unForgivable (An inCapable World Novel Book 2)

by Sara Hubbard

  “I know you’re upset and I’m very sorry for your loss—”

  “Really? Is that why your asshole partner was leafing through my shit?”

  “No, I’ll be honest: we’re trying hard to find your uncle. I have a feeling he’s not going to let Mona’s death go unpunished and I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen if he does—not just to him, but to everyone he cares for as well.”

  “I hope he kills everyone who had a hand in her death.”

  He sighs and puts his hands firmly on his hips. “I know this is a terrible blow. I just hope when the dust clears that you’ll realize that following in your aunt’s and uncle’s footsteps will only lead you to more chaos and pain.”

  He closes the distance between us, holding out a tentative hand to touch my shoulder. I flinch and pull back as he touches me, away from his reach, and flash him a disgusted look.

  “I’m going to give you my card. I really hope you use it.”

  I tear it up into small pieces and throw it on the ground, staring up at him with a heart full of hatred.

  He takes another and sets it on the countertop. “You seem like a smart girl. I hope you’re smart enough to realize that your uncle is going to end up like your aunt if we don’t find him quickly.”

  “Get out!”

  “Of course.” He backs away.

  “Now!” I snap since he isn’t moving fast enough.

  “Be careful,” he says.

  “I don’t need any advice, thanks. I just want to be left alone.”

  Detective Russell ambles to the door and I follow behind him, waiting for him to step out into the hall so I can slam the door and find my phone. But that’s not what I do. When they’re both gone and the door is tightly sealed I fall to the ground and shed a thousand tears for the woman who loved me like I was her own—even if she had trouble showing it. Oh, God. This pain. I can barely handle it. I wrap my arms around my legs, put my head down, and rock back and forth. The world fades into silence and black emptiness. I don’t know how long I stay like this. But when I’ve had my fill, I decide to never shed another tear and pick myself up and take a deep breath.

  I’ll never be the same. I know it, but I can’t crumble to pieces right now. Not when Mickey is in danger of leaving me, too.

  I need to find him.

  Before it’s too late.

  First, I check the obvious places: the pool hall, his favorite burger joint, the Laundromat. Mickey seems to spend an awful lot of time doing laundry, although to be honest, I’m pretty sure he does more business in that old white paint-chipped building than underwear.

  When he doesn’t turn up at any of those places, I decide to visit his whores. I’m no saint. I’ve been with my share of men and I can hardly cast stones at women who sleep around, but the girls Mickey likes to hang with are ones who typically exchange sex for money. Maybe not when it comes to him, because older girls seem to really be into his whole bad boy with gray hair thing, but they’re still working girls, even if they give it away for free from time to time.

  Sandra’s Place is an old white Victorian house down on Fairview. On the outside, it looks like a family home, with shutters, rose bushes, and lawn gnomes. On the inside, it’s all business. And it’s owned by the Dantes—the girls all foreign and illegal either by age or by nationality. Sandra is the woman who manages it, and she’s tough as nails. Like a weathered and heavier version of Mona. Mickey’s regular date, Fancy, works there five evenings a week out of seven.

  “Haven’t seen her,” Sandra says as she tosses a boa over her shoulder.

  Sighing, I shift my weight to my other foot as I stand in the entryway of the house. “Can I leave you my number?” I ask.

  She eyes me, not suspicious like, but in a way that makes me believe I need to offer her some incentive. I reach into my bag and pull out a twenty after jotting my number down on the back.

  Sandra stuffs the twenty in her ample cleavage, down deep, past the heart tattoo on the left breast and the cross on the right. “I’ll pass on the message.”

  “And if you see…if you see my Uncle Mickey, could you ask him to call me too?”

  “Mickey?” she says with a sneer. “Mickey Bilski?”

  I nod slowly, wondering why the hell she looks so pissed off. He might be one of her best customers.

  She glances around and then walks to the door with me practically tripping on her stilettos. When I’m on the other side of the door, under the cover of the porch, she lowers her voice and all but whispers, “They’re watching.” Her eyes roll up and to the left and I spy the camera up high in the corner of the porch. “I can’t help you. They’re looking for him.”

