unForgivable (An inCapable World Novel Book 2) (15 page)

He clears his throat and takes another bite.

“Did Mona ever talk about Mickey with you?”

He steals my spoon and puts a scoop in his mouth.

I elbow him.

He swallows and pauses for a beat. “She didn’t say much, but I got the feeling that…they were blood and that was it. I don’t know if she had a lot of love for him.”

“I’m starting to wonder, myself.”

“She told me if something happened to you that I might need to protect you from him. And I think she was right because…”

“Because of what he made me promise?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I hug him a little tighter.

“You don’t owe him anything.”

I bite at my lip and close my eyes. He runs his hand through my hair. I’m sure it’s tangled and a mess but I’m beyond caring right now. My makeup is probably all over the place, too. Any other guy and I’d excuse myself and freshen up. But not Damien.

“He saved me more times than I can count,” I say.

“He was family. He was supposed to be there for you. And he should have done it without expecting anything in return.”

I know what he says is true, but it doesn’t lessen the guilt I carry in my heart. I had one chance to save him, like he’d done for me, and instead of doing what I knew was right, I listened to him and I let his poor judgment cloud my own. I could have saved him. But I let him die. Like Mona, he believed he didn’t need a doctor to help him live. He thought he was invincible and he could pull through.

Why the hell wasn’t I stronger? Why did I let him sway me?

Both of them. Stubborn and reckless right up until the end
.

“Are you still planning on taking revenge?”

Sighing, I tip my head back to look up at him. “Yes. But it’s not just about him. I’ve told you already, I want to do this because everyone in that family is poison. The world is better off without them.” I take a breath and softly ask, “Will you still help me?”

“I’m not sure I’m capable of saying no to you.”

“Can you get me the names of the people arrested the night Mona was killed?”

He breaks free from my embrace and sits up on the side of the bed with his back to me. His shoulders are slumped as his head hangs.

“Damien?”

“You do this, and you won’t be the same. And I…don’t know if you’ll still be the person who…”

“Who what?” I grab his shoulder and force him to face me.

“You won’t be the person I thought you were.”

“You barely know me at all.”

He scoffs at me, stands, and starts to get dressed. “Yeah, my mistake.”

“That’s it? You’re done? That’s all it took?”

“Are you kidding me?” he says, his voice rising. “You want to kill multiple people and I’m supposed to say,
yeah, okay, cool
? No.”

“You’ve killed before.”

“For a cause.”

“And this isn’t one?” I snap.

He pulls at his hair and starts to walk away, but then he storms back to my side of the bed, where he stands over me. I look up, watch his jaw widen as he clenches his teeth. “What I did wasn’t a crime.
This
…this is revenge.”

“I’ve told you, that’s not the reason I’m doing this.”

“Maybe not entirely, but it’s part of it. If you want to make them pay, let the cops handle them. Jimmy’s in jail and the others are out on bail. The cops can take care of this. The evidence is solid and they know it.”

I push the sheets off and slide into my panties and a T-shirt. I pull my hair back and out of my face, securing it with an elastic. He makes sense. I know it. But I can’t let it go and I don’t know why. There’s something inside of me that knows something will happen and they’ll end up walking. Whether it’s evidence getting lost or tampered with or some small detail that makes evidence inadmissible. I bite my lip and shake my head. No, I don’t trust the cops to make sure Jimmy and his friends stay behind bars forever.

“Please, just think about what you’re doing,” he says.

“I’m sorry I’m not the person you thought I was—or maybe who you wanted me to be. This is who I am, take me or leave me. I’m done bending for men.”

“You’re being stubborn and ridiculous. Think about what we’re talking about here. We’re not talking about a personality flaw, or snoring or leaving the toilet seat up. We’re talking about taking lives. You want to ruin your life and get yourself killed I’m not going to sit around and watch. Because I give a shit about you, Beth.”

“I never asked you to.”

He shakes his head. “No, I guess you didn’t.”

He storms out of the room, leaving me practically shaking with anger. A unicorn figurine sits on my dresser and I pick it up and toss it. It hits my mirror on the opposite side of the room and it smashes. Splinters of glass rain onto the carpet as I heave deep breaths in and out. Tears spring from my lashes.

“Beth?”

I turn and he’s by the door. When our eyes meet, he sighs and lowers his head. I swallow hard and hate myself for losing my temper and for letting myself cry. But if I’m being honest, that’s not the only reason I’m crying. I worried he might not ever come back. My feelings for him hit me hard, to the point where I feel as if the wind has been pounded out of my chest.

