Page 1 of Wicked Lies

1

Brooklyn 2013

Cheryl bit the inside of her cheek to keep the snarky remark bouncing around her brain from slipping out of her mouth. Having to endure the blaring heavy metal music from scratchy speakers and the cloud of weed and cigarette smoke wafting through the Pit was bad enough, but if this asshole tried to grab her ass again, he’d find out how she became the star of her high school soccer team.

“Here you go, gentlemen.” Cheryl laid their change down on the table.

“Hey, she called us ‘gentlemen,’” the guy with the biggest beer gut hollered over the din of rowdy customers. “She sure don’t know us very well.” His equally annoying buddies guffawed and joined in with fist bumps and backslaps.

“It was my pleasure to serve you tonight.” She lingered at the side of the quietest one in the group.

“I’ll give you something to service.” Big Mouth leered, making a repulsive hand gesture.

She smiled sweetly, keeping Big Mouth engaged while leaning in just enough to give the others a glimpse of her best attributes. “Maybe next time, handsome.”

Thewhoopsand hollers continued as she slowly straightened her back. Cheryl hit them with one more smile, then turned, giving her hips an extra twist as she walked away.

A fight broke out at the bar as the crowd closed in behind her. Bouncers intervened, but not before some punches were thrown and glasses were broken. Just another Saturday night working at the Pit—one of the sleaziest strip joints in Brooklyn.

Cheryl opened her palm and fanned through the wad of cash she’d swiped from Big Mouth—at least three hundred bucks. It was a small compensation for putting up with his grabby hands and lewd remarks all night, but it would make a nice addition to her escape fund.

At twenty-two, Cheryl’s level of expertise assured the mark never realized they’d been fleeced. The thrill was her addiction, but the usual adrenaline rush left her nauseous lately.

She walked toward Jimmy, slumped in his usual perch at the far end of the bar. His only concern was whether or not he could pay off the long list of bookies he held at bay. He hadn’t paid his share of the rent of their crappy apartment upstairs in months—reason number one why Cheryl took a waitress job at the Pit.

“Bullet should be here soon.” Jimmy nudged a cigarette out of the pack on the bar, then lit it with the butt of the old one pinched between his forefinger and thumb. “It’s important we put this deal together, ya know?” He grabbed her wrist and snatched the money out of her palm.

Damn, her preoccupation with escaping made her careless.

Jimmy rifled through the cash. “Not bad.”

Cheryl once believed Jimmy’s every word. His smoldering good looks, schemes, and promises had captivated and rescued her from the horror of living on the streets. He’d showered her with the affection she craved and introduced her to a life she'd never known—five-star hotels, designer clothes, and celebrity nightclubs. They ran high-end cons out of some of the best hotels and bars in New York. Now, Jimmy was just another ragged-jeaned hood who sniffed and twitched from too much coke, reduced to meeting up with small-time losers like Bullet in dumps like the Pit.

But Cheryl couldn’t blame her life of crime on Jimmy. That started ten years ago when her mother went missing for days, leaving twelve-year-old Cheryl to fend for herself. She soon realized a big-eyed innocent expression worked perfectly as her nimble fingers lifted watches, wallets, and cell phones.

Then her legs got longer, her boobs grew, and her childhood innocence morphed into a shapely figure with much more power. What started as a means to survive became a bad habit she desperately wanted to break.

“I know this place is a few steps down from what we’re used to, but I’m working on a big score.” Jimmy tapped his fingers against the scarred bar top.

A few steps down? A year ago, they’d rented suites in upscale hotels, ordered room service, and lounged at VIP tables in the hottest clubs. This was more than just their decline in status—lately, Cheryl had been restless. Her heart wasn’t in it any longer, and the conscience she’d thought long deserted her returned at the most unexpected times.

“I don’t want much, Jimmy.”

She once loved the anticipation of a new job and the excitement of pulling it all together in a choreographed routine she perfected. Taking on a unique persona allowed her to leave behind the little girl who had to grow up much too soon.

Jimmy leaned into her, and she pulled away. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.” She forced a smile, hoping it covered her thoughts.

She’d even given Sal, their chain-smoking landlord, a sob story when the rent was due. He always looked three breaths away from a heart attack anyway. By that time, Cheryl would be long gone from Brooklyn and done with this life, escaping to where she didn’t go to bed at three in the morning and wake up after noon.

A nine-to-five life. A straight life. A life with more daylight.

Freedom.

Cheryl forfeited that when she falsely believed Jimmy cared about her. He tutored her in the fine art of the con, and her teenage heart said his attention meant something when in reality, she was just his pawn.

“You’ll see, we’ll be back on top again. I just gotta put this deal together with Bullet, and then we’ll be riding high again.”

---