  “The Dantes?”

  “Don’t come back here.”

  She attempts to slam the door in my face but I push back on the door, refusing to let her dismiss me. “Please!”

  She shoves hard and the door slams shut, the glass vibrating within the dark-stained frame. I slap my open hands against the glass, kick the door. “My aunt is dead!” I scream. “Please. Tell me what the hell is going on!”

  The lights in the entryway to Sandra’s turn off, casting the house into shadows and I’m left to stand on the porch in the dark, confused, and breathing heavy from fighting to get back in the house. “What the hell is going on?” I whisper. They’re looking for him, she said. She can only mean the Dantes or she would have helped me. None of this makes any sense, but it certainly adds credence to what the cops were trying to sell me in my apartment. Mickey is in danger and I could very well be, too.

  As I hurry back to the car I borrowed from Mona’s garage, I fish my phone out of my purse and scroll through my phone numbers, looking for someone I can pump for information, someone who works around the Dantes but not necessary for them. Someone I can trust. Someone who’s not loyal to them. But as I look through all the numbers there isn’t a single name I find that I can bet my life on. That doesn’t mean I give up, though. I keep looking, driving around all night, hoping to glimpse Mickey’s old fixed-up sedan. Only when I’m yawning and fearful of going off the road do I finally head home, defeated. I promised I wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t cry ever again, but my eyelids feel like dams, no longer able to bear the weight of my tears.

  So they fall, no matter how hard I try to fight them; they fall hard and fast, blurring my vision. I pull over on the side of the road, unable to see, and pound the shit out of my aunt’s steering wheel. Shout every obscenity I’ve ever heard and make up some of my own.

  I need you, Mickey. God, I need you so much right now. “Where the hell are you?”

  Chapter Four

  The elevator dings and opens to the hallway of my apartment floor. With my head bowed, I trudge forward, dipping my hand into my large purse to search for my keys. I feel the metal and hear the clank of the keychain as I pull them out, snatching the key to my apartment door. If the Dantes are looking for Mickey, it’s only a matter of time before they come looking for me. I try to fit the key in the keyhole but my hand is shaky and I have to use two hands to slide it in.

  Declan…Mona…Mickey…they’ve always had my back. I never needed to worry about trouble because I never found myself in any amount of trouble that they couldn’t help me out of. Now, I have no one. I told Mona I can take care of myself and now when I have no choice I’m not sure that I can. I don’t even know how.

  The Dantes will come for me. I know it. They’ll assume Mickey will reach out to me. Hell, I assume it too, but what if he doesn’t? What if that’s it? What if I never see him again? What if he’s dead, too? Then they’ll torture me as I tell them ‘I don’t know’ and they’ll call me a liar.

  Fuck.

  After the lock clicks open, I take a breath and open the door, only to find myself at the end of a double-barreled shotgun. Holy fuck! I yelp and jump backward, my side colliding with the doorframe. I curl my hands into a fist, my keys jutting out between two of my fingers to use as a weapon. I’m about to scream for help when
the light flicks on and I see his face.

  I push the barrel away and wrap my arms around his neck. My whole body instantly relaxes as I melt against him. “Oh, Mickey! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

  “I know, kid. I saw you checking out the Laundromat, but Jimmy’s bitches were watching and I couldn’t approach you. Couldn’t approach you at Sandra’s, either.”

  “What is going on? The police told me Mona was murdered.”

  “I know. We don’t have much time.” He removes my arms from around his waist. “Get your shit. We need to leave.”

  He pushes past me and storms over to my dresser. I peek my head out the open door and glance in the hallway, looking both ways to ensure there’s no immediate danger. Satisfied when there’s no one there, I shut the door and lock it. Mickey is in my closet now, pulling things out and tossing them on the floor.

  “What’s going on? Declan and Evie are in protective custody. Nothing is making sense right now.”

  “You have a bag packed? For emergencies?”

  I nod.

