Beyond Paradise Read online

  Silence and then the phone disconnected. She prayed that for once Dylan would act responsibly and do as she instructed because there was too much at stake to screw up.

  She swiped her phone, sucked in a deep breath, turned and stared into Nicky’s narrowed, accusing eyes.

  Chapter 2

  Jonny brushed the invisible dirt off his shirt as he stood outside the Oasis. Just being inside the place made him want to take a shower, then run to his dry cleaner.

  He sucked in a deep breath hoping for some fresh air, but the smell of rotten fish and stagnant water surrounded him. A stench that clung to everything. Including the decaying tenement two blocks away that he’d spent most of his twenty-nine years trying to forget. One whiff and it all flooded in, but he didn’t need any reminders. His memory was crystal clear.

  Running wild in the streets, doing anything to make a buck. It’d been rough, but he’d worked his way up. Frank Barnett knew talent when he saw it and made him the frontman for the Paradise Lounge, the man’s legitimate money washing machine. Jonny made the Paradise a hit and raked in stacks of legal cash, but Frank still liked to drag him back to his past and keep him in line with side jobs like tonight.

  Freedom.

  He’d surrendered that years ago in exchange for money and power.

  Jonny needed a drink. Not the cheap bourbon out of a dirty glass that Nicky offered. A high-end scotch, or a smooth tequila from his private stock. That would wash away the bad memories. Make him forget nights like this, the Oasis, Frank, Nicky. But not the blonde.

  Fuck. He didn’t even know her name. He liked to put a name to his fantasies, and he had a strong suspicion she’d be a headliner, at least for the next few days. Silky, straight, platinum blond hair that reached the middle of her back and brushed the swell of her breasts. She wore the slutty clothes like a fashion model. All long legs, curvy hips, and a tiny waist that belonged on a runway, not hanging out with Nicky Falcone in a dump like the Oasis.

  He’d expected her to be all over him, trying to seduce him into giving Nicky a pass, but, the way she’d wrapped her arms around herself covering her sexy shape said shy and almost embarrassed. Wash off the heavy makeup, and you had a girl next door not a small-time hustler.

  Her gaze followed him, anticipating the worst, on point and ready to bolt. Not that he would’ve blamed her. Hooking up with Nicky and working at the Oasis were two of her worst life decisions.

  Either way, they hadn’t exchanged more than four sentences, but a reckless desire to save her overwhelmed him. But pulling out his business card? It didn’t make sense. The club cards were for vendors and sales reps, and him handing it to her had nothing to do with business. It had to do with making good on failing another woman in his life. Evening the score and maybe chasing away the guilt. When she flashed those pleading green eyes at him, he felt the connection. He hadn’t said a word, but she knew. Yeah, she felt it, too.

  The wad of cash weighed heavy in his pocket and reminded him of bigger problems than the fate of a hot blonde, like the phone call he had to make. Frank in a good mood unnerved him, but not getting all his money from a lowlife like Nicky would make Frank unbearable.

  He swiped his contact list and prepared for the worst.

  “Yeah,” Frank answered before the first ring ended.

  “I got three grand.” Frank liked bad news fast.

  “Should’ve been ten.”

  “Better than five hundred.”

  “Five hundred?” Frank stretched out the two words.

  “Yeah, that’s what he first offered.”

  “You do anything about it?”

  “Figured he’s more useful in one piece.”

  Some payment was better than none, and a thief with mangled fingers or broken arms couldn’t work. “Stupid fucker even tried to pawn off his girlfriend.”

  Silence. Never a good sign.

  “Girlfriend, huh?” Frank’s voice was tight. “You taking the rest of my money out in trade?”

  Jonny frowned. “Fuck no.”

  But that jacked up the first fantasy. Rescuing her and getting her away from Nicky, and out of that dump. It would get crazy fast. Hot, wet kisses. Sweet and dirty up against a wall, a door, or any flat surface where he could wrap those incredible legs around his hips, and sink into her so deep that . . .

  “Did you hear what I said?” Frank shouted into the phone, shattering the best part of his night.

  “Yeah . . . No. What?”

  “I said,” Frank slowed his voice as if talking to a child, “I’ll be by later.”

  Code for he’d be bringing a duffle bag of money that Jonny would finesse through the club’s account. Fuckin’ wonderful. Bad enough Frank degraded him again into collecting tonight, but now he’d have to entertain him, too.

  On impulse, he spun around and pushed through the splintered wooden door of the Oasis again. He fixed on the spot at the end of the bar where he’d seen her last, then scanned the room. No sign of her or Nicky. He didn’t want to think about where they were or what they were doing, so he left.

