Page 6 of Wicked Lies

Shadows from the ancient security lights cast a shadow over a man exiting the door. He headed straight for Jimmy’s body, crouched down next to him, and pressed his fingers against his neck. Two heartbeats later, he pulled the knife out of his stomach, paused, looked over his shoulder, then sliced it across Jimmy’s throat. His head lolled to the side as a thin line of blood seeped from his neck.

Cheryl flinched and shoved her fist in her mouth to choke back the scream. In under five minutes, she’d stabbed someone and then witnessed a murder—totally fucked up, even for her screwy life.

A manic desire to laugh bubbled up inside her. The ground tilted, and she grabbed onto a stack of wooden crates. The top one teetered, and she reached out to steady it a second too late. It crashed onto the cobblestones and echoed against the narrow passage. Cheryl slammed her back against the brick wall, using the remaining crates for cover to make herself invisible while squeezing her eyes shut. If she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her, right?

Yeah, that theory stopped working in kindergarten.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and peered through the broken slats. Her theory must’ve worked because the guy ignored the falling crate. He was too busy ransacking Jimmy’s pockets, coming up with the three hundred bucks she’d lifted. Talk about karma. When he stood and turned toward the light, she gasped again.

Frank Barnett.

Brooklyn thug, suspected money launderer, extortionist, and murderer, the famed criminal was shorter than she imagined, but his reputation was feared throughout the five boroughs.

He whipped out his phone and mumbled into it, probably arranging the disposal of Jimmy’s body. Cheryl used this distraction to crouch down lower and watch his next move. She prayed he’d return through the side door because he’d have to pass her if he used the alley, and she’d be exposed for sure.

Frank ended the phone call, stood still for another few seconds, then headed her way, which wasn't a surprise. She’d given up on heavenly intervention long ago.

Cheryl’s brain said to run fast and hard, but her heart couldn’t resist one last glance at Jimmy’s lifeless body. Frank’s gaze flickered, and although at least twenty feet were between them, his cold dark eyes chilled her. Predatory and lawless. Cheryl’s instincts kicked in when his feet shifted in her direction.

She ran out of the alley, onto the sidewalk, and weaved her way down another narrow passageway, incredibly fast considering the stupid stilettos she balanced on rubber legs. Lungs burning and feet aching, she wound her way past the burned-out buildings and abandoned warehouses creating a tangled maze—a labyrinth she’d been familiar with since childhood.

When her feet were numb and her breathing seared her lungs she stopped, Cheryl braced both hands on her knees and sucked in sweet oxygen until she no longer gasped. She peeked over her shoulder, relieved to see no one except for the homeless who took up camp around the vacant buildings.

For a brief second, she sent up a prayer of thanks, but the relief quickly evaporated as she reviewed the highlights of her night.

Cheryl had witnessed a murder by a key crime figure—a dangerous man who would end her without a second thought. Frank had seen her, and although the lighting was shitty, his criminal superpowers probably gave him night vision. And scariest of all, he hadn’t chased after her. Why would he? With his army of goons, finding her would be easier than slicing Jimmy’s throat.

Oh yeah, she was fucked.

3

Cheryl’s escape plan would have to wait until she returned to the Pit and retrieved the cash she’d stashed, but returning to the crime scene made her knees weak. Jimmy’s lifeless body flashed through her brain. She never wanted it to end this way. Where had the time gone? Where had her life gone?

Her head swiveled in every direction as paranoia kicked in big time. She expected the screaming of police sirens any minute. She envisioned the cold metal cuffs tight around her wrists as she sat in the interrogation room while the cops read off all her priors.

Even the people she passed on the sidewalk seemed to look at her weirdly, but of course, that was all in her head. Cheryl needed to get off the street, lose herself in a crowd, and hideout for a few hours until it was safe to venture back to her apartment over the Pit. She pulled out her phone, swiped a few times, and her plan materialized. It was a long shot for sure, but she’d been working the angles all her life—although the stakes never included witnessing a mob hit.

Cheryl walked several blocks and kept her head down until she stared at the glitzy sign glimmering in the night sky. She remembered it as a crappy strip joint only a few steps up from the Pit, not this newly renovated building.

The Oasis.

The club beckoned to her. A safe haven, an oasis—maybe coming here was a good omen. What better place to hide out than a nightclub full of people?

She crossed the street, hoping against hope the dangerous stranger, Nick, was a man of his word. Few men were, but maybe this once. How sad that her only refuge was a guy she didn’t even know?

Jimmy made sure she lost what few girlfriends she had. He liked her sole attention on him, and like every other wrong decision she ever made, Cheryl gave in because it was easier. She hated the woman she’d become and swore on the money stashed in her backpack to make better choices in the future.

The first change would be the stupid stilettos. Her fuckin’ feet were on fire, and it was all she could do to walk without limping.

“Whatever happens, I need to make some big changes,” she said into the muggy night air. “Just not tonight.”

She recited Nick’s offer in her head.If you ever need anything, come see me.

However, he probably wasn't expecting her outside his club two hours later.

She inhaled more damp humidity, adjusted her top for maximum cleavage, threw back her shoulders, and prepared for her biggest con ever: convincing a guy she barely knew to help her.

Cheryl ignored the ridiculous line winding around the block as she crossed the street and went straight to the entrance. The muscle-bound doorman stepped forward and blocked her way. She beamed at him with more confidence than she felt as his gaze ran over her micro mini and skin-tight tank top. Men were so predictable, but tonight she’d make it work to her advantage.

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