Beyond Paradise

by Barbara Nolan

  One level up, she 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, with two closed, unmarked doors further apart. She stopped by the first door and knocked. When she didn’t get an answer, she knocked louder. Still no response, so she tried the doorknob. It turned beneath her hand, so she pushed the door open, stepped inside, and froze.

  A guy leaned against a massive desk tucking himself in while a topless redhead got off her knees.

  She hadn’t expected to interrupt her own personal porn show, and the little squeak she made caused him to stare right at her. Wow. Jonny Vallone, Owner. Paradise Lounge. No wonder his phone went straight to voicemail.

  “Shit.” He jerked to a standing position.

  “Who the hell is she?” the redhead shrieked, stood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then retrieved a cheap satin robe off the floor and dragged it around her.

  His opened shirt hung off his shoulders, revealing long, lean, muscular arms, and taut abs exactly as she’d envisioned them at the Oasis. Her gaze traveled to that sexy as hell V where his abs met his hips and fine hairs that traveled south to his . . .

  “What the fuck?” His voice deep and rough like he’d spent the night—getting a blow job. His eyes, like hard pieces of black coal, bore into her and demanded answers.

  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. Was the stubble along his jawline intended or the result of too many nights like this one?

  Cheryl cleared her throat as heat traveled to her cheeks. All her conning skills vanished and were replaced with ridiculous mental banter.

  Sorry for interrupting your blowjob, but I’m the girl from the Oasis. The one with the loser boyfriend, who by the way will never pay his gambling debt ‘cause he’s dead.

  “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 Nicky and then witnessing his murder, she wasn’t in a position to judge what he did in his private office. Although, he really should consider locking the door.

  “Cheryl?”

  She spun around, and her mouth fell open for the second time that night.

  “Eddie?”

  She couldn’t believe it. Eddie Morgan leaning against the doorframe.

  “What are you doing here?” they said in unison.

  “Jonny and I own this place.”

  Eddie must’ve made thousands a night, but his shaggy blond hair, worn, frayed jeans, vintage concert T-shirt, and scuffed engineer boots made him look like he should be straddling a Harley, not owning one of the hottest clubs in Brooklyn. It didn’t matter how much time slipped by, he still made her feel safe.

  “You know her?” Jonny asked in disbelief.

  “Jonny, this is Cheryl.” Eddie waved his hand between them.

  “Yeah, we’ve met,” Jonny said with the uncivilized attitude of a wolf.

  An awkward silence followed until she said to Eddie. “Can we talk somewhere in private?”

  ~ ~ ~

  After riding the elevator to the third floor, Cheryl followed Eddie through a foyer and into the living room of a very spacious apartment.

  Cheryl spun around. “This space is great.”

  Exposed brick walls, hung with modern tapestries, softened the decor of glass, chrome, and black leather. A built-in, granite-topped bar covered one wall, adorned with crystal tumblers and stocked to overflowing with an assortment of liquors and wines of every variety. A flat-screen TV, worthy of a small theater, dominated the other wall. Manhattan chic in Brooklyn.

  Eddie motioned to the couch as he sat in the opposite chair. Growing up, her and Eddie were inseparable, but he didn’t approve of Nicky and their friendship deteriorated to random texts and phone calls.

  “Jonny and I worked crazy hours in the beginning, and it made more sense to live over the club. Now, we each have a penthouse on the Upper East Side.” Eddie lit up a cigarette. “We use this if we don’t feel like driving to Manhattan.”

  “I had no idea you were involved in this club.”

  Finally, her nightmare made sense. Fate brought her here. Not for Jonny’s help, but Eddie’s. She’d confide in him just like the old days. Confess her part and tell her biggest secret about Frank Barnett. Eddie could be trusted, and he’d know what to do.

  “Jonny and I have been running it for about six months. The guy who backed us wants to keep a low profile.”

  “Jonny seemed a little intense.” Especially when those jet-black eyes ran over her.

  “He comes on strong. You just have to get to know him.”

  She’d pass on that. She had enough drama in her life. “A club in Brooklyn, a penthouse on the Upper East Side. It sounds like you have it all.”

  “A long way from that crappy apartment building where we grew up.” He blew out a long stream of smoke and frowned. “Sometimes, though, I lay in bed at night and know something’s gonna fuck it all up.”

  She plucked the cigarette from his fingers and dragged deep. “This reminds me of sitting on the fire escape in the old days, trying to catch a breeze while you listened to all my problems.”

  “Why don’t you stop stalling and tell me what’s going on?” Eddie rose and in two steps moved next to her on the couch, snatched back the cigarette, and crushed it into the ashtray. “Your last text was from LA. Nicky had some movie connections out there?” His tone belied his doubt. “Knowing him, you’re lucky it wasn’t some skin flick.”

  “Funny you should say that.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t . . .”

  “No.” A flush circled her neck as she remembered her brief encounter with porn.

  “I’m glad you came to me, but why now?”

