Page 4 of Wicked Lies

Nick needed a drink. Not the cheap bourbon out of a dirty glass Jimmy offered, but a high-end scotch or a smooth tequila from his private stock. That would wash away the bad memories and make him forget nights like this, the Pit, Frank, Jimmy—but not the brunette.

Fuck. He didn’t even know her name, which was a damn shame. He liked to put a name to his fantasies, and he had a strong suspicion she’d be a headliner for the next few days. Her thick, wavy hair teased the middle of her back and brushed the swell of her breasts. She wore those skimpy clothes like a fashion model. All long legs, curvy hips, and a tiny waist that belonged on a runway, not hanging out with Jimmy Falcone in a dump like the Pit.

He’d expected her to be all over him, trying to seduce him into giving Jimmy a pass, but instead, she’d wrapped her arms around herself, covering her sexy shape said shy and almost embarrassed. If she washed off the heavy makeup, she’d look like the girl next door, not a small-time hustler.

Her gaze followed Nick the entire time he talked to Jimmy, anticipating the worst, on point, and ready to bolt. Not that he would’ve blamed her. Hooking up with that loser and hanging out at the Pit were two of her worst life decisions.

Either way, they hadn’t exchanged more than four sentences, but a reckless desire to save her overwhelmed him. Then telling her to look him up? It didn’t make sense, but when she flashed those pleading green eyes at him, he felt the connection.

And yeah, she felt it too.

The cash weighed heavy in his pocket and reminded him of bigger problems than the fate of a hot brunette, like the phone call he had to make. Frank in a good mood unnerved him, but not getting all his money from a lowlife like Jimmy would make him unbearable.

He swiped his contact list and prepared for the worst.

“Yeah,” Frank answered before the first ring ended.

“I got three grand.” Frank liked bad news fast.

“Should’ve been ten.”

“Better than five hundred,” Nick countered.

“Five hundred?” Frank stretched out the two words.

“Yeah, that’s what he first offered.”

“You do anything about it?”

“Figured he’s more useful in one piece.” Some payment was better than none, and a thief with mangled fingers or broken arms couldn’t work. “Stupid fucker even tried to pawn off his girlfriend.”

Silence. Never a good sign.

“Girlfriend, huh?” Frank’s voice was tight. “You taking the rest of my money out in trade?”

Nick frowned into the phone. “Fuck no.” He spat the words out fast, then couldn’t stop the fantasy that popped up in his brain.

He’d go back in the Pit and drag her away from Jimmy. It would get crazy quick. Hot, wet kisses. Sweet and dirty up against a wall, a door, or any flat surface where he could wrap those incredible legs around his hips, and sink into her so deep—

“Did you hear what I said?” Frank shouted into the phone, shattering the best part of his night.

“Yeah . . . What?”

“I said,” Frank slowed his voice as if talking to a child, “I’ll be by the Oasis later.”

Code for he’d bring a duffle bag of money Nick would finesse through the club’s account. Fuckin’ wonderful. Bad enough Frank degraded him into collecting tonight, but now he’d have to entertain him too. The call disconnected, and Nick shoved the phone into his pocket.

On impulse, he spun around and pushed through the splintered wooden door of the Pit again. Maybe he’d make his fantasy come true. He fixed on the spot at the end of the bar where he’d seen her last, then scanned the room. No sign of her or Jimmy. He didn’t want to think about where they were or what they were doing, so he left.

He hoped the walk back to the Oasis would straighten him out. Maybe it would smooth out his nerves, and he could finish his illusion about a woman he planned on investigating until he knew all her secrets.

* * *

The steamy nightair wrapped around Cheryl’s bare legs, and her spike heels caught on the uneven cobblestones as Jimmy half dragged, half lifted her around the broken beer bottles, mangled shopping carts, and overflowing dumpsters. Midway down the narrow passage, he stopped and shoved her against the crumbling brick wall. She tasted the sweet stink of discarded liquor and day-old garbage in the back of her throat while a neon sign cast an eerie greenish shadow across Jimmy’s face.

“What kinda fuckin’ game are you playing?”

“What do you mean?” She forced her voice into coy innocence.

---