Page 54 of Wicked Lies

“You asked for the forecast. Don’t get mad at the weatherman 'cause he says it’s gonna rain.”

A silence fell between the two men. Nick had Samson’s back when his life crashed and burned last year, then called him out when he decided to bury himself in a pile of coke. They’d been through it all, and Nick trusted him with his life, but Samson was wrong this time. Nick was sure of it.

“One of the club promoters asked me last week how we get so many people to the Oasis.” Nick laid the ice pack on the coffee table. “I told him it’s because we came up the hard way, and people know we’re still keeping it real. We know what people want before they do. You can’t teach that.”

“So how do you see it?” Samson lifted an eyebrow. “We go legit, Frank rolls over, and everybody lives happily ever after? This ain’t some sappy Disney movie; this is the real fuckin’ thing.”

“This is our time.”

“It’s too risky now.” Samson nodded between them. “And your face and my ribs are proof.”

“Fuck, back in the day you had bigger balls than me. Now you’re talking abut risks and rolling over. I’m not letting that bastard take it away from us.” Nick pierced Samson with a hard look. “He’s already taken enough.”

Samson’s lips twitched, and Nick knew a silent movie played through his brain, recalling all the shit they’d done for Frank and gotten nothing in return. When Samson’s face clouded over, Nick knew he had him. Because of Frank, Samson lost the only woman he’d probably ever cared about.

Samson nodded. “Fuckin’ do it.”

17

Cheryl’s shoes echoed in the empty stairwell as she trudged up the steps, making the three flights seem like an eternity. On the second-floor landing, she braced her hand against the banister, then reached down and freed her feet from the shoes holding them prisoner.

Waitressing and bartending had to be the two hardest jobs on the planet when it came to tolerance, resilience, and overall stamina. Sadly, most people sucked, and in the service industry, the assholes came out to play. They were the only straight jobs she’d ever held, which almost allowed her to rationalize her life of crime.

Sure, there were the nice, respectful customers who didn’t treat her like their personal slave, but then there were the others. Like the woman tonight who claimed her first Cosmo was too strong and the next one too weak, and when it was time to pay, she claimed she never even ordered a Cosmo. Then, there were the usual guys with the grabby hands who thought Cheryl was their personal blowup doll for the night. But even they were more bearable than the morons who saw a woman in a short skirt and demeaned them with their condescending attitude.

Finally reaching the third floor, Cheryl yanked the metal door open and walked the short way down the hall. She opened the apartment door and reveled in the silence and joy of being alone except for Samson recuperating in the other bedroom. The dim under-counter lights in the kitchen were bright enough for her to make her way to the bedroom she’d used for the last week.

She calculated that in another two weeks, she’d have enough to leave, and until then, she’d keep her head down, collect her pay, and leave without a word. It would’ve been much too easy to stay in Nick’s penthouse and let him take care of her, which was the main reason she needed to go. Cheryl had learned long ago thateasyvery seldom remained easy, and sooner or later, a price had to be paid. Cheryl would send Nick what she owed him after she got settled wherever she landed, and in the end, it would be best for both of them. The last thing Nick needed was another problem—or another woman.

Thoughts of leaving brought on mixed emotions, but staying in New York wasn’t healthy on so many levels. The most obvious was Frank’s threats and manipulation, but her feelings for Nick were far more dangerous.

Nick had the power to undo Cheryl in ways she hadn’t thought possible, ways she never imagined lived anywhere but between the covers of romance novels. There was no comparison between Nick and Jimmy, but she couldn’t allow herself to get entangled with another man. Any man. It scared her, but Cheryl needed to be alone for a while if she was ever to move forward. Nick probably went back to the very bitchy Angela anyway.

She’d force herself to forget how he held her in his arms, made her feel safe for the first time—ever, and the sound of his voice when he whispered in her ear during sex. She’d make herself forget everything about him. Yeah, right.

Cheryl eased the bedroom door open, dropped her shoes on the floor, and let her body relax. She flipped on the bedside light and froze.

“Shit!” The air huffed out of her lungs as her hand flew to her chest.

“Hey.”

“What are you—? You scared the shit outta me.”

“You look tired.” Nick’s low rasp filled the room.

“Really, 'cause I feel as though I’m about to have a heart attack. Maybe in your world, sitting in someone’s dark bedroom is common practice.”

“Technically, it’s my bedroom, and I’m loaning it to you, so . . .”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes to avoid Nick’s tantalizing smirk and how his outstanding body slouched in the chair.

“I didn’t like how things ended the other night.”

“So you thought scaring me shitless was the way to go?”

He barked out a laugh, then winced. “Good one.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. And yes, I know this is your room, your apartment, and you can do anything you like, but really, waiting for me in the dark at three o’clock in the morning?” She planted her hands on her hips for effect. “What are you doing here? Better yet, what happened to Angela? I would’ve assumed you’d be back with her.”

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