  “Get it. We need to leave right now.” His voice carries an edge and my heart skips a beat. Emergency bag? Being associated with the Dantes, I know that any minute I might need to run—for my life, from the law—in a hurry. So I always keep a bag packed. I’ve spent years here and I never thought I’d need it, but here I am, with Mickey in front of me, sweating like a whore in church.

  “Mona killed her husband years ago and she felt the need to share that piece of information with the Dantes last night.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s a long fucking story, kid. And we don’t have time to waste. The short of it is: the Dantes want me to come in and I ain’t about to do that. They know I ain’t going to let this shit lie.”

  “And Declan?”

  “We don’t have time for this!”

  “You’ve worked for them for years. Maybe they’ll trust you enough to let this go if you walk away. The cops said whoever killed her is dead.”

  “Your aunt fucked us. She was wearing a wire when she was shot.”

  I pause, and let that thought sink in. “Mona wouldn’t do that.”

  “Well, she fucking did, so get your stuff. The Dantes want blood and so do I. They won’t listen to a word I say right now.”

  Most of my stuff is ready; my passport, some tip money—at least a grand—and some clothes. I kick off my heels and slide into some running shoes. I don’t work out and I don’t ever wear sneakers, but I bought this pair especially for something like this.

  Mickey goes to the window as I grab some pictures off my dresser, one of Mona and I at the beach when I was much younger, and one of my mother holding me before she left for the last time on a plane. Mickey cracks the window and opens it wide. He puts one foot out on the fire escape landing while keeping the other inside. The breeze whirs inside, making my long curtains whip about, hiding Mickey behind them. They settle when the wind does and Mickey rolls his hand through the air, motioning for me to hurry up.

  My door rattles on its hinges and I stop dead in my tracks. “They’re here.”

  Mickey barrels toward me, grabs me by my shirt and then drags me to the window. I hop over the windowsill to get outside. He follows my lead. Every step we take on the ladders to the alleyway below sounds like echoes in a canyon. I glance up to find Gerry Mills and Markus Simon sticking their heads out the window.

  “There they are!” one of them screams.

  Gerry climbs outside and I look away, trying desperately to pick up the pace. Every step we take my heart beats faster and faster and I swear I can feel it pulsing in my neck and chest. We get to the second floor and I climb around to the other side of the ladder and hang on tight as it lowers to the ground below. When I jump off, the ladder goes back up and Mickey is quick to hop on. But then he’s jumping off in mid-air before I can count to three.

  We run faster, faster than I’ve ever run before, and faster than I thought I could. Adrenaline is on my side, and yet I can’t keep up with Mickey and he’s pushing sixty. He grabs my arm and drags me forward. My breathing is labored and I can’t stop looking over my shoulder. I trip, falling over my feet, and Mickey helps to right me.

  His car is a few feet ahead of us and when I recognize it, I find the strength to push for another moment. Tires squeal in the distance and then get frighteningly close. As we climb in Mickey’s old car, Markus shows up in the end of the alley, revving his engine in a big, old truck. Oh, God. We’re trapped. But we’re not. Mickey floors the car in reverse, colliding with a garbage container with such force it rolls away to smash into the building adjacent to mine. Then we’re on the street and I don’t remember how we got here; it’s as if I’ve lost time. Cars swerve to avoid us, honking, while drivers scream at us through their open windows.

  Mickey pulls away, gunning it to race through a red light, almost getting us into an accident. When I turn to check if Markus is following us, two cars smash into one another, t-boned, one with a stop sign wrapped around its hood.

  I try to calm myself and control my breathing. Mickey is straight-faced, calm as usual. How the hell can he act as if this is just another day in the life for him? How is he not freaking out right now when one of the biggest crime families in the city has men out looking for him? And now me, too?

  A loud smash sounds and my ears throb with pain as a bullet whips by my head and connects with the windshield. A web of cracks spiral out from the hole. The back window is blown out and there are pieces of glass all over the backseat. Holy shit! I stifle my screams and hold my breath as the houses and trees and bushes whizz by us. Mickey pushes the accelerator to the floor and the engine roars. I grip my seat with my heart in my throat.

