Beautifully Forgotten (3 page)

Darcy stepped off the subway and made the short trip to her mother’s apartment in Queens. Her mother had come back for her; it had taken her three years, but as she was forever saying, she’d come back. Darcy wasn’t the same girl her mother had dropped off at St. Agnes, though, because she had lived a lifetime of regret in that time.

She had been young, scared, and so deeply in love—the kind of love that you couldn’t imagine would be reciprocated. And when her doubts were spoken back to her, she’d panicked. It was that doubt that brought the end to Lucien and her.

Her mom came for her almost a year after Lucien had left, and being alone and heartbroken at seventeen, Darcy went with her, especially since St. Agnes only served to remind her of what she’d lost. How her mother had been able to take her away from St. Agnes as easily as she had, considering it was a state-funded orphanage and not a hotel, had always baffled Darcy. More strange was the fact that her mother had given her up because of her drinking and the violent jealousy she felt toward her own daughter while drunk. And yet her mother hadn’t had a change of heart, nor had she stopped drinking. If anything, the woman drank even more. Darcy also hadn’t known that going with her mom meant selling herself into servitude.

She never understood how her mom had learned of Lucien and all that happened between them, but her mom took great delight in rubbing salt into the wound. While she worked her way through a bottle of vodka, she’d philosophize on how men were fickle and love didn’t last and what a fool Darcy had been to give herself so completely to someone when she was so utterly forgettable.

Over the next year her mother’s words had chipped away at Darcy’s confidence, but what kept her from breaking was the belief that what she and Lucien had shared had meant as much to him as it had to her.

She was stronger now, because she’d learned to depend on herself, so the reality that her mother had been right all those years ago wasn’t going to break her, but it did hurt like hell.

She pushed open the door to her mom’s apartment and was immediately greeted by the smell of alcohol and rotting food. She moved through the littered living room to the kitchen where take-out boxes spilled off the counters and onto the floor near the trash can.

Her mom was forty-seven, but looked seventy. Her drinking was going to kill her. The doctors had already said this, but the woman couldn’t stop. Darcy had tried—instead of sending her cash, she started having groceries delivered, but she couldn’t take the phone calls, her mom raging one minute and crying the next. In the end Darcy decided if her mom wasn’t interested in saving herself, then why the hell should
she
bother?

“Is that you, Darcy? It’s about fucking time. Get in here. I can’t find the remote.”

Darcy stepped into the bedroom and gagged as the smell worsened. Her mother was sprawled out on the bed wearing only her bra and panties. Dirty clothes covered every surface and mixed in with them were the empty bottles of vodka. A naked man lay passed out on the bed next to her, just one of the many nameless, faceless men she picked up.

“You do have legs,” Darcy said, and her mom sliced her with a look. The very same look she received as a child just before her mom hit her. Even now, as a grown woman, that look brought fear.

“Careful, little girl. I’m still your mama. Now change the channel and get me something to drink.”

Darcy turned for the kitchen; disgust filled her that she could so easily turn back into that terrified little girl simply by crossing over that threshold. She hated herself for coming back here every month instead of just cutting the cord and being free. But what kept her coming was that, thirteen years ago, her mother had come for her. Yes, it had taken her longer than it should have, but in the end she had brought her home and, for better or worse, she was her mom.

Lucien didn’t know how long he stood staring at the empty doorway. Darcy MacBride. Talk about a fucking kick in the gut. He had recognized the name immediately when the headhunter mentioned her, but he didn’t believe it could possibly be the same person. And if it were, why was she resurfacing now after all these years? His curiosity about
that
answer was the major reason he’d agreed to the interview. But if he was being completely truthful, he had hoped it was her. He’d wanted to see her again. And even with the anger he always felt when he thought of her, he couldn’t deny that he had soaked up the sight of her.

His Darcy had always been beautiful, and she was exquisite as a grown woman. There had been a time when he couldn’t keep his fingers from her hair, those onyx strands feeling like silk between his fingers. And her eyes, as blue as a sapphire, formed the windows to her soul.

He had loved her with the intensity of first love, but he’d believed that love was strong enough to last forever. He had never felt as close to another person as he did the night Darcy had given him her virginity. She was so innocent and sweet, so eager to love him, so eager to be loved by him. He would have given it all to her, but then she ripped him into shreds and left him broken and alone.

He knew he hurt her by pretending he didn’t know her. He had done it intentionally, trying to make her feel his pain. Unfortunately, he didn’t derive any pleasure from seeing pain cloud her beautiful eyes.

Why the hell would she come here? Did she think he had forgotten having his heart ripped out by the only girl he would ever love? Her rejection sent his life in a direction he had never expected.

He moved to the cabinet in the corner of his office and poured himself a Scotch as he remembered.

Fourteen years earlier . . .

“Keep your head down and your ears open. Mr. Santucci doesn’t like people appearing too interested in his business. He needs another runner. I already told him about you,” Jimmy cautioned.

“Are you sure this is legal?” Lucien knew it wasn’t, but he couldn’t help asking anyway.

