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PROLOGUE
Brooklyn 2013
“No fuckin’way I’ll let you leave.” Nick struggled against Frank’s goon holding him from behind. “Owning the club doesn’t mean shit if I don’t have you.”
“I refuse to be the reason you lose your dream.” Cheryl's eyes glistened with tears.“We tried to make it all work, but sometimes you have to know when to?—”
“To what, give up?” Nick shouted.“Don’t let him win.”
“He already has.” She sucked in her quivering lower lip and something inside Nick cracked wide open.
“No, no, don’t do this. Don’t . . .”
“We were stupid to think we could have it all.” She threw Nick a sad smile, and walked out of Frank’s office.
“Cheryl, no, don’t . . .” Nick wrenched and fought against the arms holding him prisoner. He probably didn’t have the ability to love her the way she deserved, but watching the best thing in his life walk away gutted him.
The office door slammed, her footsteps faded away, and a numbness overwhelmed him. All the anger and rage drainedout of him, leaving just blood and flesh stretched over a lifeless core.
Once again, Frank manipulated all the angles in his favor.
“You happy now?” Nick raged.“You fuckin’sadistic bastard.”
“If we’re done with all the drama, I suggest we get this finished.” Frank held out a pen to him.“I’m sure you want to get the Manhattan club opened as soon as possible.”
The sick fuck didn’t care about anything but business. Did anything touch him, affect him, make him human?
The muscle released his arms, and Nick grabbed the pen out of Frank’s hand.“You wouldn’t think twice about putting a hit out on a woman, so how do I know you won’t do something to her after I sign this contract?”
“Never happen.”
“Two things don’t add up.” Nick signed on the dotted line, threw the pen onto the desk, and glared. “Why do you want her gone, and why do you give a shit who I’m with?”
“Very simple. Both questions have the same answer.”
Frank paused, but Nick’s spent brain couldn’t decipher anymore riddles.
“Cheryl’s my daughter.”
1
Las Vegas~~2023
Pounding music, an LED light system, caged dancers suspended from the ceiling—the pulsing energy surrounded Nick as premium liquor flowed behind the bar. Club Wicked’s signature floral scent with notes of citrus swirled around him as Hollywood’s elite swapped space with financial tycoons mingling with politicians in the multi-level nightclub.
An out-of-control party of bodies meshing and moving on the tempered glass-topped aquarium dance floor. This latest addition to Vegas’s top hot spot became their premier feature. Filled with twenty deadly piranhas it gave new meaning to the name, Club Wicked.
Nick connected with the staff earlier. He knew all of them by name—each one trained to handle even the rudest customer or the most entitled socialite. He touched base with his floor manager, the bouncers at the door, and security alert for potential problems. Rarely an incident occurred he didn’t know about or handle personally. He kept the daily receipts in his head and could recite the weekly net profits within a hundred bucks.
Lastly, he made a quick stop at select VIP tables to welcome the suckers paying five hundred dollars for a bottle of vodka they could buy on the corner for forty bucks.
Composed, on-point, and always in-charge—except tonight.
Samson appeared at Nick’s side with an expression way too serious for the club’s one year anniversary.
“Smile.” Nick held up his shot glass in celebration, then drained its contents. “This is our big night.”
On most nights the electricity and overall chaos surging through the club filled Nick with pride, calmed his demons, and made him forget—but not tonight.
