“Shhh.” She pressed her finger to his lips. “You don’t ever have to pretend with me.”
His cell phone buzzed on the nightstand. He groaned, shifted away from her, and swiped at it. “Yeah?”
“Get down to the new club. We got trouble.”
Max yelled so loud she could hear him through the phone.
Chapter 21
Twenty minutes later Jonny stood on the sidewalk and sucked in the humid evening air. The setting summer sun cast a deep shadow over the double glass doors etched with Beyond Paradise. He flicked at some anxious sweat popping up on his forehead and pushed through the doors, not knowing what to expect.
Max pounced, his cheeks flushed, and his pressed shirt rumpled and sweaty despite the air conditioning.
“Where the fuck you been?” Max gripped his arm and leaned in. His hushed voice rumbled with frustration.
“So, you decided to come join the party,” Captain Farrell’s voice reverberated through the vast empty space.
Jonny strode forward with Max at his heels until the large club shrank to include him, Farrell, and the two uniformed cops standing off to the side. The contempt Farrell harbored bounced around the room.
“Nice place.” He ran his hand over the brass railing on the edge of the bar.
Jonny kept a wary distance. Farrell’s cocky attitude reflected all his years of resentment. All the years Jonny treated Farrell like shit. All the years Jonny was untouchable under Frank’s protection.
“Great spot. Sure to make a ton of money.”
Farrell nodded, and one of the cops picked up a barstool and smashed it against the granite bar until it shattered into pieces. Max made a move, but Jonny held him back.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, Vallone,” he gloated. “And now Frank has given me the okay to take your punk ass down.”
There it was. The answer loud and clear. Frank’s personal fuck-you. What Eddie feared all along. The legal variances and inspections Simon Davis wrangled didn’t mean shit up against a dirty cop and a hardcore thug.
“Still nothing to say?” Farrell taunted.
Farrell stomped behind the bar, picked up a few glasses, and let them slip from his fingers. “Geez, that was clumsy of me.”
“That’s harassment,” Max yelled.
Blood shot through Jonny’s veins at an alarming rate. His heart thumped so hard he feared a heart attack, but he kept his expression blank.
Smiling, Farrell nabbed the neck of a tequila bottle and pitched it into the massive mirror over the bar. Jonny flinched. All the pride he’d experienced two days ago when they’d hung it smashed to the floor. Large shards of the custom etched mirror crashed into the bottles on the shelves beneath it, leaving the floor awash with liquor and jagged glass.
Max groaned beside him, and anger burned in Jonny’s gut. His jaw clenched until his teeth ached, but he refused to give Farrell the reaction he wanted.
“Now that’s harassment, boys.” He strolled around the bar and motioned to the two uniforms. “I think it's time we drove our point home.”
One cop pushed Max out of the way while the other grabbed Jonny.
“You’re crazy, Farrell,” Jonny spat.
The cop to Jonny’s left cracked his knuckles. “This is going to be fun.”
“Frank sends his regards.” Farrell strolled closer. “It looks like you fucked with him once too often, big shot.”
One cop held Jonny’s arms behind him while the other wound up and landed the first few punches into his gut. His muscles tightened on reflex, but he refused to flinch. He glared at the cop and wheezed, “Is that the best you got, cocksucker?”
He’d taken plenty of beatings—as a kid by his father, and on the streets. In his neighborhood, thirty was considered old age, and he’d already beat those odds.
Pain exploded at the first blow to his face. He swallowed the bitter taste of his blood as his head whipped from side to side. When he wavered, he visualized Cheryl. Their fists were her warm hands. Their curses were her words of love.
They released him, and he fell to the floor. He held himself up on his hands and knees refusing to collapse in front of them. The thud of shoes against the floor made him focus his swollen eyes on Farrell’s city-issued wingtips.
“What’s the matter, Vallone? Where’s all your wise guy comments?” Farrell hoisted him up by the collar.
Pain jolted through him, but he bit back his anguish.
“Fuck you,” Jonny mumbled through swollen, blood-smeared lips.
Farrell leaned in. “Frank says you keep pushing and he’ll tell all your secrets.” His harsh breath against Jonny’s ear.
The pure hate in Farrell’s face didn’t scare him. It made him mad. He’d worked so hard to get out, yet Farrell and Frank loved to drag him down.
“Get him outta here.” Farrell shoved him toward Max, who helped him out the door.
“Pretty fucked up.” They reached the Escalade and climbed in. Max dragged deep on his cigarette. “I told you Frank was pissed. What’re you gonna do now? What’s Eddie gonna say?”
Jonny slowly rotated his head to the left. “Could you please shut up?” He held his gaze for an extra second to make his point. “And put out that fuckin’ cigarette, the smoke is killing me.”
Max furrowed his brow, pitched the cigarette out the window, and remained silent for the rest of the ride to the penthouse.
~ ~ ~
Jonny leaned against the chrome railing in the elevator as it whisked him to the penthouse floor. The slight movement made him nauseous, so he pressed his forehead against the cool mirrored wall, averting his eyes. He felt bad enough, he didn’t need to see it.