He marches toward me and folds his arms around me and I rest my head against his chest, sniffling.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his lips against my neck and hair. “You’re hurting and I’m not helping.”

“Don’t apologize,” I say. “I understand what you’re saying. You should leave and you should never come back. But I need to do this, Damien. I don’t want to, but I need to. My aunt didn’t want this for me, but you know what? This is exactly what she would have done, and for the exact same reasons. Can you understand that?”

He pulls back to look at me and I feel the desperation in my voice and my face and I know he can see it too. It’s probably why he’s so willing to give in. And I hate myself for showing this side of me. It makes me feel pathetic and yet instead of running, he’s here, at my side and he wants more.

“I’ll get your list, Beth,” he says. “But we do this my way. Understand?”

I nod, hugging him tighter.

“You’ll feel empty when it’s over. But if this is what you want, I’ll give it to you. I promise. Anything for you.”

B
ang
, bang!
The gun recoils and my hands lift as the bullet races to the target on the other side of the forest clearing.

“No, not like that,” Damien says. “Loosen your arms at the elbows a little.”

“Why can’t I shoot like this?” I hold my gun out with one hand and tilt it to the side and close one eye.

“Because you’re not a gangster,” he deadpans.

I make a face at him. After putting my ear defenders back on, I shoot anyway; my arm flies up.

Damien shakes his head his muffled words have me yelling, “What?” I remove my ear defenders again and quirk an eyebrow as I wait for him to repeat himself. I can’t hear a damn thing with them on.

“Two hands. It gives you more control.” Bravely, he walks forward on his makeshift range deep in the woods of Norton, a small rural community a few miles outside of Sterling.

“You sure you want to be walking in front of me while I’m holding a gun?”

“You just used your last round, or I wouldn’t have considered it.”

“Ha ha,” I say, without a trace of humor.

Damien made this elaborate wooden board in the shape of a human silhouette. He layered it with a piece of paper that he keeps replacing each time I empty a magazine. My shooting is pretty awful and sometimes I don’t even hit the stupid target. My uncle might have been a crack shot but I didn’t inherit his talent. I fucking suck. I might have more luck chucking the gun at the Dantes instead of firing it.

He rips the paper off the board and frowns as he stares at it. He moves his finger over the paper, searching for holes. His frown worries me because I’m certain my unlucky streak is continuing. I wonder why he’s frowning. Shouldn’t he be happy about it? That would make more sense.

In his black boots and jeans with a flannel shirt, he trudges across the overgrown grass, his footfalls making a swishing sound. His face is covered in coarse hair and as I tip my head to the side and study him, I feel a tugging sensation between my legs that makes me sigh. I like his new beard. I hope he lets it grow. There is something about his hair scratching at my face that drives me wild. And I love it especially when those coarse hairs are positioned snugly between my thighs. The delicate burn…

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his eyebrows puckered.

“Nothing,” I say a bit too quickly and I’m sure I’ve given myself away when his cheeks start to flame.

He runs a hand through his messy, wind-blown hair. There are a million and one things I want to do with him right now, and shooting guns—literally—is not one of them. I think that might be why continues to let himself look rough, when I know he prefers a more polished look. He’s trying to distract me. But it won’t work.

When he reaches me, he shakes his head and kisses me on the lips. The scar on his cheek moves into a wide V-shape as he smiles and I reach out to run my fingers across it. It must have hurt. I wonder if he cried; if he thought he’d died when the bomb went off that day.

“Focus,” he says, gripping my hand.

I both love and hate this Soldier Damien. When he turns it on, there is little I can do to snap him out of it. He’s a sergeant with a mission and he pushes me to succeed. He even yells at me. Not that I mind. The more time I spend with him, the more I find everything about him sexy, and that makes this even harder. I know how much he objects.

I drop my hand and take the paper from him. I count the bullet holes and jump up and down when I discover I connected with the target for every single shot! When I notice his solemn face, I calm myself and wrap my arms around his neck. “I couldn’t have done this without you,” I whisper.

“That makes it worse,” he says.

He breaks away and starts packing up his stuff, shoving the leftover magazines in his backpack and rolling up the extra paper. I leave him to his thoughts because I’m pretty sure I can’t fix the tension between us right now.
I’d like to
, but I know I can’t. Not without changing my mind about the Dantes.

