unForgivable (An inCapable World Novel Book 2) (11 page)

“Let go of her arm,” he says, firmly, clearly not intimidated by the men’s guns or their thick, muscular appearances.

The guy holding me scoffs at him, and refuses to let go. So Damien does something unexpected. He retracts his arm and faster than I can process he smashes his fist into the guy’s nose. He certainly lets go then, bending to cough and sputter as blood pours from his nose to stain the dirt at his feet. Another guard raises his gun and presses it to Damien’s temple. But Damien doesn’t hold his hands up or try to talk the guy out of hurting him. I swear he wants to die—here and now. He pushes back with his head, the metal biting into his flesh.

“Stop!” I scream.

Jocelyn barges out through the double doors and starts yelling at the guards. “That’s my son, goddamn it. Don’t treat him like the enemy.” She pulls her son into a hug and her eyes shift to me and back to him. “What the hell are you doing here with her?”

“Not now, Mother.”

She leans in and whispers something to him and I hear him give her a firm “no”, though I can’t be sure what she’s said. Probably something heinous.

“I want to speak with Frankie,” I say.

She glances at me from the corner of her eye. “Good for you. And I want a black Rolls Royce, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to get one, does it?

“He’ll want to see me.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

She gawks at me, like a doting mother would a scantily dressed hussy about to climb aboard her son. The wheels spin in that old head of hers, but after she considers her options, she sees reason. Or maybe she thinks Frankie will kill me and she’d like to see that happen. Who the hell knows with her? And how the hell did a woman so awful give birth to someone like Damien?

“Follow me,” she says with a sneer.

With a sideways glance at the back of the truck I start forward, following in her wake. She takes her son’s arm and though he’s reluctant, he allows it. Inside the house, I ignore all the fine pretty things they have. Like the art on the wall, or the random white, faceless sculptures along the far wall. We go into a library with a large wooden desk in the center. Frankie sits behind it and when he sees me, a confused look crosses his narrow face. He scratches his head and leans back in his chair.

“Well, this is unexpected,” he says. “Damien, it’s good to see you.”

“Is it?” he says under his breath.

Frankie ignores him, focusing on me with narrowed eyes as he smirks. “And Beth Bilski. Yes. Very unexpected.”

“Well, no one’s ever called me predictable,” I say.

“Hmm.” He gestures to the seats in front of him. Damien waits for me to sit before he drops into the one beside me. I lean back, fold my hands in my lap, and try to keep my cool. Though now I sit in front of a beast, my nerves are firing and my pulse is racing. I hold up my chin and keep my face straight. No one ever said I can’t act when I put my mind to it. Meanwhile, Damien is on guard. He leans over to rest his elbows on his knees.

“You came together?” Frankie asks.

I shrug.

“Jocelyn, leave us alone. And shut the door behind you.”

“Frankie, my boy doesn’t belong in here, in
this
conversation.”

“Don’t tell me what to think, Jocelyn. I don’t have the patience for you tonight.” He dismisses her with a wave and though she hesitates, a line of worry streaking her otherwise botox-ed forehead, she does as she’s told.

“You have the floor, Miss Bilski.”

I let my bottom lip fall and draw in a long, slow breath. “You wanted my uncle dead?”

“Is it that simple?” He leans back a little farther in his chair. He hums and haws for a moment. “No, I don’t think it is.”

“The cops came to my apartment and told me about Mona, and they also told me she…that she…” I can’t form the words.

“Turned on her family?”

“Yes,” I mumble. “They thought you might retaliate against my uncle and me. Which turns out to be true since some of your men showed up at my apartment and ended up shooting Mickey.”

“Sometimes cops aren’t as stupid as they seem.”

“You want to know if my uncle knew about Ralph’s murder?” I wait for him to nod. “He did. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one to pull the trigger.”

Frankie licks his lips and his fingers curl into fists on the armrest of his chair. Then he pushes out of his seat and paces the length of the picture window on the opposite side of the room. The branches from a nearby tree tap at the glass as the wind picks up. The noise crawls up my spine and makes me shiver.

I give him a moment to process what I’ve said. I might not like him, but he lost a brother and I’m not completely heartless.

