Tough Love (The Shakedown Series Book 3)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  “Maybe your father knows about it,” she pressed.

  “He doesn’t.”

  “So, report it into him. Then offer to bid for it under an assumed name. That way you could own it instead and your dad thinks you’ve done something for him.”

  His brows knit in thought as he stared at the wall. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

  “Your dad doesn’t need to know you’re doing it for you. Then when you leave, it’s in your name.”

  “A little oversimplified.” He faced her and smirked. “But I like your thinking.” He drew her closer. “My little Machiavelli.”

  She shrugged. “Most men just need a story of sorts—like the men who come to my shows. So long as they think they have a chance with me, they’re nicer. Less prone to pushing themselves on me.”

  “They’d rather win you over than force you?”

  “At least most of them. So, just let your dad believe you’re doing it for the family.”

  “I would be. Only my version of family. Not his.” She knew about his version.

  She lifted her palm in the air. “High five. Teamwork.”

  He smirked but then ran a fingertip over the shell of her ear. “You have the most delicate ears. They should be wearing diamonds.”

  “You don’t need to get me diamonds.”

  “Not even one?” He lifted her hand and threaded his fingers in hers.

  She swallowed. “Well, someday. Maybe one.”

  He grasped both sides of her cheeks. “Promise me. No matter what happens, you’ll remember this weekend. This house.”

  “I will remember every time I’m with you—and all the ones to come.”

  “I’ll make sure there are… more, I mean.”

  “I know you will.”

  Then, as if to seal the deal, he lifted her up and carried her to bed.

  When Carragh gave the signal for her to come to this house, he already knew she wouldn’t go. As soon as they got back, he’d arrange for Sean to be the one to drive her. For go she must. Despite her promises, Luna didn’t act in her own best interest.

  Carragh sucked on the softest part of her neck, just under her ear, as he seated himself more fully inside her. He could drown in her warmth and her undying loyalty to him. The last three weeks may have been the greatest of his life, and he was a greedy son of a bitch. He’d always want more, need more from this woman.

  They’d spent all day Saturday sitting by the water, talking. This woman made him do new things—like bare his soul. It felt so fucking great to have someone else know what he was up to—all of it, for he spared no details with her.

  She came up with ideas herself. This woman was no dummy.

  Buy a small property completely away from the waterfront and gift it to his father. In other words, misdirect the man’s interests.

  Ask to come to Sunday dinner before he asks. In other words, lead him on.

  Tell everyone around him about his father’s latest win, though she had no clue what that meant. It could so easily mean another person’s death—but it’d feed his ego.

  This woman knew men—and he was going to be sure from this moment forward he was the only one in her life of consequence.

  She let out a moan. She was close—and he was going to draw it out. He pulled out, earning a mewl of protest from her throat.

  Red tinged her chest, and her soft skin flushed as he crawled down her body. He grasped handfuls of her thighs while she grabbed fistfuls of his hair. He then dove straight for her sweet pussy.

  She would be his every night if he could. But the only way he could have this woman was for his plans to go forward, no mistakes. Timing was going to be everything. And then? He had plans for Luna Belle O’Malley—so many more nights of her squirming under his hand, his mouth, his whole body, whispering his name in the dark.

  Wet coated his mouth as she came hard, and he held her legs open. When her shudders calmed, he climbed back up to take her mouth and thrust back inside. She was more than game as her leg hooked over his and her hands pressed his ass down. She wanted more. His little vixen was a sensual thing, which was good because he was only getting started on her tonight.

  “Carragh,” she breathed. “Fuck me.”

  Permission granted, he took full advantage. His hips pitched into her, driving himself even further until she was making those sharp cries she made when she was close to another orgasm.

  He fucked her furiously, staring down at her beautiful lips twitching and open in pleasure. He fell to her and their mouths melded once more. Teeth and tongue grazing, her chin must have been raw from his rough beard.

  Her fingers threaded in his hair as she tightened around his cock. He let go and pinned her to the mattress with more weight so he could grind out her release.

  An involuntary grunt came from his throat as he came a minute later.

  His sweat-soaked chest glided over her breasts as he flopped over to his side, his hand roughly capturing her arm as he breathed up to the ceiling. “Fuck me.”

  Her head fell to the side, and his gaze met hers. “I think you just did.”

  A hearty laugh built in him until the bed shook under their joined laughter. But it died sharply as if they both realized this weekend was a temporary respite.

  Their situation was no fairytale. He peered into her trusting eyes, half in love with her, and vowed to do everything to keep it from growing into a nightmare any more than it was.

  27

  As soon as Luna stepped through the makeup door, Cherry rose to her full height and crossed her arms. “How was the Eastern Shore?”

  “Relaxing, where is everyone?” The usual rustle of costumes being put on and the scent of wax and eyelash glue was conspicuously absent.

  “Starr has morning sickness, Nikki has the flu, and Sally Mae and Cortelana are on their way, so you have exactly fifteen minutes to spill it, girl.” She waggled her index finger in air circles.

  “What are you talking about?” She threw her bag near her stool and a waft of dust rose up.