We ride back to town in silence. When Damien agreed to help me a few days ago, I happily accepted his help. Now I know it was a mistake. He still wants me, but how long before he decides I’m really not what he wants? I can see it now. And the look that I crave—that makes me feel like I’m loved and I’m home—has vanished. I should have kept him out of this. I should have learned to shoot on my own and kept everything about my plan to myself. I should have lied to him if I had to, and done anything to keep him happy. Because I’ve fallen hard for him and I’m in danger of losing him.

He drops me off at the pub. I moved into Mona’s place permanently yesterday. I still have my apartment, but I’ve decided to live here now and it makes sense considering the pub is downstairs and I can be available if anyone needs me when it reopens.

I still haven’t decided when that will be.

Tension fills the air when he pulls over to the curb. Usually, he turns off the car and gets out with me, and I know he’s coming in. Not today, though. Today, he puts the car in park and lets it idle and I know I’m on my own tonight. I don’t ask for an explanation. I figure he needs some time and I get that. Maybe more than most. I smile at him before gently shutting the door. As I back away, he lowers the window.

“I should have given this to you earlier,” he says. He holds out a large manila envelope and I reach into the window and take it from him.

“What’s this?”

“The names you wanted.”

“Oh,” is all I can manage. I’m hurting him. I can see it in his face and it kills me, eats away at my insides. I knew I was starting to fall for him, but I never felt it quite so sharply until this moment, when I can see what being with him is doing to him. I flash back to the night where he fucked up his hands in the alleyway outside his apartment. I saw a side of him that I’m pretty sure he doesn’t often show, and it crushed me to know I caused it.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“Sure,” he says as the window rolls up. He drives off and I watch after him. Giving a shit and meaning it sucks sometimes.

I slide my finger through the end of the sealed envelope as I turn and walk to the pub door. When I get there, I put the key in the lock and open it wide. The lights are off and the place is in shadows. I reach out to turn on the light to the left of me, flick it on, and jump when I see someone sitting at the bar.

Jocelyn Dante. And she’s helped herself to some of the champagne left over from the funeral.

Well, fuck me sideways. She certainly has a habit of breaking and entering.

I could try to tuck the envelope behind my back but I think it would make it obvious that it’s something I really, really don’t want her to see. I don’t think I could do it quick enough for her not to catch it, and I can’t risk it. She’d probably sell her own son to get ahead in this world.

“I’d say it’s a pleasure, Jocelyn, but…”

“Feeling is mutual.” She raises her flute and takes a long drink of the pink, bubbly liquid. I was saving that for a rainy day. I’m actually pretty pissed that she thought it was okay to steal it, more pissed than her breaking in, actually.

“To what do I owe the immense pleasure?”

“I heard you’re spending an awful lot of time with my son.”

“And?”

“And I don’t like it,” she says with a sneer.

I laugh at her as I stroll by, bending down to duck under the bar arm so I can stand on the other side of the counter and keep a safe distance. I snatch a bottle of opened tequila and pour it into a shot glass, spilling a drop or two on the bar. I slam it back and pour myself another, knowing a few more will help me navigate my conversation with this skank.

“Pour me one of those,” she demands.

I give her the middle finger and she glares at me, a wicked smile on her red rose lips. I hate that she’s practically fifty and yet looks like she could be my older sister. Botox? Plastic surgery? I do remember her disappearing for a month or two a few years ago. That would explain her absence. Or maybe an unplanned pregnancy to one of her many lovers?

I set the envelope on the table, too far away for her to snatch it, but she tries anyway. I grab it and hold it firmly in my hand.
Almost, bitch, but not quite
.

“You’re a little jumpy. What are you hiding?”

“None of your fucking business,” I say.

She grins at me, her white teeth like fangs under the florescent lights. I swear she’d bite me if she got close enough.

“You and I aren’t so different, you know,” she says.

“This ought to be good.” I give her the biggest eye roll I can muster.

“Beautiful, smart, loved by men, but never for the right reasons. You want more than you have but you don’t know how to get it. An easy life with a husband and kids would bore you. You want excitement, and I think secretly you like the drama that bad men bring to your life. You like having them burn you over and over because then you get to pretend you’re the victim, when the truth is, if you had a good guy, someone like my son, you would crush him. Because happily ever after wouldn’t suit you.”