  “They’re gaining!” I cry, but Mickey isn’t concerned.

  Or is he? Mickey’s car flies down the dark road, swerving around turns and flying over bumps that have me reaching the roof when we land.

  “Take the wheel!” Mickey screams as he slides out of the window to sit on the edge of the door.

  “Mickey, no!” I lean over, try my best to put my foot on the accelerator while I work hard to steer from where I sit. My seatbelt is still on and I can’t slide over any farther, but I don’t want to take my belt off for fear that I can’t control the car.

  Bang!

  I hear a smash and an explosion as the sky is lit up behind us in the rear view mirror. I slow down, figuring they’ve lost the chase, and I remove my belt. But somewhere between my letting go and Mickey trying to climb back inside, we lose control and we fishtail before hitting the shoulder. Mickey takes the wheel. I curse loudly while he tries to yank the car back over to the road, but it’s too late. We bounce hard and the car tips sideways. Down, down, down we roll over the edge of an embankment and land in a brook.

  The water pours in.

  And the world fades to black.

  The car is right side up, water flowing in through the crevices and broken glass. It’s so cold; I’m shivering. I lose my breath and my teeth start to chatter. My eyes flutter open and my hands spring to my throbbing head. Wet sticky liquid covers my hands and my palms are stained crimson. It takes me a moment to orient myself and realize what’s happening. I need to act. Now.

  Mickey? Where is Mickey? I pull on the door handle and try to force it open, but it won’t budge. There’s a hole in the window and Mickey’s body lies outside of the car on the water’s edge, his work boots sticking out through the tall weeds.

  “Mickey!” I cry, hoping he’ll at least respond and I’ll know he’s safe. “Mickey?”

  But I hear nothing. I push and shove and when it’s clear the door won’t open I remove the seatbelt biting into my chest and waist and crawl over the seats to get out of Mickey’s door. After poking my head out of the window, I crawl out. It takes seconds for my clothes to swell and grow heavy with water. My body tenses, but the cold helps numb the pain from my wounds and so does fear for my uncle. I stumble through the muck and weeds
in the water and I fall forward, gasping with the chill. Crawling, the water to my chin, I close the distance.

  “Mickey? Mickey? Answer me?” I reach his body and his whole abdomen is covered in blood. Too much blood. I know how bad this situation is, but I also know it’s about to get a hell of a lot worse.

  “Don’t leave me,” I cry.

  Mickey stirs, mumbling incoherently.

  “Tell me what to do. Please, I can’t do this on my own.”

  “No hospital,” he says, sputtering.

  “What? You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m as good as dead,” he says. “Docs on payroll…” His eyes roll back in his head and he lays limp. My heart pounds in my chest and the world slows, the wind whipping my hair around my face. I’m sure I’ve lost him until I press my fingers to his neck and find a weak pulse. I know Mickey. If I call the hospital he’ll lose his mind. He’ll never forgive me. Never. Plus, even if he survives, the Dantes will find us. There are few people in this city who can’t be bought. It wouldn’t take long for someone to talk and for his men to come into the hospital, ready to fire another bullet, this one aimed at his head.

  I reach into my back pocket and find my phone. I thought the waterproof case wasn’t necessary when my aunt suggested it and here I am, being proven wrong again. My finger hovers over the 9.

  Life or death.

  Now or later.

  I know I should call 911. I know this is the right decision but I can’t push the buttons. Mickey always knows what’s best and I can’t ignore that fact right now, even if it seems completely foolish. So I call the only other person I can trust.

  “Hello?” Carrie’s soft voice echoes through my cell phone. The service out here sucks and the line crackles for a minute before I find my own voice.

  “Carrie, I need help.”

  “What time is it?”

  I ignore her. “Please tell me you know a doctor or a nurse or something. We were in an accident.” I sniff away tears and wipe my forearm across my nose, noting the streak of blood it leaves on my flesh. I wipe again and there’s less this time. “Oh, God. I don’t think Mickey’s going to make it. There’s so much blood.”