  No need to tell him she’d really come to see Jonny. Her gaze flitted around the trendy apartment and an uncomfortable guilt crept over her. She couldn’t lay this burden on him. He had too much to lose. Dragging him into her mess would be the ultimate act of selfishness, and she refused to be the one to fuck it all up.

  “It's complicated.” Lying to Eddie would be the supreme test of her conning skills. Bad choices tormented her and coming here tonight topped the list.

  “Start at the beginning.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Nicky and I had a fight. A bad fight.” Truth.

  “Did he hit you?” Eddie searched her face looking for evidence.

  “Just pushed me around, but I’m tired of his schemes and lies.” Another truth.

  “I told you way back he was no good. Shoving coke up his nose. Losing big at the track, he owed everybody. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”

  “Yeah, a miracle.” Her voice caught on the last word.

  “So, you broke up with him?”

  Was that the proper term for leaving your dead boyfriend bleeding out in an alley? Even Hallmark hadn’t come up with a card for that one.

  “Are you all right?” Eddie asked.

  “Just a little thing I get sometimes.” Her heart thumped in her throat. She fought off what had become an unwelcome reaction whenever Nicky’s image popped up. Each breath like sucking air through a straw. “It’s nothing.” Her mind screamed for control, but her nerves refused to listen. Her insides jolted like an electrical current with a bad switch and no off button.

  “Just like that, you’re leaving him.” His crystal blue eyes demanded the truth.

  “Everything you said about him was right.” Focus. Concentr
ate on his voice. Her heart slowed, and her breathing became easier.

  Eddie nailed her with a knowing look. “I hope you mean it this time.”

  “I do.”

  “You can stay here as long as you want.”

  “I was thinking about leaving Brooklyn.”

  “Going to Manhattan?”

  “More like Mexico.”

  “Are you sure you’re not in some kind of trouble?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  She refused to entangle him in a murder with a known criminal like Frank Barnett. No one would win, and it would jeopardize everything he’d worked for. She’d stay here tonight. Then tomorrow she’d get her money from the apartment and leave Brooklyn behind.

  Chapter 5

  Jonny dismissed Bambi, the redhead with the skills of a Hoover, then vented his frustration on the office door as he slammed it behind him.

  Cheryl. His blonde fantasy girl had a name. She was the last damn person he’d expected to see again tonight, and that brought on a shit load of other questions. Like why Eddie never mentioned her and what was she doing here? Yeah, he gave her his card, and yeah, he’d said come see him—but two hours later?

  A heat flashed through him, and he wrapped his hands around the cool brass railing and concentrated on the action below. He hoped that the bouncers communicating on their headsets, and the bartenders and waitresses who kept the party going, would make him forget how Cheryl’s voice jacked up his heartbeat and made him harder than Bambi’s blowjob.

  Angela appeared at his side. “I’ve been looking for you all night.”

  The vision of Cheryl vanished. “We’re slammed tonight. I got a lot going on.”

  Club manager and part-time girlfriend, Angela was all pouty lips, dangerous curves, and constant demands. Although she ignored it when he strayed every once in a while, she kept a running tally in jewelry and designer clothes.

  “I’m needed downstairs.” She waved a hand at the crowded club. “One of the girls has a costume malfunction, and as usual, I’m the only one who can fix things.”

  He watched her walk away. Every guy in the place eyeballed her, but for him, the thrill was gone.

  His phone buzzed, and he fished it out of his pocket.

  “Yeah,” Jonny grunted.

  “You really ought to improve your phone etiquette,” Frank said.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “I have to tie up a loose end tonight, so I won’t be coming by the club.”

  “Thank fuck,” he mumbled into the dead phone. One less headache.

  An hour later he found himself in his office unlocking the bottom drawer of his desk. There, under a false bottom, lay his vice, his one guilty pleasure. He carefully removed the cellophane package, laid it on his desk, and inhaled. Good stuff.

  Even after all these years, Yodels still returned him to his childhood. Money was non-existent, thanks to his jailbird father but somehow his mother, a Cuban immigrant with limited English, managed to keep the family together and have this special treat for him and his little sister.

  He’d just wiped his mouth and threw the napkin in the trash when Eddie sauntered into his office.

  “How do you know Cheryl?” he asked before Eddie was halfway into the room. “And where you been hiding her all these years?”

  “She’s a friend from the old neighborhood.” Eddie pulled out a cigarette and lit up.

  “And all this time you haven’t seen her?”

  “Just random texts, and a few phone calls.” Eddie frowned. “We lost touch after I gave her shit about hookin’ up with Nicky Falcone.”

  “Yeah, I saw that loser tonight. Still hasn’t paid up. Frank wasn’t happy.”

  “Supposedly, she broke up with him.” Eddie settled on the leather couch across from Jonny’s desk.

  “She looked like she was ready to bolt at the Oasis.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  “Something’s off.” Eddie blew out a stream of smoke. “I told her she could stay in the apartment upstairs tonight. I’ll ask her more tomorrow.”

