Page 5 of Wicked Lies

Jimmy slapped his palm against the brick wall, inches from her head. “Don’t get any ideas about leaving me for that guy 'cause I taught you everything I know.”

She flinched but refused to cower. “Everything about being a thief.”

“And that’s all you are and all you’ll ever be.” He squeezed her jaw between his thumb and forefinger.

“I can be what ever I want.” Cheryl twisted her head out of his grasp. “And I can go where ever I want.”

“Where you gonna go? Back to your whore of a mother.” He raised his massive forearm and wedged it against her throat. “She don’t want you either.”

Jimmy always knew where to hit, exactly where it hurt the most.

She pawed at his arm. “All right, stop.”

He eased up the pressure, and she forced down the bile in the back of her throat as a primal warning shot through her nerve endings.

“I knew you’d come around.” His calloused fingers scratched against the raw skin of her neck.

“Let’s not fight.” Cheryl ran her hands up his chest, parted her lips, and when he moved in to kiss her, she pushed him hard.

“Bitch!” He staggered, and she darted around him.

“It’s over, Jimmy!” She hadn’t planned on confronting him, but anger and impulse were her worst enemies.

“We’re not over until I say we’re over.” He lunged at her, and she sidestepped away from him. Cheryl had seen that feral look in his eyes before and had to act—now.

His bloodshot eyes burned into her. “Stop playin’ before you really make me mad.”

She spun around, her heart thudding against her throat.

Jimmy faltered over the garbage-strewn passageway, and she used the few seconds to her advantage. The side door was closer than she thought. She scrambled to stay calm, but the adrenaline surging through her hot-wired her nerves. Cheryl’s brain screamedrun.

The heavy thud of his boots against the concrete closed in behind her, then his thick hand clamped onto her shoulder. She jerked to a stop, every muscle taut and ready to spring. Her gaze darted right and left, seeking an escape route.

“Where you goin’, huh?” He jerked her around, and she drove the heel of her stiletto into his foot.

“Shit!” He fisted her tank top with one hand and backhanded her with the other. A wave of dizziness rocked her. Drunk and high, yet he still overpowered her.

He raised his hand again, and Cheryl reached into her bra. She pulled out the knife he’d given her long ago for protection, hit the tiny button on the side, and a long, menacing blade appeared.

“What the fuck are you doin’ now?” Jimmy mocked as the knife’s silvery metal flashed. The heavy thump of her heart drowned out all sound as she sliced it through the air between them, warning him to stay back.

“Give me that, or you’ll be sorry.” Jimmy dove for her, stumbled, then swayed and pitched forward. The pressure of his body drove the blade deep. His stoned eyes flickered. He clutched his middle, and she jerked her hand away—the knife still embedded in Jimmy’s gut.

A gurgling erupted from the back of his throat. Their eyes locked, his frozen in disbelief. He twitched a few times, then doubled over and collapsed. A steady stream of blood seeped over the bricks and under some busted crates.

Cheryl concentrated on her breathing as it sawed in and out of her lungs. Her stomach churned, and she wrapped her arms around herself, desperate to force down the sickening nausea. She kneeled beside him and pressed her bloody fingertips against his neck. Nothing. She pushed harder and felt a pulse. Weak but there.

Relief flowed through her as she struggled to focus. Call 911? Be arrested for stabbing her drugged-up boyfriend outside a dive bar? There were bound to be a shit ton of questions, and what if they didn’t believe it was self-defense? What if they slapped the cuffs on her and carted her away? There were no guarantees, especially for people with no money and no power. She refused to depend on a system that failed her so many times as a child.

Freedom.

She’d come so close.

Cheryl backed away from the pooling blood. Her first instinct was to run up to their apartment, grab her money and vanish, but then guilt consumed her.

She couldn’t just leave him there bleeding out. Sure, he turned out to be an asshole, but they’d had some good times in the beginning—enjoying the beach and eating hot dogs at Coney Island. She’d call 911 and stay with him until she heard the sirens, then she’d get her money and disappear.

The side door creaked, and the slap of leather-soled shoes against the uneven stones broke the silence. She scrambled behind some crates stacked against the brick wall, grabbed up a discarded newspaper, and wiped Jimmy’s blood off her hands.

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