  “Spa, my fine black behind. You know you can’t hide your sneaking around from me any longer. Starr shared the picture with me—a picture that was taken not a hundred miles anywhere near a spa. I’ve got eyes.”

  Now her heart sank to the floor. “Does Starr suspect?” She didn’t want to worry her.

  “Oh, I’m sure both of your sisters suspect something’s up, but they wouldn’t ever in a million years dream you would actually go away with that man.”

  Luna knew this day would come, when everyone around her had had enough of her choices. Well, she wasn’t having any of it. “Everyone needs to understand I’m a grown woman.”

  “Who is being lured—”

  “No one’s luring me. I might be in love with him.” She’d had it with not voicing her real feelings.

  A cane rap on the door frame sounded. “Ladies.”

  Cherry straightened the little pots of concealer and other makeup on her stand. “Declan, she is all yours.” She waved her manicured hand in the air. “Maybe you can talk to some sense into our little Miss here.”

  “Luna, can we talk in my office?”

  Here came the lecture. She was really getting sick of being handled. She marched around Declan and straight to his office.

  As soon as he closed the door behind her, she spoke. “It’s not what you think.” She wasn’t waiting for him to start the “watch yourself” talk.

  A puff of amused air left his chest. “And what do I think?” He limped to his desk leaning on his cane, moved a huge bouquet of daffodils and daisies over, and sat on the corner like a disapproving principal or something.

  “I’m sure nothing good.” She raised her hands in the air but then dropped them to her sides. “But please, remember, Carragh intervened with Ruark when he attacked Starr. He did it again when Ruark came back for you and Phee.” It hurt to say the words, but they were necessary.

  “No one should ever have been in the crosshairs of anyone to b
egin with.”

  “He’s on our side.”

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  “Why? Why such doubt when he’s shown nothing but goodwill to all of us?” Luna stepped forward. “In fact…” Her words died. She’d almost given up his secret. She shouldn’t. “You can trust him,” Luna said harshly. She fingered one of the daffodils in the vase.

  “They’re from Cherry’s garden,” he said and stood. He rounded his desk and dropped himself to his chair. “She found out daffodils were my mother’s favorite.”

  She looked over at Declan. “They were Carragh’s mother’s, too.”

  He took in a long breath. “I know.”

  “Did you know her?” She really wished she could have met her.

  “No, but she and my mother had been friends when they were young. I knew that from reading her diaries.”

  “Oh.” A vein of courage burst open. She was going to have to take a chance, that Declan was who she believed him to be—wise, a true friend, and believed she was an adult. “He’s going to overthrow his father’s hold on things. He’s trying to make things right.”

  “I know that, too.” He set his cane against his desk. “But he's about to engage a war, Luna. Do you realize that?”

  “He said as much. But he won't let anything happen to me.”

  “If you think he can protect you, you’re wrong. He may want to, but that doesn't mean he can.”

  “I know you’re worried.”

  He leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands. “Worry isn’t the half of it.”

  “The truth is, Declan, I can’t stay away from him. I…” Why couldn’t she just say it? Would it make any difference in how Declan felt? No. But if she voiced it, somehow her love for him would sound cheap, like she was a whiny little romantic who wasn’t thinking straight. On the contrary, she felt she was thinking straight for the very first time.

  Declan sighed. “You were right when you said you’re a grown woman. But know this. If it comes down to his life or yours—”

  “He's made arrangements.” At least that’s what she’d call his safe house. She shuddered to even think she’d labeled it in her mind already.

  “What kind of arrangements?”

  “Just trust me, Declan.”

  “You're sounding more and more like Carragh every day, Luna. It worries me.”

  “Maybe this is who I was all along.” She was beginning to feel more… stable and grounded. Or something. “I really wish people would stop treating me like I’m infatuated and seeing things through rose-colored glasses. I would never do anything to put anyone else in danger. Contrary to what everyone around me seems to think.”

  “No, I know you're smarter than people give you credit for. But now, I'm going to tell you one of my secrets. I'm going to trust you will keep it under your hat. That's how much I trust you. You, not Carragh.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Tomas has been laying low with us for one reason and one reason only. I have his sister’s diaries. They are… incriminating.”

  “They would be considered hearsay and not admissible in a court of law.”

  He half-smiled. “I knew you were smart. But they can be rather helpful in shaking out people who have wanted to talk for years. People Tomas has not been so… good toward. I have dozens of her Moleskine books. Pages of entries in her hand. She didn’t miss a day for years.” His eyes bore down on her. “She recorded a lot of her family’s comings and goings—and things she overheard, especially about Tomas.”

  “Carragh is nothing like his father.”

  “That may be, but his father is a killer. I have half a dozen entries that describe, in detail, things he executed himself.”

  On the word “executed,” a shudder ran through her.

  “That is the right reaction,” Declan said.

  “Why didn’t you ever leave Baltimore if they were so bad?”

  “Because it wouldn’t have mattered. They’d have found me anyway. A life on the run is no life at all. Here, I have friends, a life.”