  Yeah. He had some questions of his own. Like why would she be with that loser in the first place?

  Eddie leaned in and flicked the tip of his cigarette into the crystal ashtray on the coffee table. “And what the hell were you doin’ with Bambi? I mean, she’s here less than two weeks, and she’s already screwed everybody from the bouncers to the DJ.”

  “Geez, you’re kidding, and here I was gonna ask her to marry me and have my kids,” Jonny drawled, then uncapped a water bottle.

  “You’re lucky Angela didn’t catch you.”

  “It was just a blowjob.”

  “It’s my experience most women don’t see the difference,” Eddie warned. “Angela knows a lot of what goes on here. I don’t think you want her pissed off and vengeful.”

  “First of all, she doesn’t know that much, and second, I’m not gonna get caught.”

  “If you keep getting sucked off in your office with the door unlocked, I’d say the odds are not in your favor.”

  “Angela and I have an understanding.” He drained half the water bottle. “I do what I want, and Angela’s very understanding.”

  Eddie rolled his eyes, and Jonny’s mind spun back to Cheryl. Her obvious surprise at seeing Eddie told him she didn’t know he was part of the club. So, if she didn’t come to see Eddie, she must’ve come to see him.

  Interesting.

  “And forget about Cheryl,” Eddie warned.

  Fuckin’ Eddie could read his mind. Like he hadn’t wanted to forget her.

  Wasn’t working.

  ~ ~ ~

  Later that night, Jonny pushed through the large metal doors, exited the club, and inhaled the damp, night air. He found his limo and Max—his driver and longtime friend—waiting by the curb. At six-foot-three, two hundred and fifty pounds, Max’s duties went beyond driving, and made anyone think twice about giving him a hard time.

  Max glanced in the rearview mirror. “You look tired, boss.”

  “Long night.” He sunk into the leather seat and closed his eyes. His mind wandered as the limo moved away from the curb and headed for his Manhattan penthouse.

  Twenty-five minutes later, the mirrored doors of his private elevator parted with a whoosh. Happy to be off the confines of the elevator, he admired the view of the East River from the wall of glass wrapped around the corner living room. He’d lived here for a year, yet it still amazed him. A big jump from the dump he and Eddie shared down by the docks, furnished with Salvation Army furniture and cockroaches that outnumbered them one hundred to one.

  “How’re you doin’, Killer?” he asked as his black and white striped cat curled around his ankles and through his legs. She purred and pushed until he scooped her up and nuzzled the stub that used to be an ear.

  He’d rescued her one night on the pier when some punks were using her as a science experiment. They’d already cut off one of her ears, poked out one of her eyes, and were in the process of dousing her with gasoline when he’d intervened and threatened to do the same to them. Skinny, dirty, and full of fleas, he’d named her Killer to boost her confidence. After a visit to the vet and a few weeks of regular feedings, she’d gained weight and thrived. Now, she strutted around his penthouse like the queen of the palace. He hugged her, then let her jump out of his arms, thinking they’d both done pretty good for themselves.

  He walked into the bedroom, flipped on the light, and flinched.

  “You’re awful tense.” Angela rose from the chair and went to the bar in the corner of the room. “Who were you expecting?” The accusation in her voice was unmistakable.

  “No one. I’m just surprised.” She poured Johnny Walker
Blue into two tumblers. Her perfect figure filled the La Perla Black Label negligée he’d given her the last time she caught him screwing around.

  “It's Friday, and we spend the weekend together, right?” She crossed the room and handed him the intricately cut glass.

  “Why were you sitting in the dark?”

  “I was enjoying the view.” She motioned to the floor to ceiling windows featuring another view of the East River. “That cat of yours hissed at me when I moved her off the bed.”

  “Jealous?” he joked.

  “Me or the cat?” Angela quipped.

  “You’re a lot alike.” He sipped the smoky liquor, enjoying the hot burn in his throat as he headed toward the bathroom.

  She stepped in his path. “You remember when we first met?” Her manicured hand clung to his arm.

  “Taking a shitload of Frank’s money to the Caymans, and you were scared of flying. You had me in a death grip until I got a couple of shots of tequila in you.”

  She arched her back. “I did not.”

  “Yeah, you did,” he teased.

  “We were young then.” Her finger traced the front of his shirt.

  “We were never young.”

  Angela’s trip down memory lane was her way of dragging him backward, so they could move forward.

  She undid his belt buckle, and he watched her, rigid and tense with arousal, but instead of Angela’s brown eyes he saw Cheryl’s green ones. She slid her hand inside his pants and stroked him. His hips twitched, but he didn’t know if it was from Angela’s hand or visions of Cheryl.

  “Sometimes I miss the old days and that hot, wild, tough guy who was so wound out.”

  “Things change.” He hadn’t meant to say it. He should’ve given her the answer she wanted. Eddie was right. Keeping Angela happy was good for business, but lately . . .

  “Someone saw Bambi go up to the offices tonight.”

  “Maybe she didn’t feel good and had to lie down.”