Page 10 of Wicked Lies

Nick pointed to the hall. “The bedrooms are down there.” He kept his distance the whole time he showed her around.

“I won’t be here that long.” His intense gaze unnerved her. Not in a pervy way, but more like he could read her mind and divulge all her secrets. “Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Cheryl stared at the closed door for a few long minutes after he left. Who gave a very nicely decorated apartment to a veritable stranger for the night? For all he knew, she could trash the place or rob him blind.

She realized locking the door was futile since he had a key, but she did it anyway. Her usual suspicious nature seemed to take the night off, probably because she was near exhaustion, but she trusted him too.

4

Nick wrapped his hands around the cool brass railing surrounding the VIP area on the second floor. Bouncers communicated on their headsets while bartenders and waitresses served high-end booze. They employed first-rate DJs and top-notch women who looked more like runway models than strippers. He and Samson had transformed the Oasis from a seedy strip joint to an upscale club where men and women came to enjoy the entertainment on stage.

What a crazy, fucked-up night.The mystery brunette from the Pit was the last damn person Nick expected to see again tonight, and that thought brought on a shit load of questions. Who was she running from, and why did she run to him? Yeah, he’d said to come see him if she needed anything—but two hours later?

He hadn’t liked the way Jimmy treated her at the Pit, but the thought of him putting his hands on her turned his stomach while his brain spun with ways to make the punk regret touching her. His rational mind reminded him he didn’t even know Cheryl, but the memories of the abuse his mother suffered at the hand of his father still surfaced at odd times.

He concentrated on the energy of the Oasis on a Saturday night. It always filled him with pride. Tonight, it distracted him from the unsettling thoughts of Cheryl or how her voice jacked up his heartbeat and made him harder than Bambi’s blowjob. The last thing he needed in his life was another woman.

“I’ve been looking for you all night.” Angela, his club manager and part-time girlfriend, appeared at his side.

“We’re slammed tonight.” Nick jogged his brain back to the present. “I got a lot going on.”

“I’m needed downstairs.” She waved a hand at the crowded club. “One of the girls has a costume malfunction, and as usual, I’m the only one who can fix it.”

She strutted down the stairs and every guy in the place eyeballed her. Angela was all pouty lips, dangerous curves, and constant demands, but the thrill was gone for him.

His phone buzzed, and he fished it out of his pocket.

“Yeah,” Nick grunted.

“I have to tie up a loose end tonight.” Frank always got right to the point. “I won’t be coming by the club.”

“Thank fuck,” Nick mumbled after Frank hung up. One less headache.

An hour later, just after closing, Nick sat in his office and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. Under a false bottom lay his vice, his one guilty pleasure. He carefully removed the cellophane package, laid it on the desk, and inhaled. Good stuff.

Even after all these years, Yodels still returned him to his childhood. Thanks to his jailbird father, money was non-existent, but his mother, a Cuban immigrant with limited English, somehow managed to keep the family together and have this special treat for him. Although his trainer wouldn’t approve, this simple pleasure brought Nick instant happiness.

He’d just shoved the empty package in the trash when Samson sauntered into his office. “I’m surprised to see you in here.”

“Why’s that?”

“Jax said he saw you and some brunette taking the elevator to the third floor, and since the only thing up there is the empty apartment, I figured—”

“Well, you figured wrong, and why the hell is Jax getting in my business?”

“Probably 'cause he can’t stand Angela, and he’s hoping you’ll dump her ass.” The annoying bastard cocked his head in thought. “So who is she, and why is she sacked out upstairs?”

Nick knocked a cig out of the pack on his desk, offered one to Samson, then lit them both up. “She is or was Jimmy Falcone’s girlfriend.”

“That loser has a girlfriend?” Samson twisted his lips. “And according to Jax, a hot girlfriend.”

“Seems so.”

“And why did she come to see you?”

Years of running the streets together, then working side by side for Frank meant they held very few secrets from each other—if any.

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