“You’re so wrong, it’s unbelievable.” I laugh out loud and pour myself another shot. She thinks I love the way men treat me? That I love the drama?
Fuck you, bitch
. The only thing she had right was that her son is a good guy, one I intend to hold on to because I want to be loved, not treated like the piece of trash I’ve always felt like.

“Jocelyn, I’ve had a really bad week and you being here is the cherry on top, let me tell you. So why don’t you do us both a favor—because you’re looking a little tired yourself—and tell me what it is you want.”

“I would think it’s obvious.”

“Nope. Spell it out for me.”

“Stay away from my son.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. If your son wants to stay away from me then he’ll have to tell me himself.”

“I’m only going to tell you once.”

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

I see a change in her as I laugh. It’s like a switch has flipped inside her head. Her eyes darken to the color of asphalt and her face hardens, smoothing out all of her wrinkles. I’m not one to back down or fear women. Usually, they like to make a big production out of things and then they back off. But Jocelyn? I know what’s coming even before she lunges over the bar like a fucking Olympian.

I jump back, out of her reach, and she topples to the floor. I’m no idiot and I know when I don’t stand a chance. I’ve been in a few fights in my life and, as a girl, I’d fight anyway. I’d figure, what the hell and take the licks as they came. I would never run away. Not ever. But Jocelyn doesn’t want to hurt me tonight. She wants to choke the life out of me with her bare hands, and she’ll probably manage it if we duke it out like men.

So, I run. Back through the swinging doors and into Mona’s office, slamming and locking the door behind me. I fall to the floor, crawling to the safe as Jocelyn kicks the living shit out of the door.
Bang. Bang. Bang
. One of the heels of her stilettos breaks through and I can see the long, red end.

Well, shit.

“Face me, you bitch! Come on! Going to run off like the scared cunt you are? I’ll die before you ruin my son’s life! He belongs with my family! In charge like his stepfather was! And if you think I’m going to let a whore like you take him away from me again, you’re fucking mistaken!”

She’s crazy. Flat out, needs-a-psych-evaluation crazy. How the hell does Damien share her DNA? I wonder if I should be worried.

Crack. The heel penetrates the door even deeper, the wood splintering around the point of impact. The safe cracks open and I snatch Mona’s .40 caliber handgun and fumble with the magazine while trying to lock it in place. After I hear the click, I spring to my feet and turn to face the door. I fire once, twice, and then there’s silence. No, it can’t be that easy. She’s on the other side, waiting to take me out when I unlock it.
But I can’t stay in here forever
. The pub still hasn’t reopened yet so it’s not like anyone is going to come in here and find us. And people in this neighborhood don’t call the cops when they hear gunshots. They look the other way and pretend it was some random fireworks.

“Playing possum?” I yell at her.

I strain my ears, hoping to hear something that might give her away. Tick tock, tick tock. The hand moves around the clock on the wall. Sighing, I tiptoe to the door, careful not to make any noise. My heart is racing and I start to sweat. I’d worried that I couldn’t pull the trigger when I faced the people responsible for Mona’s death, but now that I’m faced with the possibility of killing someone, I feel nothing. Even though I know if I kill her, it will hurt Damien. Okay, maybe I feel bad about that, but could I pull the trigger? Fucking right. Because this woman is poison. And he’s better off without her. Just like the world is better off without the Dantes.

Plus, she’s trying to kill me.

When I’m a few feet away from the door I still, wait and listen. I can hear a floorboard creak—ever so faintly—and I know she’s still here. Wounded? Maybe. Then again, I don’t know if bullets alone would take this witch down. She’s probably like a cat with nine lives, a beast that keeps coming back.

I kick the door open and it slams into the wall in the hallway.

“Marco?” I whisper.

“Polo!” She lunges for me and I pull the trigger but I miss her as she struggles to rip the gun from my hands. Grunting and groaning, both of our hands around the black metal, we smash from one side of the wall to the other like a ball bouncing around in an arcade game. I take an elbow to the face and my head snaps back, blood spurting out of my nose. I let out a curse and try to knee her in the gut. We collapse on the tiled floor and the gun slides across the ceramic.

“Fucking bitch,” she says as she punches me in the face. The blood comes harder now and I can feel it running down the back of my throat. I’m practically choking on it as I haul off and pop her in the eye. We keep it up like this, both of us hitting, neither of us blocking. When neither of us has an ounce of energy left we finally roll onto our backs on the floor, hefting breaths in and out.