“And now you’re wondering if I knew? Well, the answer is no—at least, not until yesterday I didn’t. Like you, I believed Ralph disappeared. I knew my aunt wasn’t all that sad about it, but he wasn’t all that nice to her and I figured she was just happy to be free of him.”

“I’m curious why you feel the need to tell me all of this.”

“Because I’m a survivor, Mr. Dante,” I say. “I don’t want to run away. I don’t want to have to constantly look over my shoulder. I just want to move past this. I understand you want blood for blood, and I want you to know that you’ve got it.” I take a breath. “My uncle is dead and in the back of Damien’s SUV.”

He faces me, his eyebrows puckered. “Excuse me?”

“He’s dead…in Damien’s truck. You can go and see for yourself.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” I repeat.

At this, Frankie laughs out loud, outrageous-like, as if he’s never heard anything funnier. “You are Mona’s Bilski’s blood, I’ll give you that.”

“You took my aunt and now my uncle. Nothing can take away the pain of that, but I don’t want a war—especially one I know I can’t win. I just want my life back.”

He leans over his desk, staring at me like a collector appraising a piece of art. He tries to understand me, tries to see through me, to my intentions, but I hold my cards tight against my chest. I won’t let him see.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” I glance at Damien who continues to stare at Frankie.

“Blood for blood,” he says, repeating me.

I stumble, looking for the right words but realize I have none. There is no appropriate thing to say right now.

“Oh, well…thank you.” I start to rise but he raises his hand to stop me and I reclaim my seat.

“This conversation isn’t over yet. Not until I say it is.”

“What more could we have to say to one another?”

“Careful. I’m an important man and I deserve your respect—if not your fear.”

I swallow hard and sit up straighter. His arrogance and the smug look on his face is enough to make me want to shoot him right here…in the throat or maybe in the forehead.

“Have you read her will yet?”

“Excuse me?” I say, a touch confused.

“It’s a simple question.”

“No. I guess I haven’t had time, what with running for my life and all,” I say, my voice sour.

“I suspect she’ll have left everything to you and so she should. However, that pub was built on my brother’s money and she didn’t deserve to keep it after she…” He pauses and pinches the bridge of his nose while attempting to calm himself. “None the less, I don’t want any of it. But…you will continue to pay for operating in Jimmy’s domain.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Well, now you do. I expect my payment weekly. Friday afternoons at four p.m. One thousand dollars. I will come to you. Do not seek me out. I’ll expect you to be at the pub waiting for me, envelope in hand, all one hundred dollar bills—unless we make prior arrangements.”

“A thousand dollars? I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Good thing I’m a reasonable guy. Given the recent loss of your family, I’ll give you a few weeks to get your affairs settled. Tomorrow is Friday so you have three weeks from tomorrow.” He leans back in his chair, steepling his hands.

“Are we done?”

“Not quite.”

I stare at him, expressionless, unable to imagine what he’ll throw at me now.

“Tell me, Beth, can I trust you? Like I trusted your uncle before all of this mess?”

No, absolutely not
, is what I should say, but I don’t. I hold my head up high, look him straight in the eye, and hope to God he doesn’t see the sweat building in a thin layer over my whole body. “You can trust me,” I say.

“Hmm. We shall see.”

“Can I go now?”

A wicked smile consumes his face as he holds up his hands as if to say “be my guest.”

I push out of my seat and stand. Damien follows my lead.

I turn away from Frankie and am nearly at the door to the library when he calls out my name. “For what it’s worth, I
am
sorry about your uncle.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t care.”

He glares at me momentarily before chuckling. “In another life, Beth, I might have liked you, perhaps more than was good for me.”

“Well, aren’t we lucky we’re living this one.”

I push through the doors, never looking back, but when I get to the car, I finally let out the breath I was holding, my air coming out in raspy, shaking breaths.

The guards round the car, open the back door and drag my uncle out. I close my eyes and say a quiet good-bye.

“
A
thousand dollars
?” I whisper to myself, though I know Damien hears me.

“It’s a lot of money,” he agrees.