When he shuffled off the elevator, he stared at his penthouse door. Seeing Cheryl and taking a hot shower would have to wait. On impulse he’d called Eddie, who insisted on talking to him first.
“Shit.” Eddie grimaced. “What the fuck did they do to you?”
Jonny glanced into the mirror behind the bar as Eddie filled a Ziploc bag with ice from the freezer.
“Don’t look like your nose is broke.” Eddie handed him the ice, then lifted a bottle of Scotch and two glasses out of the cabinet.
“Nah, Farrell’s a punk. Had to have two other cops with him to do his shit.” He brushed his fingertips over his cheekbone. An irrepressible anger churned inside him when he glimpsed the bruising already turning a sickly shade of purple and green, and the redness of his swollen jaw visible under the dark stubble.
“And don’t worry about Cheryl. You’re not the first guy she’s seen get busted up.”
Jonny winced. He’d ragged on her about Nicky, and now he’d dropped her in the same shit.
“You sure you should be up and around?” He motioned to Eddie’s shirtless mid-section wrapped in gauze from his ribcage to the waist of his low-slung jeans.
“Doc said the lung is fine. It’s the busted rib that’s ripping me up.” Eddie sighed. “I couldn’t stand lying in that room over the club anymore. Max was driving me crazy.”
“How?”
“Fuckin’ questions. What we’re gonna do about Frank? What’s gonna happen next?” Eddie dragged his hand through his hair. “He’s so damn jumpy.”
“He grilled me with the same shit on the way back here.” He shifted the ice to the other side of his jaw. “You think he’s using again?”
Five years ago, Max had a big coke problem and ended up unconscious in a back alley thanks to a deranged dealer even bigger and more strung out than him. After that, he got clean. Or so Jonny thought.
“Nah. He’s just rattled.” Eddie hunched over, favoring his side. “I gotta sit down.” He motioned to the leather sofa.
“And what was with that phone call he got?” Jonny eased onto the sof
t leather sectional. “Somethings off.”
“It’s that crazy redhead he’s screwing.” Eddie shifted his position. “Big guy like him, yet show him a pair of tits and he turns into a pussy.”
“She must have him all twisted up.” He adjusted the ice bag.
“Women can do that sometimes.” Eddie stared to make his point.
“Only Cheryl ain’t a whore who spreads her legs for every guy with a dick.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Eddie sighed.
Jonny looked away. “I thought Farrell was gonna lock me up.” Jonny gulped at the Scotch as a bolt of heat shot up the base of his neck. “I couldn’t go in the box again. I get—sick.”
Eddie ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “Maybe we should lay low for a while.”
“Frank’s out of control and he has to be stopped.” Jonny paused. “He killed Nicky.”
“What?”
“Cheryl stabbed him, but Frank finished him off and then blackmailed her.”
“That is fucked up.”
“That’s why we gotta move on this. Davis likes our ideas. He says we can make an easy thirty percent profit. That’s huge.”
“I don’t know.” Eddie rubbed the back of his neck.
“Davis also has gigs in Vegas and Miami. I’m thinking maybe I’ll hook him up with Carlos in the South Beach club, too.”
“We got enough to worry about up here without thinking about Miami.”
“Frank’s bleeding him too, and Carlos is sick of it. Never hurts to have an ally. With Davis and his people behind us, plus Carlos and his crew in Miami, we’re that much stronger.”
“Have you talked to Carlos?” Eddie asked.
“I made some phone calls.” Jonny waited a beat. “I’m going to Miami day after tomorrow.”
“What?” Eddie frowned. “I don’t think leaving now is a good idea.”
“It’s something I gotta do in person.” Jonny paused. “I’m taking Cheryl too. I don’t wanna leave her here with all that’s going down.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Davis asked me last week how we get so many people to come to the club, and I told him it’s because we came up the hard way, and we know what people want before they do. Now, living how we live, up here in the penthouses but still keeping it real, people love it. You can’t teach that.”
“So how do you see it?” Eddie lifted an eyebrow. “Frank rolls over, we go legit, and everybody lives happily ever after?”
“This is our time, man.”
“It’s too risky now, and Max sure isn’t gonna like it.”
“Since when do you give a fuck what Max likes?” Jonny threw up his hands and regretted the sudden movement.
“Sometimes his questions make sense, especially since you’re . . .”
“I’m what?” He dared Eddie to say it.
“You and me got trust.” Eddie waved his hand between them. “But lately you’re a little preoccupied.”
“You talking about Cheryl?”
“Her and I go way back but it’s been a while.”
“What are you saying?”
“She’s had a tough life and then hooking up with Nicky. That would turn anybody. Maybe she’s changed.”
“You saying I shouldn’t trust her. That maybe she’s working with Frank?”
“You asked for the forecast. Don’t get mad at the weatherman ‘cause he says it’s gonna rain.”
