Page 3 of Wicked Lies

She shook her head in disgust. Then Nick did the same.

“The money,” Nick repeated. “Either you have it, or you don’t.”

“All right.” Jimmy dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “Here’s three grand.”

Nick’s gaze skimmed over them. Then he snatched the banded money from Jimmy’s hand and waved it in front of his face. “Your girlfriend bought you another week.”

Jimmy huffed out a long-held breath. “Now we should have a drink of the good stuff.”

While Jimmy placed their order with the bartender, Nick turned those pitch-black eyes on her. Her pulse pounded under his scrutiny as she tugged at her too-short skirt, then wrapped her arms around her midriff.

“I have a feeling your boyfriend isn’t always so nice.” His stern glare softened. “Nick Santoro. I run the Oasis.” His voice lost its edge, becoming as smooth as honeyed whiskey. “You ever need anything or wanna get outta this dump, come see me.” Nick leaned in close enough for her to get a whiff of his cologne, an exotic mix of musk and sex. “We’re always looking for new talent”—a bolt of heat zipped up her spine—'cause you can do a lot better than him.”

Cheryl opened her mouth to respond, but Jimmy returned and shoved a shot of bourbon in front of Nick.

Nick eyed the glass, stepped back, and pinned Jimmy with a stony glare. “Next week, the usual drop-off.” He glanced around the seedy room. “Don’t make me come back to this shithole again.”

When Nick spun around to her, he winked so quickly she thought she’d imagined it. Then without another word, he wove his way toward the door.

“Fuckin’ guy, coming in here and talking to me like that.” Jimmy shot one bourbon, then the other. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Cheryl stared as Nick disappeared into the crowd. “Apparently, the manager of the Oasis.”

“What?” Jimmy glared at her.

“Nothing.”

“Mr. High and Mighty must’ve pissed somebody off if he’s down here making collections.” Jimmy jostled Cheryl away from the bar and into the back hallway, caging her against the wall. “Thanks to you, we’re out three grand.”

She loved the way he said “we”when it was Jimmy who squandered all their money on bad bets and drugs.

He jerked away from her and paced the small, cramped hallway. “I saw how you were looking at him, but a guy like him wouldn’t waste his time with you.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the fantasy her brain conjured up with Nick, her knight in black Brioni, as the lead role.

The loud music, clinking glasses, and rough laughter faded away. Nick held her close, not able to wait, both of them breathless. He nuzzled her neck, the scratch of his stubbled jaw leaving a trail over her skin. Hot, sweet, and slow. His hands roamed, then palming her ass, he lifted Cheryl until she could feel his—

Jimmy grabbed her wrist and shouted, “You listening to me?”

“Yes.” Her fantasy zapped like a cartoon cloud. What was wrong with her? The last thing she needed was another bad boy in her life.

“I didn’t hear you complaining when you were sucking down champagne in those uptown clubs.” He loomed over her. “Now all of a sudden you’re some kinda goddamn princess just 'cause we hit hard times.”

The whiskey on his breath made her dizzy, and the drugs in his system made her wary. “Let’s not do this now.” Cheryl slipped around him, gambling if she put some distance between them, he would settle down.

She made it to the edge of the main room. The crowd shifted, and she saw him: Nick Santoro—standing by the entrance, neck craned, eyes searching. A frantic impulse urged her toward him. Then Jimmy swooped up from behind, hustled her back down the hall, and out the side door into the alley.

2

Nick brushed the invisible dirt off his shirt as he stood outside the Pit. The place made him want to shower, then run to his dry cleaner.

He sucked in a deep breath, hoping for some fresh air, but the stink of garbage surrounded him. It clung to everything, including the decaying housing project two blocks away where he’d spent most of his twenty-six years trying to forget. One whiff, and it all flooded back, but Nick didn’t need any reminders. His memory was crystal clear—running wild in the streets, doing anything to make a buck.

It’d been rough, but he and Samson worked their way up. Frank Barnett knew talent when he saw it and put them in charge of the Oasis, a strip club that washed all his dirty money. Then Nick and Samson made the Oasis a success beyond Frank’s wildest dreams. They raked in stacks of legal cash daily, but Frank still liked to drag Nick back to his past and keep him in line with side jobs like tonight.

Freedom.

He’d surrendered that years ago in exchange for money and power.

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