I turn to him. “How long has she been paying him that? Do you know?”

“Mona and I didn’t talk about things like that.” He turns onto the highway before asking me, “Do you have the money?”

“You’ve done enough.”

“I wasn’t offering.”

My lips form a perfect circle as he tosses his comment out and I feel like the biggest idiot until he starts to smile and then I want to hit him.

“I don’t have it, but I could get it if you need it.”

“I appreciate the offer. I’m amazed that you continue to be one of the two people I can count on the most right now. I shouldn’t trust you as much as I do, and I wouldn’t if Mona hadn’t.”

“So you trust me now?”

“I’m starting to,” I say quietly. “I
want
to.”

He reaches out to squeeze my hand and my body tenses. He seems to notice because he takes it away just as quickly as he offered it.

“It’s not you,” I say. It’s the thought of letting my guard down, of opening up and trusting, and of getting burned. Everything inside of me tells me to stay cautious.

He scoffs at me.

“I know that’s what people say when they’re not interested and need an excuse. I’ve used it myself a few times and I can’t even tell you how many times it’s been used on me.”

“Who would give you up?” he says, his voice as serious as a heart attack.

A small smile crashes through my defenses, before I realize I’m doing it.

“You’ve got a beautiful smile.”

“Damien…” I bow my head and feel the heat of embarrassment in my cheeks.

“I won’t push you. I told you before, I’ll be whatever you need, and if that’s a friend, then I’m cool with that.”

“Whatever I need?” I ask.

“Anything,” he agrees.

I bite my lip and stare out the window. When he says this, I imagine there is a short list of things he assumes I’ll ask for. He can’t imagine what comes to mind, other than the obvious.

“Just spit it out.”

“I need…I need…”

“Yes?”

“I need you to teach me how to shoot a gun and make it count.”

He blows air out through pursed lips. “Beth, I told you before that killing a person isn’t something you’ll ever get over. It’ll ruin someone like you.”

“It didn’t ruin my aunt or my uncle.”

“I think we can agree you’re not like them.”

“What if I’m exactly like them?” I retort.

He scratches his head, shakes it, and starts to speak, but then snaps his mouth shut. “Your aunt wanted something different for you. I told you that already.”

“Well, my uncle didn’t,” I snap. “And I promised him I’d take revenge for my aunt.”

“At what cost? Your life?”

I refuse to answer. Instead, I wrap my arms around my middle and hug myself for comfort.

“Think about that. How much could he really care about you if he asked you for that? People who love you protect you at all costs. They don’t put you in danger. And you’re willing to die for someone like that?”

“You’re right. My uncle didn’t love me the way I loved him. Do you feel better for making that obvious to me?”

“Beth, I’m trying to get you to see reason.”

“Because you care about what Mona wanted?”

“Because I give a shit about you!” he snaps.

“You’d get bored of me if I let you in.”

He groans and lets out a breath. “So better not to try?”

“Damien, I told you before, your timing—”

“I know it sucks,” he agrees. “Doesn’t make me want you any less.”

I gulp and my heart thuds. There’s the look. I can’t even think when he gives it to me. It would be so easy to forget about my life right now and to focus on getting to know his mind and, better, his body. I could fall…hard. It would be easy. And yet, I can’t let myself.

“Damien, you’ll find someone else. They’ll be amazing and I’ll hate them. But I want that for you because you deserve it. You don’t deserve to come home from war to fight another battle that’s not your own. You don’t deserve a girl who’s never quite been able to get her shit together.”

“The fact that you’re pushing me away only makes me want you more. Do you get that?”

I bite my lip before sighing. He doesn’t give up easily and it’s a quality I find attractive. Another one to add to the list, I suppose. “You’re so persistent.”

“I can be.”

“I don’t need a boyfriend right now. I need someone who can help me hit a target and you don’t want to do that.”

Lines of worry crease his forehead. He reduces his speed until we’re crawling, prolonging the drive. “I’ll make you a deal,” he says, finally. “If you give me a good reason why you need to keep your promise—and not that ‘I promised’ bullshit—I’ll help you. If I can understand why, then yeah, I’ll help you.”