  She stood. “Then you understand why I won’t leave or be told who I can and cannot love.”

  His face shifted. She’d surprised him. “Are you sure you’re in love with him?”

  She hadn’t been until that very second. “Completely.”

  28

  The Owl Bar was quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. With two fingers, he tipped his glass back and forth on the cocktail napkin. He’d needed a drink after his last little showdown with his father earlier in the day.

  His father’s words rang in his ears.

  This little dalliance of yours has gone on long enough.

  Burn it down. Burn Shakedown to the ground.

  I’m sick of this thorn in my side.

  End your childish obsession.

  Carragh had stormed out without as much as a glance back. Guess that was the end of the family dinners.

  He glanced at his watch. Sean was late.

  Tonight, Carragh finally folded his cousin into his plans—and starting tomorrow, the final pieces would be put into place before any more of his father’s plans were enacted.

  The door opened behind him and a familiar female voice tittered, “No, I’m fine. There he is.”

  As if today couldn’t get any worse… Nicole clicked up to him wearing that senseless fur coat and yet another too-tight dress. She stopped in front of his table.

  “Heard you wanted to talk to me.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” His breath fogged the glass.

  “Around. I hear a great many things.” She delicately dropped into the bench seat next to him, her fur coat dripping off one shoulder. “Okay, it was Sean.”

  She’d likely made that bit up. “Thought fur was out of fashion. Cruel, actually.”

  She shrugged, reached over, curled her hands over his, and took his glass.

  “You do like taking my drinks from me.”

  “Not in a sharing mood?”

  “No.”

  “Neither am I.” She scooted a little closer and placed her hand on his leg, which chilled him to the bone.

  He swung his gaze to her, which earned a smile. Her lipstick bled around on the corners of her mouth.

  “I’m here to tell you that I want you to go ahead.” Her breath stank of liquor.

  “Go ahead what?”

  “Go ahead and fuck her all you want. Get her out of your system. I don’t mind.” She nearly sang the words as she lazily lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip. “Mmm, you have good taste in drinks, at least.”

  Nicole had been taking a page out of his father’s book. So predictable.

  “You been planting rumors about me.” He made it a statement just to see if she’d have the gall to deny it.

  The more he thought about the swirling rumors, the more it made sense the chatter came from her—and mostly her. Leo still hadn’t raised up any evidence that didn’t lead back to Nicole Monroe. “Talking to my father… and others.”

  “We’re concerned about you, that’s all.” She actually sounded sincere—the only shocking thing to come out of her mouth since she’d slithered her way into his space.

  He turned to her. “Stop.”

  Her lashes blinked slowly. “No.” She eased out of the booth but leaned down to give him a shot of her ample cleavage. “I’m the best lay you’ll ever have.”

  Maybe he’d had it wrong all along. His father wouldn’t be the most difficult obstacle in his family turn-around plans. One brunette with a delusional queen complex might be.

  “Good night, Nicole.”

  She smirked, straightened, and without a backward glance, headed out.

  He was going to do the same—once he gave her a head start. Five minutes later, he left a hundred under his empty glass, and once through the door, headed up the street. He needed to walk. Think. He put his phone on silent. He’d find out where the hell Sean had gone later.

  Six blocks later, Carragh got real with
himself. He was out of time. It was only a matter of time before Luna ended up dead—all because his heart demanded a starring role, leaving his brain back home in a closet somewhere.

  His father’s motives were often as clear as dirt, but not his plans for him. The man had figured out Luna was important to him. So now? He wanted Carragh broken—crippled and unable to take his rightful place as head of the family. Her demise would be an accident, of course—car accident, mugging, asphyxiation from a gas stove left on. It could be any one of those so long as his father had his way.

  Or the man wanted him worse than shattered, for that’s what Luna’s death would be to him. The man wanted him so angry and revenge-thirsty he’d fall into his father’s line of work with gusto.

  Jesus, his mind was playing tricks on him. His body, however, got himself to his car, and within forty minutes he was pulling into Shakedown’s parking lot.

  By some divine signal, he thought to glance at his silent phone. Sean’s number lit up his screen. “Where the fuck were you?” He had no patience for pleasantries.

  “Where the fuck are you? I’m at Baltimore Memorial. Your father just had a stroke.”

  29

  Hospitals. Fucking noisy places. Beeps, squeaks on sheet vinyl floors, doors opening and clicking shut…

  Carragh stared down at his father. Even engulfed in half a dozen stiff white sheets in a bed with plastic girders, the man spilled out in all directions. He was pale. His face shrank on one side.

  He barely heard the doctor. “He’s been stabilized. We’re waiting on a few more tests before we do a CT scan…”

  His father murmured something unintelligible.

  “It may take a bit for him to regain his language skills.”

  Language skills? Is that what they were calling it now? “Thank you, Dr. Madris. Give us a minute, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  His father lay still except for his chest rising and falling. It was an odd thing to see one’s father so idle and feeble. As much headbutting as they’d done, a strange discomfort had taken ahold of him at seeing the man so impotent. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it.