Chapter 22
It was almost nine p.m. by the time Jonny left Eddie’s apartment. He forgot how bad he looked until he caught the expression of shock on Cheryl’s face. He barely closed the door before she enveloped him in a hug.
“I was so worried about you.” Her fingers traveled to his jawline.
“It was just a screw-up.”
“Pretty big screw-up.” Her hand trembled and the sadness in her eyes killed him.
“Everything’s fine.”
“Who did this to your beautiful face?” She grazed his cheekbone, careful not to exert pressure on his bruised skin.
“Forget about it.” He kept his voice light, hoping to avoid the inevitable questions.
He wasn’t accustomed to anyone fussing over him, and although he enjoyed her attention, being laid-open and vulnerable was not his style.
“Forget about it?” She ran her hand over his forearm. “Please tell me what happened.”
For a split second, he considered arranging his feelings into words, but it passed, and he reverted to what worked for most of his twenty-nine years. Covering his ass and shoving his emotions down until they no longer existed.
“Let me take a shower and get cleaned up.”
“But . . .” She trailed behind him. “Can I at least get you something to eat?” She followed him into the bedroom. “Anything?”
“No, I’m good.”
Escaping into the bathroom off the bedroom, he tore off his shirt and pants, balled them up, and threw them into the trash. The best dry cleaner in the world couldn’t get rid of the stink of cops and blood.
He adjusted the nozzles in the shower to full pressure, waited until steam filled the glass enclosure, then stepped under the hot water. The pulsing spray soothed his raw skin, but not his mind. He turned toward the spray. The sting of the water against his cuts and bruises reminded him of what was at stake. He realized Eddie and Max had doubts, but they couldn’t back down now. When the beating water became too intense, he shut off the faucets and stepped out of the shower. He dried himself, threw on a clean pair of sweatpants, and combed his wet hair into place.
He leaned into the mirror over the sink and examined the damages. His last black eye had come from his father. He shoved the memory down and decided shaving would be too painful. Seeing enough, he dragged in a slow, deep breath, then opened the bathroom door.
“I suppose you think by running into the shower I’m going to stop asking you questions?” She perched on the edge of the bed.
“I was kinda hoping.”
“C’mon, tell me something.”
“Farrell’s had it in for me for a while, and Frank’s flexin’, trying to show us who’s boss.” He eased himself next to her on the bed.
“I’d say he’s doing a pretty good job. Eddie’s got broken ribs.” She stroked his cheek. “And you got your face smashed in.”
He reached for her, but she jumped off the bed. “Hey, c’mere.”
She braced her hands on her hips and stood firm. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
His ambition thrust himself and others into danger, but he refused to gamble with Cheryl’s safety. She’d had enough bad guys in her life, and putting her at risk slammed him with fear. He contemplated an all-out lie, but Eddie was right. She had too much street in her and would definitely smell bullshit.
“Frank doesn’t want me opening the club in midtown.”
“Why?”
He weighed his answer because if their relationship was real, it had to be about trust.
“Because we’re breaking away, not cutting him in for any of the profits.” Jonny inched himself off the bed and faced her. “He thinks he owns us, thinks he can tell us what to do.” The anger bubbled up in his chest.
“And he thinks this because . . .”
“Because—he took us off the corner. Gave us a shot.”
“But I’m guessing you did things that weren’t exactly legal?”
“Sure, coming up the way I did, I was looking for any way out,” he admitted. “And I’m not gonna lie. In the beginning, I loved the power and the way people treat you when they think you have that power. Wearing the clothes, driving the cars, it’s addicting.”
“But something changed.”
“Yeah.” He walked
to the windows, keeping his back to her.
“Okay, I told you about all the stuff Nicky and I did.”
He wanted to be honest with her, but he feared his truths might scare her, might drive her away.
“Come on, Jonny. Can it be any worse than the things I told you?”
He sucked in a deep breath, and the pressure pushed against his bruised ribs. He braced his palms against the cool window pane and hung his head between his arms.
She stayed silent, forcing him to continue. “My father was an abusive son of a bitch, and one day he went too far.” He dragged in another deep breath and exhaled. “He beat my mother so bad . . .”
She came up behind him, then her arms wrapped around his waist. “He killed her?” she whispered, making it impossible to tell if she was repulsed or shocked.
He drew in a quivering breath. “Left her for dead on our kitchen floor.” Saying the words out loud made his throat raw and dry.
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” She held him tighter and laid her cheek against his back.
“The cops didn’t care about people like us, so I went to Frank, and he gave me a gun.” He relived the day in his memory. “I tracked that bastard down.”
“But you couldn’t do it.”
“No, Frank did it. He’d gone along to back me up and finished the job.”
“Frank’s been holding it over you all this time?”
He kept his back to her. “I never wanted to do anything more in my life, but I couldn’t pull the trigger.”
“Because you’re not a killer.” She tugged at his waist until he faced her.
“No, that’s not it.” He wanted to get the words right. “It’s because he was my father and I was supposed to love him. And he was supposed to love me.”
“We were betrayed by the people who were supposed to care for us.”
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