  He hoped the walk back to the Paradise would straighten him out. Maybe it would smooth out his nerves, and he could finish his fantasy about a woman he planned on investigating until he knew all her secrets.

  Chapter 3

  “Who were you talking to?” Nicky pinned Cheryl with a hard, cold glare then caged her in until her back hit the wall.

  “Dylan.”

  Maybe he hadn’t heard all of the conversation.

  “And where the fuck are you going?”

  “Nowhere.” Deny, deny, deny. Maybe if she said it long and loud, he’d believe her.

  “Don’t lie to me. I heard you.”

  “Let’s go upstairs and talk.” She’d lure him toward the back stairs, placate him, then she’d sneak away after he passed out.

  “No!” He jerked away from her and paced the small, cramped hallway. “You’re not leaving me.” He stopped dead in front of her and pounded his fist against the wall inches from her head. “Cause I taught you everything I know.”

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

  “I didn’t hear you complaining when you were sucking down champagne in those uptown clubs.” Scowling, he loomed over her. “Now all of a sudden you’re some kinda goddamn princess.”

  The whiskey on his breath made her dizzy, and the coke in his system made her wary. She slipped around him, gambling that putting some distance between them would settle him down. At the end of the hallway, the crowd shifted and she saw him. Jonny Vallone. Standing by the entrance, neck craned, eyes searching. A frantic impulse urged her toward him. Then Nicky swooped up from behind, hustled her back down the hall and out the side door into the alley.

  The steamy night air wrapped around her bare legs, and her spike heels caught on the uneven cobblestones as Nicky half dragged, half lifted her around the broken beer bottles, mangled shopping carts, and overflowing dumpsters. Midway down the narrow passage, he stopped and caged her in against the crumbling brick wall. She tasted the sweet stink of discarded liquor and day-old garbage in the back of her throat, while a neon sign cast an eerie greenish shadow across Nicky’s face.

  “What kind fuckin’ game are you playing?”

  “What do you mean?” She forced her voice into coy innocence.

  “You’re never gonna leave me.” He held her jaw then raised his massive forearm and wedged it against her throat.

  Her hands grappled with 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. She’d come so close to getting away. She couldn’t wait another minute, she had to act now.

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

  “Sure, baby.” She 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 Nicky!” Her words bounced off the bricks of the alley walls.

  “We’re not over until I say we’re over.” He lunged at her, and she sidestepped away from him, then reached into her bra and pulled out the knife he’d given her long ago for protection. She hit the tiny button on the side, and a long, menacing blade appeared.

  “What the fuck are you doin’ now?” Nicky mocked.

  She glanced over her shoulder. The side door was so close. Her brain scrambled to stay calm but the adrenaline surging through her hot-wired her nerves.

  “Give me that blade.” He swayed, and she used the opportunity to run.

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

  “Where you goin’, huh?” He spun her around, fisted her tank top and raised his other hand. A wave of dizziness rocked her. Drunk and high, yet he still overpowered her.

  She jerked away from him, and the silvery metal of the knife flashed, as she sliced it through the air between them. The heavy thump of her heart drowned out all sound.

  He dove for her and stumbled. His stoned eyes flickered. He swayed and then pitched forward. She squeezed the knife tighter, and the pressure of his body drove the blade deep. Nicky clutched at his gut, and she jerked away still gripping the knife. Seconds later, a gurgling erupted from the back of his throat and their eyes locked, his frozen in disbelief. He doubled over and collapsed. He twitched a few times, as a steady stream of blood seeped over the bricks and under some busted crates.

  She 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, slowly stretching out her arm until her fingers pressed against his neck. Nothing. She pushed harder and felt a pulse. Weak but there.

  Relief flowed through her and she struggled to focus. Call 9-1-1? Be arrested for stabbing her coked-up boyfriend outside a dive bar? Depend on a system that failed her and her brother for years?

  Freedom.

  She’d come so close.

  The slap of leather-soled shoes against the uneven stones broke the silence. She searched the shadows, but silence surrounded her again.

  She backed away from the pooling blood, turned and ran toward the street. Incredibly fast considering the stupid stilettos she balanced on rubber legs. Lungs burning, feet aching she stopped to catch her breath and guilt consumed her.

