Page 7 of Wicked Lies

“I know the owner, Nick Santoro.” His frown told her he’d heard that line a million times. “It’s important I find him.” She threw back her shoulders, making her tits nearly pop over the top of the flimsy material.

The bouncer’s eyes widened, then he stepped to the side and spoke to the other bouncer. She shifted her feet and thought about rushing the line when he turned to her.

He’s in his office upstairs.” His quick nod looked like a facial tic. “Take the elevator in the back to the second floor.”

“Thanks.” Cheryl moved past him, afraid any eye contact would make him change his mind.

Being lost and invisible in the pulsating club scene and out of the dampness felt good. She felt protected by the throng of strangers flowing and meshing around her, forming one colossal, out-of-control party. House music pounded from the DJ booth as Victoria’s Secret look-a-likes danced on raised pedestals in skimpy outfits.

On another night, at another time, Cheryl would’ve enjoyed the slight buzz from the one extra drink that made the world seem bright and shiny. Dressed to attract, she’d work the room, scoping out the plethora of designer watches, gold chains, and wallets jutting out of back pockets. She and Jimmy would’ve . . .

Her heart kicked up, and her palms began to sweat. Loud conversation collided with pulsing music while musky cologne and the sweet scents of perfume surrounded her. She felt like a snowball on a tropical island—out of place and melting fast.

Cheryl fought for composure in the elevator. She needed to be on her A-game if this was to work—charming with an ounce of seduction—a role she’d played many times but never with so much on the line.

She and Jimmy never carried credit cards because they were too easy to track. They did all their dealings in cash, and right now, the bulk of it was in the apartment. All she needed from Nick was money to get a room for the night, steer clear of the street, and stay away from the cops. She’d even promise to Venmo what she owed him just to prove a positive change in herself.

One level up, Cheryl stepped off the elevator and surveyed the space. To her left was a smaller, more intimate area, which appeared to be for VIP clients, and to her right was a hallway. Two doors on one side were marked as restrooms. Perfect. She ducked into the ladies’ room and gave her blood stained hands a good scrub. She dried them, then smoothed them over her head to tame her hair.

Shit! Cheryl stared at her image in the mirror, noticing the red mark on her temple from Jimmy’s slap. She ran the cold water and patted her skin, but of course, that did nothing, so she angled her hair over to that side of her face. Not great, but better. She gave herself a mental pep talk to calm her racing heart, drew in another deep breath, and exited the restroom.

Further down the hallway were two closed, unmarked doors. Cheryl stopped by the first door and knocked. When she didn’t get an answer, she banged louder. Still no response, so she tried the doorknob, and it turned. She pushed the door open, stepped inside, and froze.

A guy leaned against a massive desk while a topless redhead gave him a very energetic blowjob.

“Ohh, sorry.” Cheryl hadn’t expected to interrupt her own personal porn show. The guy’s head jerked up and turned in her direction as the redhead released him with a pop.

Wow. Nick Santoro.

“Shit.” He jerked around so fast that he sent the redhead to the floor. “Jax,” he bellowed.

“Who the hell is she?” the redhead shrieked.

A guy built like a mountain pushed through the office door a few seconds later.

“Where the hell were you?” Nick yelled at the block of cement.

“Sorry boss, had to take a leak.”

Nick’s open shirt hung off his shoulders, revealing long, tatted muscular arms and taut abs exactly as she’d envisioned them at the Pit. Her gaze traveled to his sexy-as-hellV,where his abs met his hips, and the fine hairs traveled south to his—

“What the fuck?” His voice was rough like he’d spent the night—getting a blow job.

Nick’s eyes, like hard pieces of black coal, bore into her. She hadn’t noticed the stubble along his jawline earlier. Perhaps it was intended or the result of too many nights like this one. So much for Prince Charming coming to her aid, although the sight of his smooth bronze skin as he righted his shirt and pants rendered her speechless. Cheryl’s rehearsed plan vanished and was replaced with ridiculous mental gibberish.

Sorry for interrupting your blowjob, but I’m the girl from the Pit—the one with the loser boyfriend who, by the way, will never pay his gambling debt 'cause he was murdered by a notorious mob boss.

“Do you always barge in without knocking?” he asked.

“Do you always get blowjobs in your office?” she countered.

His lips curved, and she didn’t know if he was amused or thinking of ways to kill her. Either way, after stabbing Jimmy and then witnessing his murder, she was in no position to judge what Nick did in his private office. Although, he really should consider locking the door.

The muscle appeared at her side, wrapping his meaty hand around her bicep. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Nick nodded to the bouncer, and he released her but stayed glued to her side waiting for his boss’s next command.

“Jax, take Bambi downstairs.”

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