Page 22 of Wicked Lies

Samson nodded toward the other side of the room, and Cheryl took the lead with him close behind, his heavy footsteps echoing through the cavernous space. She schooled her emotions so that by the time they reached the bar, her game face was firmly in place.

Samson lifted the bridge of the service counter, and she scurried to the other side, happy to have the thick granite between her and Samson’s glare. The square bar hummed with other bartenders setting up for a busy night.

Samson waved his hand, and a tall redhead made her way over to them. “This is Cheryl, a new hire. Show her the POS and how it all works.” He threw Cheryl one more dour look, then turned in the opposite direction.

“Hi, I’m Tina.” The girl smiled as she took in Cheryl from head to toe.

Frank’s calm, cool voice echoed in her head, but the revelation that Nick and Samson worked for him blew her away. Another fuck up in a long line of lifetime fuck ups. What were the odds? Probably pretty good, considering the Oasis always had the rep of being mob-owned.

Cheryl listened to Tina’s instructions, but her ability to do two things at once allowed her another startling observation—Nick was collecting for Frank at the Pit, and when Frank didn’t get his money, he came to finish the job. Did Nick refuse to do it? No, she doubted anyone refused Frank Barnett, which meant Nick must’ve known Jimmy was dead. Her gaze flitted over the room, catching Samson and Frank in a private conversation.

“Okay, now let me show you where we store the extra liquor.”

Cheryl followed Tina to the other side of the bar, but her mind refused to comprehend the matter-of-fact way Frank pinned Jimmy’s murder on her or how Nick and Samson both worked for him. Fact and illusion collided, and a deadly chill slithered up her spine.

“Are you all right?” Tina cocked her head at Cheryl.

“Sorry, my mind drifted for a minute.” Drifted to how easy it would be for a thug like Frank, who owned the place she now worked, to pin a gruesome murder on her with a few well-placed phone calls.

* * *

Later that night,the foggy mist over the harbor hovered around Nick like a sweaty hand. It coated his throat and filled his lungs as murky water lapped against the pilings.

He used to love coming down to the docks as a kid. Even shivering with the icy wind howling off the East River, he would dream about living in one of those luxury Manhattan penthouses someday. He’d watch the comings and goings outside Frank’s warehouse and how the guys wearing custom suits and designer clothes zipped around in flashy cars.

They seemed to have it all.

Now he wore designer clothes and drove a luxury SUV. But taking Frank’s shit and meeting with a pissed-off Russian mob boss on a misty waterside dock fucked with the dream. Like a rat trapped in a burning building with hot flames licking at his back, Nick feared running higher and higher until the only way was down.

The full moon and the warehouse security lights cast eerie shadows over the men as they assembled. Nick would’ve rather had a root canal without Novocain than stand on this splintered pier. Valentin, Yuri’s successor, faced off with Nick. Samson and Jax stood to his side while Valentin’s goon twitched and rocked on the balls of his feet.

What a joke. Valentin was just another guy on the take who didn’t give a shit about anything as long as his rep was firmly in place. And thanks to Frank, they had to do business with this hothead and a tweaker on a deserted pier.

“Hey, Nick, haven’t seen you down here in a while,” Valentin goaded. “Taking time off from your cushy job at the Oasis? Not like you to get your hands dirty.”

“It’s real simple.” Nick ignored Valentin’s sarcasm. “You stay in your lane and out of ours.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” Valentin’s Russian accent had a weird Brooklyn twist.

“It means you keep your fuckin’ hands off what’s ours.”

Valentin shifted, jerked his head toward his partner, and then back at Nick. “And what do we get in return?”

“Nothing.” Nick stiffened until his back ached with tension.

“You know the rules, Nick.” Valentin waved his arms around. “You gotta give us something.”

“I don’t gotta give you shit.”

Samson huffed out a dark laugh.

“You think you can come here and tell us what to do after your boss killed our comrade in cold blood?”

“Who the fuck are you kiddin’? Yuri’s death was the best thing that ever happened to you. If we hadn’t done it, you probably would’ve iced him yourself just to grab the top spot.”

Valentin’s thin lips rolled inward in a smirky grin. “I heard you were smart, but that still doesn’t mean we’re gonna roll over without any incentive.”

“Your incentive will be walking away from here tonight.” Nick moved close enough to smell whatever garlic-laced food Valentin ate for dinner.

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