  She couldn’t just leave Nicky there bleeding out. Sure, he turned out to be an asshole in the end, but they’d had some good times in the beginning. Going to the beach and eating hot dogs at Coney Island. Plus, in the confusion she realized she dropped the knife. The bloody knife with her finger prints. She’d retrieve the knife, call 9-1-1 and stay with him until she heard the sirens. Guilt was one thing, but she didn’t plan on sticking around for the questions. And there were bound to be a shit ton of questions.

  Her feet protested the whole way down the alley. Shadows and distorted shapes from the ancient security lights played tricks with Nicky’s body making it seem like someone was crouching next to him. She moved closer and froze. A man with his back to her hunched over Nicky. He must’ve come from the club’s side door. He felt for a pulse, paused, then picked up the bloody knife. The blade flashed as he sliced the knife across Nicky’s neck.

  She flinched and shoved her fist in her mouth to choke back the scream. A thin line of blood seeped from Nicky’s neck and she knew he was dead. In less than five minutes, she’d stabbed someone and then witnessed a murder. Totally fucked up, even for her screwed-up life.

  A manic desire to laugh bubbled up inside her. The ground tilted, and she grabbed onto a stack of discarded wooden crates. The top one teetered and she reached out to steady it a second too late. It crashed to the cobblestones and echoed against the narrow passage. She slammed her back against the brick wall using the remaining crates for cover. Holding her breath and making herself small and 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 and was now ransacking Nicky’s pockets and cursing. Then he stood, turned toward the light and she gasped again.

  Frank Barnett. Brooklyn thug, controller of the Bensonhurst streets from 86th to the docks, suspected money launderer, extortionist, and murderer. Great. The famed criminal was much shorter than she imagined.

  He whipped out his phone and mumbled into it. Probably arranging the disposal of Nicky’s body. She used this distraction to crouch down low and make her escape. With only one way out of the alley he’d have to pass her, and she would be exposed any second. Her brain said run fast and run hard, but her heart couldn’t resist one last glance.

  Frank stopped and stared at her. There was at least twenty feet between them, but she could feel the darkness of his cold gaze. Predatory and lawless. Daring her, and when his feet shifted in her direction her instincts kicked in.

  She ran out of the alley and then weaved her way down another narrow passageway. Staying off the street was easy. The burnt-out buildings and abandoned warehouses created 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, braced her hands on her knees and sucked in sweet oxygen until she could breathe without gasping. She peeked over her shoulder, relieved to see no one except the homeless who took up camp around the vacant buildings.

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

  She’d witnessed a murder by a key crime figure. A dangerous man who would end her with one phone call. He’d seen her, and although the lighting was shitty his criminal super powers 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 Nicky’s throat.

  Oh yeah, she was fucked.

  Chapter 4

  Luckily, Cheryl had her phone and enough money to jump into the first cab she saw and escape ten blocks to Brooklyn Heights. She’d called Dylan, and when he hadn’t picked up, she left a message. By now he must’ve figured she wasn’t showing up. Their plan would have to wait until she could get back to the apartment and retrieve the cash she’d stashed, but right now going back to the scene of the crime and facing Frank Barnett made her knees weak.

  Nicky’s lifeless body flashed through her brain. She’d never wanted it to end this way. Where had the time gone? Where had her life gone?

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

  She stared at the neon Paradise Lounge sign, then at Jonny’s card, as a light mist clung to her skin. Sad that her only refuge was a guy she didn’t really know, but everything about him screamed money and power. All she needed was a place to stay until she could retrieve her money. She’d tried to call him, but his phone went straight to voicemail. He’d said to come see him if she needed anything, although he probably wasn't expecting her outside his club two hours later.

  The club beckoned to her. A safe haven, an oasis. She sucked in more damp humidity, smoothed her hand over her clothes, threw back her shoulders and prepared for her biggest con ever. Convincing a guy she hardly
knew to help her.

  Crossing the street, she ignored the ridiculous line winding around the club 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 tight tank top. Men, so predictable.

  “I know the owner, Jonny Vallone.” His frown told her he’d heard that line a million times. “It’s important I find him.” She flipped out the business card and showed him the hand-written cell number on the back.

  He examined the writing, then stepped to the side and spoke into his headset. She shifted her feet as others went in with a wave of a hand. She considered rushing the line, when he turned to her.

  He’s up in the offices.” He gave a quick nod like a facial tic. “Take the elevator in the back to the second floor.”

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

  It felt good to be out of the dampness, lost and invisible in the throbbing club scene. Protected by the throng of strangers that flowed and meshed around her to form one out-of-control party. House music pounded from the DJ booth as Victoria Secret look-a-likes danced on raised pedestals in skimpy outfits.

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