything she desired—jewels, vacations, houses. Hell, he’d build Luna her own stage if she wanted. He’d do something good with that warehouse space. To hell with Declan and his warnings to stay away. He’d make anything happen for her.

  A drink appeared on his table, and he grasped it just so he had something to curl his hand around.

  When she pivoted and rolled her hips, he had a thought. I will remember this time. She onstage and he sitting a few feet away with his hands fisting a cut-glass tumbler that would leave patterns in his skin. He would remember this moment his whole life when anything was possible. It all
lay ahead of them.

  He’d yet to learn about her past life beyond the handful of tragedies he’d gotten privy to. He’d yet to memorize all her different kinds of laughs. He’d yet to lay her underneath him, find out if she liked her neck kissed or her nipples suckled—how hard and how soft. He’d yet to do so many things with her.

  But he could. He could stay—or he could walk. The choice was his.

  Yet, who was he kidding? It wouldn’t be enough to just remember this night and its infinite possible endings. If the last few weeks were any indication, avoiding her didn’t work. His only real option was to resume inching his way closer to having her.

  A hand descended on his shoulder, and he nearly came out of his skin. Man, he must have been wholly mesmerized by Luna.

  “So jumpy.” Nicole’s irritating voice cut into the air like a cockroach skittering across a hardwood floor.

  She lowered herself to the empty chair near him, that pretentious fur coat dripping off one shoulder revealing a bright red spaghetti strap number that would have made a lingerie slip look like a Victorian dress in comparison. It was more than Luna wore onstage, but Nicole’s presentation would make a man take her in the back alley, while Luna’s would make a man book a suite at the Ritz.

  He purposefully arched an eyebrow Nicole’s way. “Slumming?” Why confirm this place had any value to him, though she likely already knew.

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” She sent her gaze toward Luna, who was teasing a couple at the other end of the stage—still trying to ignore him, perhaps. “I really don’t get what you see in her. I mean, I suppose she’s pretty enough.” Her tone dripped with feigned boredom. He knew better. Nicole hated competition.

  He grasped her arm—hard—and yanked her to standing. “Let me call you a car.”

  She jerked free. “I have a car. What I don’t have is any understanding why you’re making things so difficult.” She touched his pec, and he didn’t hide his shudder from their proximity. “Carragh, love…”

  “You’re disrupting the show. And you haven’t seen difficult, sweetheart.”