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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.
    Jimmy came to see him on the day he was being transported to juvie.
    “Jimmy, man, what the fuck took you so long?”
    “Got bad news. Boss man is going to let you hang.”
    “What the fuck are you talking about?” Lucien demanded.
    “Too much heat, dude. He’s got to cut you loose. You’re on your own.”
    “Are you fucking kidding me? What happened to the ‘we’re a family’ shit?”
    “Sorry, dude.”
    And without another word, Jimmy turned and walked away.
    Lucien spent only two weeks in juvenile detention, and on the day he was released, he stood on the curb outside the building, planning to check on his money when the banks opened. He had been smart enough to open an account, because had he left it in a coffee can like Jimmy did, he knew it wouldn’t still be there. Yet his room at the club had been a perk of the job and, without that job, he was homeless—again.
    His mind drifted to Darcy. He had a constant emotional tug-of-war over her—one minute he wanted to forget her and the next he missed her like hell.
    He was bitter, yes, but it was Darcy, and all the bitterness in the world couldn’t turn his heart from her. He loved that girl and probably always would.
    “Hey, you Lucien?”
    As he turned, he moved up onto the balls of his feet just in case he needed to get away quickly. He eyed the kid—a couple years older than himself, dressed nicely, good haircut, fancy shoes, but there was no denying he had that hardness that only came from living on the streets. You could polish them up all you wanted, but underneath, he, like Lucien, was still a kid from the wrong zip code.
    He gestured to the building behind Lucien before he said, “Did six months a few years back. Not too bad as long as you keep one eye open.”
    “Shit, if that ain’t true.”
    “I’m Dominic. I’ve been asked to offer you a job.”
    Lucien was immediately skeptical—random people didn’t just stroll up to you and offer you a job. Not to mention that his timing was impeccable.
    “You caught the eye of my boss and he’s feeling generous.”
    “Who’s your boss?”
    “If he wants you to know that, he’ll tell you.”
    “Fair enough. What’s the job?”
    “Oldest job there is.”
    Immediately Lucien thought Dominic was talking about prostitution and getting paid to fuck and forget. Sign him up. Dominic clearly could tell what he was thinking. A grin cracked over his face. “Not that old. Grave digging.”
    Lucien was sure he didn’t hear the guy right, because who the fuck dug graves anymore? “Say again?”
    “My reaction too, but there are a few graveyards where the owner believes in a more personal touch. You would work mostly at night, you get paid a hundred fifty dollars a week, meals are included, and there’s housing—nothing fancy, but at least it’s not the streets. You interested?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Cool, let’s walk and I’ll fill you in.”
     

Fourteen years earlier . . .
    D arcy sighed and tightened her arms around Lucien as he brushed his lips across the tender skin under her jaw. He moved slowly, building up the tension so that desire curled in her belly. Her hips tilted to take him deeper and her mouth pressed to his. The kiss grew a bit desperate as Darcy poured all her fears and hopes into it. She wanted it to always be like this between them, but change was coming. Lucien was turning eighteen, and with Sister Anne gone, he was leaving. Reality was a harsh truth and one that left her feeling adrift because she was unsure of what came next for them.
    His head lifted and Darcy saw the concern in his eyes, even as lust