I don’t like to be put on the spot, especially when it comes to sharing my feelings. Opening up makes me feel so naked and vulnerable and I worry about being judged, about saying the wrong thing and seeing a look on his face that screams disgust or disappointment. Could I say anything to him that would make him understand my motivation? Do I even know it myself? I give it thought as we continue to drive. I shouldn’t care what he thinks—what anyone thinks. For the longest time I’ve let people believe I don’t care, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I want to be accepted. I want people to like me even if I don’t like them. I don’t want to look foolish or stupid. And I care about what Damien thinks more than I’ve cared about many other opinions.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I say, in an attempt to blow him off.

He doesn’t bite. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I groan, shifting in my seat so I’m leaning toward the passenger-side window. The condensation wets the fine hair on my forearm and chills me. Shivers crawl through my body from my toes to my head. I snatch his sweater from the seat between us and pull it on over his T-shirt.

“They took everything from me,” I say. “Yes, Mickey made me promise and I didn’t want to. I hesitated when he first asked me, but then he died and I felt like maybe I wanted revenge, too. My Uncle Ralph used to beat my aunt. He’d call her down, push her to the floor, and basically tell her to kiss his feet. She’d fight him and he’d just ride her harder. He was a bad man who deserved to die. All the Dantes are. And even if it’s hard for me to pull the trigger, and even if I get nightmares forever from what I’m going to do, I’ll feel some comfort in knowing that the world is a better place without them.” I clear my throat and take a slow breath. Then, I bow my head and wait for his judgment, but he says nothing. Just keeps his eyes on the road, with an occasional sideways glance. I’m sure he’s not to going to respond at all until his soft voice draws me from my thoughts.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” I ask, unsure if I’ve heard him correctly.

He nods. “But I want you to think about it some more. And you don’t act until I say you’re ready. Can you listen to me and do what I say?”

“Probably not,” I say.

He scoffs. “Well, at least you’re honest. But that’s the deal. You think about it and let me know.”

“Thank you.” This has always been hard for me to say and I seem to say it an awful lot to him.

“And I’ll get you the money for Frankie,” he says.

“What? No, not a chance. I’m sure Mona has money in her safe—I think. She usually keeps a week’s worth of profits in there so…”

“You have the combination?”

I nod and sink deeper into my seat.

A thousand dollars.
A week
. Can I keep giving him that? Fuck. I don’t even know if I want to keep the bar going. If I do, it’s because it meant a lot to my aunt. Not that I’ll be any good at it. I was a mediocre waitress and I’m now manager and owner. Ugh. I wince in pain as I feel immense weight in my shoulders along with a tightness in my chest.
Trapped
. Handcuffed to a business I have no idea how to run and chained to a man who thinks he’s owed something he absolutely has no right to.

“Fuck!” I scream, slamming my open hand onto the dash.

Damien isn’t fazed at all by my outburst. He’s relaxed in his seat as we crawl along the coastline back to the city. And he’s thoughtful enough to be silent, as if he can sense it’s what I need right now. He seems like a straight and narrow guy, so I can only imagine how much he hates what I’ve dragged him into. No matter how willingly he came, it doesn’t escape me that he ran from this life and these people. How curious is it that he’s at my side right now?

When Damien nears the turnoff to my apartment complex, I clear my throat and am grateful to find that my voice isn’t shaky, an incredible feat since I’ve been near tears since Frankie’s thugs dragged my uncle into the darkness.

“Could you drop me home?” I ask. “I just live down on Mayfield.”

“Are you sure you should be alone?”

I
am
alone. “I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know. Frankie might say you’re safe, but who knows if he meant what he said? These people can’t always be trusted to be true to their word.”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong. All they have is their word.” My voice is quiet, emotionless, like a robot relaying information without any trace of emotion.

“Would you bet your life on it?”

I force a smile. “What choice do I have?”

“Stay with me, just until you feel safe again. You never know what those assholes might do.”

“I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

“How do you mean?”

“You just swore, Sergeant.”

He shakes his head. “I do swear, Beth, just not like a sailor.” He pauses. “And how did you know I was a sergeant?”

