Page 4 of Forget Me Not

His face is gaunt and pale with a blanket of gray hair coating his chest. Fortunately, his eyes are closed. If it weren't for the lack of movement and sound coming from his body, I might actually believe he wasn't dead at all and possibly just sleeping. But there's no mistaking it; he's a goner.

Regardless, I have to be sure. "Mr. Denali," I whisper, giving him an impalpable shake. I hold my breath on the off chance he might suddenly come alive, but he doesn't move. I put a hand over his heart, searching for a beat, but one of my dollar store press-on nails gets caught in his chest hair. I blow out a puff of air in annoyance and rip my hand away. Biting my lip, I cross my arms over my bare breasts and look down at him. Then I see my damn nail lying there, caught in the hair on his chest.

“Oopsies,” I mumble as I pluck the nail off him. “Sorry about this, Mr. Denali.” I stick the nail back on my finger, holding it down with force so it’ll stay in place.

My gaze trails along his body, landing on his limp dick and sagging ball sack. I’m not heartless by any means. I do have a heart, but I think it’s acceptable to have the thought ‘thank fuck I didn’t have to touch that thing.’

You're probably thinking I have sex for money, and your assumption would be correct. Before I’m judged, you should know that I only do it when necessary. It’s a way of surviving and times are tough right now. Who am I kidding? Times are always tough for me.

For what it’s worth, I find my clients on an untraceable app that thoroughly vets users. Obviously, I hide my identity, and I alsoalwaysuse protection. There are rules I have in place to protect myself. That’s not to say they haven’t been broken by clients in the past.

This is a dangerous line of work and sometimes things go amok. When that happens, I pick the broken pieces of myself off the floor and stitch myself back together with the thread of willpower a girl like me is forced to conjure. There’s no sense in living in the past; it’s there for a reason.

A devilish grin creeps across my face, and for a second, I hate myself for it. There are times I wish I had more empathy toward others. Unfortunately, this is not one of those times.

My eyes flicker to the man’s pants lying at my feet. The same pants he was wearing only minutes ago. I wonder what crossed his mind as he was taking them off—I’m certain it wasn’t his imminent death. He was probably elated at the prospect of a girl my age getting into those pants. At least he died hopeful. For that, I’ll pat myself on the back and leave this room without guilt.

After all, nothing is free in this world, and I deserve to be compensated for the final minutes of hope I gave this man. In any case, that’s what I’ll tell myself when I close my eyes to sleep tonight. If I look at this from any other angle, some remorse may creep inside me and feast on my insides, putting a damper on the future work I need to do. It’s hard keeping my feelings in check, but it’s necessary to survive. I’ll leave here with a nice payout, even though I’ll forgo the final payment I’d have received if I had the opportunity to carry out my job.

After quickly re-dressing, I stoop down and pinch his jeans with my index finger and thumb, pulling them back just enough to slide my hand into the back pocket until I feel the smoothness of his wallet.

I remove the soft, leather billfold. Not the cheap kind either. It’s the real deal. One hundred percent genuine leather. I bring it to my nose to inhale the scent. Leather and money—two of my favorite fragrances. This man definitely has money. It’s the sole reason I pulled him from the app. Well, that and his age. The elderly like to carry cash and I prefer the anonymity that comes with using it, while they prefer it as well, considering the majority of my clients are married men. Cash is the only way to guarantee my financial activities can’t be tracked.

I flip open the flap on the wallet and grab all the cash from the back compartment. I remember to slide a single one-hundred-dollar bill back inside to make sure things don’t appear suspicious. Then I close it and put it back in his pocket.

Without hesitation, I count my payout. Six hundred and twenty bucks. Definitely more than I would have gotten had he not croaked. Not too shabby for a single night’s work.

This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve done this a time or fifty. I’m not proud of what I do by any means, but it’s work, and I’m damn good at it.

I do my research on prospective clients. I chat with them briefly, learn their behaviors, and sometimes, ask about their families, too. In the case of Mr. Vincent Denali, there wasn’t much to learn. He’s a seventy-one-year-old widow with no children. He’s also the president and owner of Denali Enterprise, a Fortune 500 pharmaceutical company that deals in some very shady activities.

I could have easily wormed my way into this man’s life and made him fall in love with me. Eventually, he would have proposed and we would have gotten married. When he died, I’d get everything. However, I don’t work like that. I don’t attach myself, nor do I allow anyone to attach themselves to me. Matters of the heart are not my forte. Instead, my work is done rather quickly. Just not usuallythisquickly.

I know, I sound depraved. There’s not much I can do about that, unfortunately. You try living my life with a shell of a heart inside your chest that only beats so it can take you from one day to the next, and tell me what you’d do differently.

In my depravity, I snatch up the old man’s phone and use his face to gain entry. Hurriedly, I delete The Siren’s Call app from his phone so there is no connection between us. Then I tap on the search bar and type in a popular porn site before placing the phone in his hand while resting the other on his lax dick.

Death by orgasm. It’s a sad way to go. There will be no need for an investigation. The autopsy will show foul play was not a factor in his death and me being here was merely a coincidence. Doesn't matter, though. Come tomorrow morning, I’ll be long gone, and there will be no trace of Charlotte Millis in Georgia because Charlotte Millis doesn’t exist.

With a hurry in my steps, I snatch up my purse and give the room one last sweep. Then I blow Mr. Denali a kiss. “Rest in peace, babycakes.”

On my way out, I reach into my purse to retrieve one of the many packets of flower seeds. Not just any seeds, forget-me-not seeds. I like to plant them in random states I visit, knowing that a few short weeks later, they will bloom into beautiful flowers in memory of my mom.

Before I step through the revolving door, I flip up the hood on my jacket and lower my face to hide from the outdoor cameras. Not that it matters, but I try to cover my tracks when I can.My feet hit the pavement in front of the hotel and I tear the top off the packet and let it flutter to my feet. I walk straight ahead, my eyes skimming my surroundings until I see a grassy area beside a beautiful stone water fountain.

He’s here. There’s no doubt in my mind. I can feel the burn of his gaze on me. Scouring the area, I stop when I see the sleek black Mercedes Maybach he conceals himself in. I’m not surprised he found me; he always does.

I don’t know who he is or what he wants, but I can only derive he’s a lackey sent by my father. Oddly enough, I’m not afraid of him. He only ingrains a small amount of assurance that my job here is complete. As with every other time I’ve seen that car in my neck of the woods, I’ll flee, until he finds me again.

Soon enough, my follower’s mission will end. He’ll no longer need to hunt me, because I will no longer be his prey. I’m going to find my father, a man who sold my future to the devil, and I have every intention of taking my fate back into my own hands. Because once I find him, I’m going to kill him. Only then will I free him from the contract he signed. It’s a favor for him as much as it is for me. At least, that's how I’ll feel as I slide the blade across his wrinkly old throat.

With my hand held out, I sprinkle the seeds in memory of the only person I’ve ever loved in this entire world.

As they drift to the ground, landing on top of the grassy knoll, I’m reminded that I’m still here and she’s not. I’ll never forget. It’s excruciating, but ’tis life. The reality is, nothing is permanent. Those who live will perish every time.

Don’t you worry about me, Mom. I’m doing okay.

ChapterTwo

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