“Legal enough. Look, all you have to do is take the purse from one place to the other. Don’t ask questions; just do as you’re told. You get paid when you deliver the purse.”

“Why would he trust me?”

“Because I’ve vouched for you, so don’t fuck up, Lucien. It ain’t every day an eighteen-year-old gets five Benjamins for a simple walk. You do it good and he’ll assign you four or five runs a week.”

It seemed to Lucien a bad business practice to trust some unknown kid to carry a night’s worth of profits. Five hundred bucks was probably a fraction of what the purse held. What was keeping Lucien from taking off with the purse besides the sheer fear of getting caught? Santucci had the reputation of being very smart, but this didn’t seem smart unless there was more to the story. Either way, Lucien was greedy for the money because he was tired of living hand to mouth. He had only left St. Agnes two months before and he was coming to learn that making it on your own was hard.

They walked into the club where they were meeting Mr. Santucci, and Lucien’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He had never been in a gentlemen’s club before. There were women everywhere—bare tits, G-strings—women shaking their wares for all to see. A large stage with two poles occupied the front of the place. The music played softly as the two women on stage worked the poles. A section of the stage jutted out into the middle of the room with rows of chairs flanking it. In the middle of that was another woman, on her back, her legs spread, but she looked zoned out: probably doped up on something. Far in the back, where he could only assume the customer lap dances were done, were a few more girls, but they were doing an entirely different kind of lap dance. Despite his disgust, he felt himself growing hard.

He heard Jimmy laugh, which pulled his attention.

“You gonna wanna take care of that, boy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take one and do her. It’s one of the perks of the job.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No man. Pay them and they’ll do anything you want.” As if to prove his point, Jimmy reached for the first girl who’d made her way over to him. He disappeared with her behind the red velvet curtain.

Lucien should take one; maybe by fucking her he’d forget the softness of Darcy’s skin, the silkiness of her hair, the way she made small love noises when he sank into her the countless times they’d made love in those few incredible weeks before she’d ripped out his fucking heart. Maybe he’d forget how he had given her everything he had to give and it wasn’t enough. The fact that he still thought of her disgusted him and it was that more than anything that made him walk behind the curtain to find Jimmy with the girl kneeling in front of him, his hands fisted in her hair. Lucien watched them with a detached callousness.

When Jimmy came, he grunted as he continued to push into her mouth, and then he pulled from her, wiped himself on her shoulder, and zipped up. He reached into his pocket and flicked a few twenties from his pile at the girl. Without a word to either of them, he turned and walked away. The girl didn’t seem to care as she stuffed the cash into her G-string before she stood up.

She moved her hands up her body and squeezed her own tits before lifting one to her mouth and wrapping her lips around the nipple. Her eyes stayed on Lucien as she started sucking, then she purred, “Want a turn?”

Darcy’s face filled his mind, and, wanting to rid himself of her, he took the two steps to the girl. His hand slipped between her legs where he pushed one finger roughly inside her. When he added a second finger to the first, she moaned and bit her lip. He worked her with his fingers as his mouth closed over her other tit, sucking that peak deep as he fought to exorcise the one who haunted him.

He pushed the girl down on her knees, almost insane with the need to be free of his memories.

“Take it out,” he demanded, and she didn’t hesitate as her fingers nimbly undid his fly. When her hand wrapped around his dick, he growled,
“
Open your mouth.”

She was practically panting as her mouth opened for him. He stifled a moan when her lips closed around him and she pulled him in deep. She worked him, her tongue running up the length of him before she sucked him halfway down her throat. He grabbed her hair as his hips rocked back and forth, but instead of losing himself in the moment, all he could see was Darcy. When he came, the experience left him empty. The girl licked her lips before she stood; despite the fact that the encounter was unsatisfying, he reached for his wallet.

She touched his arm and smiled. “That was a freebie for the new kid.”

And then she sauntered off. He watched as she walked away with an emotion he wasn’t too eager to examine roiling in his gut. If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas. One of Sister Anne’s favorite expressions. Trouble was, he was beginning to think that he was the dog. He silently cursed Darcy as he made his way to the owner’s office.

Mr. Santucci looked like a cliché of an Italian mob boss. He was big, tall, and thick, and hairy as hell. As soon as Lucien entered, Mr. Santucci looked up from his desk, a stogie clenched in his teeth.

“You the new kid?”

“Yeah.”

“You know the deal?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You get pinched, you keep your fucking mouth shut, feel me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll spring you, we’re a family, but only if you keep your mouth shut.”

“Got it.”

“You get a trial run. If that works, I’ll expand your route. Stay loyal to me and I’ll be loyal to you. We got a deal?” He reached his big, meaty hand across his desk, nodding at his bodyguards as if to indicate Lucien could approach without being shot. Lucien didn’t hesitate to step up and shake the older man’s hand.

“We got a deal.”

Lucien did his runs, got paid, and put a nice chunk of change away, and, though this wasn’t where he thought he’d be, he wasn’t alone anymore. That bubble burst about a year later when he got nicked by the cops. He did as instructed and kept his mouth shut, but he was soon to learn that Santucci wouldn’t be true to his word.