Page 49 of Wicked Lies

“And how would that work?”

“We leave and go to Mexico till all this shit cools down.” Even he couldn’t believe he’d said it. Nick never imagined he’d sound like one of those sappy movies, but it didn’t matter as long as they were together.

“What would that accomplish? When we came back we’d have the same issues and problems.” Cheryl nodded toward the other room. “And what about Angela? I heard just about every word she said, and gossip around the club says she’s not a woman who gives up easily or takes no for an answer.”

“Did you also hear the part where I told her we were over?”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t make any more bad decisions.”

He furrowed his brow. “Bad decisions?”

“Not you, not us.” She touched his cheek. “But don’t feel because of what happened between us that you have to—”

His brain zeroed in on the word “us.”He huffed out a breath. “You don’t get it.” He hoped his words would make sense. “I’m not the guy who saves the girl or the guy who does the right thing.”

“I know, but . . .”

“I can’t explain it, but I just know I want you in my life—and believe me, I’m not that guy.”

“Well, that’s certainly true.”

They whipped around to see Angela standing in the doorway, assessing the situation.

“I knew it.” Angela marched into the room. “You see a woman, and you just have to screw her?” She spewed her venom on Cheryl. “I hate to break it to you, honey, but Nick can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Don’t,” Nick warned.

“No, I think this poor girl should know about you.” Angela got in Cheryl’s face, but she didn’t flinch. “We have about twenty dancers, and I’d say he’s screwed at least half of them.” Angela faced him. “Right, Nick?”

“That’s enough.”

“Fine, tell her I’m wrong,” Angela dared. “Tell her you haven’t slept with half the women in this club, plus the rich and famous clientele who find you so irresistible.”

Cheryl squared her shoulders and faced Angela. “If everything you say is true, it looks like you were the bigger fool for staying with him.”

Nick’s lips kicked up into a smirk. He’d seen Angela make the toughest dancers in the club cry over a ripped costume, yet Cheryl stood up to her. He wanted to pull her into his arms just for being so gutsy.

Angela opened her mouth to retaliate, but Cheryl had already stormed off.

“Cheryl, wait,” He called after her as she ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.

They stared at the door as Angela geared up for round two. “So, what was going on here?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious, don’t you?” The smell of sex still hung in the air, but he had no remorse, and Angela knew it.

“You broke up with me for her?” Angela sneered. “Jimmy Falcone’s leftovers?”

Angela went right for the jugular. Attack or be killed.

“It’s time for you to go.” He turned away from her and half expected something to whiz past his head. Angela had a crazy fucking temper, and he found himself ducking some of his finest glassware more than once.

“I’ll go, but don’t think you can shut me out because I’ll make you pay.” She stood her ground. “Or maybe you forget just how powerful Frank’s influence is in this city.”

He spun around. “You won’t make me do anything, and you’ll be sorry if you try.” He kept his voice dangerously low. “Now get out.”

Angela’s tawny complexion bloomed with red blotches. Her eyes flickered with a million deadly thoughts before she stomped out of the bedroom. He followed her, and when she toppled a priceless vase to punctuate her dramatic exit, he wasn’t surprised.

He whipped out his phone and called Cheryl, but it went straight to voicemail. He tried texting but had a feeling it wouldn’t be returned either. Who could blame her for shutting him out after that shit show?

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