“Good guess.”

“Hmm.”

“Or maybe it was on a piece of fabric in one of your drawers.”

He glances at me, his face full of indignation, but then he just sort of shakes it off. “I guess I should have figured you went through my things when you came out of my bedroom with my gun.”

“I suppose I should apologize for that.”

“Wasn’t looking for an apology.”

He drives his car down the dark alleyway to park in a tight space behind his building. I never did agree to stay with him but I suppose he took my changing the topic as complacence. I’m too tired to argue, and well…I don’t want to be alone. If I’m being honest, I feel better with Damien nearby.

We walk to his door and after he unlocks it, he opens it and lets me go in first. A gentleman. I like that. Not too many guys in my life have that particular quality and it’s a good one.

He turns on the lights to the living room and kitchen and I slowly make my way to the spare bedroom, my breath catching in my chest. Mickey’s blood remains on the covers with some handprint smears on the walls. I swallow a lump in my throat and let out my breath, jumping almost out of my skin when Damien’s hand rests on my shoulder.

“Take my room,” he says, “I’ll take the couch.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’ll just get some clothes,” he says as he passes by me in the hall. He takes a pair of underwear and pants from his dresser and then goes to the kitchen where he picks his gun up off the kitchen counter. “Just in case,” he says.

When the apartment is quiet, I lay in bed, my heart aching for the people I’ve lost. I don’t know what I’ll do without them. My chest constricts, making it hard to get my fill of air, and no matter how much I toss and turn, I can’t fall asleep. I don’t want to grieve; to think about Mickey and Mona. I just want this deep-seated pain to go away. In the past, whenever I’ve been sad I’ve found ways to distract myself: men, alcohol, pot. Whatever I can do to numb myself. I need something like that. And as I lay here, thinking of Damien in the next room, I know exactly how to forget about my pain.

I sit up and lower my feet to the cold floor. In one of his oversized shirts and underwear I tiptoe out to the living room. He sleeps on the sofa, the moonlight streaming in to highlight his cheekbones. His eyes are closed, his breathing just loud enough to hear him sleeping peacefully. I envy him that. I take a step closer, then another. I look down at him one last time before I make my move. I notice a scar on his chin and his neck that I never noticed before. His leg sticks out from under a ratty old afghan and I see an old scar on his shin, like his flesh had been gouged out. It’s pink; old but still new. I’ve run my hands over most of his body and yet I never noticed this mark. I lower myself to the couch, sitting on the edge beside him.

He is nothing like the guys I fuck and forget. He’s the kind of guy that slips inside of you and takes up roots. Now I’ve had him I’m not willing to let him go, even though I know I’ll ruin him. He will never have a happy, normal life with me because he’s nothing like me. He’s not a guy to play the field, I can tell that easily. There is a sort of cocky quality about those guys, the ones who know another girl is waiting for them if you dare to say no. But not this guy.

It makes me hesitate. I don’t want to hurt him. I really,
really
don’t.

But I need something—or someone—to get me through the night. And I want him. Can I do that to him after all he’s done for me? Sleep with him again and still refuse a relationship with him that’s meaningful? Would he care if I have nothing else to offer? Which makes me wonder why he’s still even with me, insisting I stay with him. I bite my lip and hate myself—want to scream at myself—as a single tear rolls down my cheek. For Mona, for Mickey, for the life I will never get back. I bat it away and Damien’s eyes flutter open.

“Hey,” he says. He adjusts himself, sitting up just enough to reach his hand out and touch my cheek. “It’ll be okay.”

“Will it?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and pulls me down on the couch to lay beside him, his front facing my back. I don’t cuddle. I’m not sure I’ve ever cuddled like this. I mean, perhaps for a moment after sex, but it was never comfortable and it was a very far cry from comforting. Not with a boyfriend and not with family. Let’s be honest. The most affection I got from Mickey or Mona was a high five. And boys only want to fuck me and roll over and have a cigarette or get dressed and leave—or I do the leaving. But I as I lay here, enveloped by his strong arms, his warm breath a sweet caress against my ear, my eyelids grow heavy and I let them fall as the pain in my heart dulls.