Page 63 of Wicked Lies

Nick madea swift retreat to the outdoor bar before Cheryl could protest or ask any more questions he didn’t want to answer. He placed his drink order and enjoyed the warm sun on his chest. The huge rectangular bar serviced the pool and the beach, with most of the crowd gathered by the poolside DJ.

“I need to talk to you.” Graciela was at his elbow, and he couldn’t help his sigh of exasperation.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not interested. And would you please drop the phony accent? It grates on my nerves.”

“Fine, be a fuckwad, but you should check that ego, lover boy,” she said in her best Brooklynese. “'Cause this isn’t about you and me.”

“All right, what?” He played along, hoping to speed things up.

Graciela glanced over her shoulder, then leaned into him. “There’s a lot of talk you’re pissing off the wrong people.”

“Story of my life.” Nick brushed off her comment with a wave of his hand.

“No, I mean you’re the topic of everyone’s conversation.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“People who matter.” Graciela paused for effect. “People who say you’re on the run and hiding out because things are hot in New York.”

“Stop talking in code.” The bartender placed his drink in front of him. He downed it, then motioned for another.

Graciela loved to be the center of attention as she dished the latest juicy story.

“You’ve pissed off Frank Barnett, and Carlos has his own problems.”

The bartender placed another drink in front of him, and he raised it to his lips. “Like?” Nick’s heart beat at an irregular pace, but he struggled to concentrate.

“Like somebody running drugs through the club. Selling the shit right out in the open.”

He squinted at her over the glass. “And Carlos knows about this?”

“He does if he knows what business his nephew Alejandro is in.”

Carlos knew his position on drugs in the club, how guns and bloody bodies were bad for business, but he had a soft spot for family.

She bit her bottom lip. “I’d be real careful if I were you.”

His hand grazed the still-tender skin under his eye as he struggled to suck in the humid air.

“Doesn’t mean you and I can’t get together later. Maybe go to LIV.” She let her finger trail down his bare chest and flirt with the waistband of his trunks. “You know, the place with those big stalls in the ladies room where you used to slam me against the wall and tell me I was the best fuck—”

“Stop talking shit.” He turned to block any view Cheryl might have, then yanked her hand away.

“Fine, just stay healthy.”

Nick dragged in a deep breath and picked up their drinks. He wouldn’t share this with Cheryl, but trying to act normal after Graciela’s warning would be difficult. He hadn’t detected any issues with Carlos earlier, but tonight at the club he would examine him closer. Maybe he’d missed some sign, or maybe Graciela was spinning her usual drama queen shit.

Paranoia clutched at his gut and snaked through his nerve endings as he weaved his way to their cabana. The same couples he’d passed on the way to the bar now seemed to be staring at him, and the warm sun and tropical breeze suddenly became hot and steamy.

“What happened to the people who were next to us?” He handed Cheryl her drink.

“I don’t know. They left.”

He checked the cabana on the other side of them, finding it empty too.

“Nick?” She sat up on the lounger.

“Yeah?” He spun around and spilled some of the ice onto the lounger.

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