by Sara Hubbard
“A life?” I chuckle without humor. What will my life look like now?
Carrie takes a seat beside me and lays a hand on my knee.
“I can’t deal with this right now,” I say.
“He has a point, Beth.”
I glare at her. My best friend, siding against me.
Even if I could bring myself to do this, I don’t think it would make a lick of a difference. “I was there when they shot Mickey. You think anyone wants me alive? A witness? My aunt ratted so what makes you think they won’t assume I’ll do the same? Not to mention the fact that they killed my aunt and my uncle and I promised—”
“You promised what?” Damien interrupts.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe I just want revenge. Maybe I want to make them pay for what they did.”
“That’s your uncle talking, Beth. Not you.”
“Don’t tell me what I want. You barely know me.” The moment I spit those words out—even if there’s truth to them—I regret them. That soft, intense look he likes to give me is gone and is replaced with something that makes me feel dirty and ugly. Disappointment? Sadness? Pity?
“What did you promise?” Damien asks.
“I…” Looking down, I focus on the grain in the faux wood floor. His expression is killing me, ripping me apart piece by piece.
“He wants you to do what he couldn’t?” Carrie offers so I don’t have to.
When I refuse to answer, she gasps and curses before storming out of the room.
Damien approaches but I shake my head and he backs off. He paces for a moment and I brace myself for a lecture. We’ve already had this talk—the one about taking a life. I don’t want to hear it again.
“Your aunt wouldn’t want this.”
“How would I know? Turns out I barely knew her at all.” Hypocrite. She wouldn’t want this and yet, how many people did she kill?
“Beth, she knew her days were numbered. She wanted you to leave here so you could have a normal life. She’s wanted that for years, but you were all she had and she couldn’t let you go.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He storms toward me, grabs me by the arms, and shakes me to get my undivided attention. I look up at him with malice, afraid to look to him for comfort.
“I swear it’s true. And you’ll know it soon enough.”
“What do you mean?”
He bites his lip and considers my question before shaking his head and letting me go.
“Are you keeping more secrets?” I ask, a single eyebrow raised.
He growls in frustration, pulling his hair at the roots before returning to pacing. “Look, regardless of what you’re going to do—because I’m confident you’ll do what you want no matter what Carrie or I say—showing the Dantes the body is your best option. It takes the heat off you. Understand?”
I run my finger across my bottom lip. My stomach is rolling and aching and the veins in my head are throbbing so hard I can feel them. It’s hard to think but I try my best to see through this, to think like my aunt or my uncle would. What would they do? Damien makes sense, I suppose. How can I plan my revenge if the Dantes are focused on Mickey and me? The only way to have him forget all about me is show him that Mickey is no longer a threat to him. And me? No one fears me. I’m five foot nothing and I barely weigh a hundred pounds. His assumption will help me when I’m ready.
“What will they do with him? Cut him up? Feed him to the pigs?” God, the image that flashes through my mind is too much to bear. I hug my stomach and swallow bile. I don’t care what they say. He isn’t just a shell.
“Your uncle isn’t in that body anymore. He’d want you to live and this is how you do it.”
Keep living. Nope. I’m pretty sure that’s not what my uncle wanted, unless by living Damien means live long enough to make good on my promise. I need to keep living so I can be a hitman like my uncle.
Is that who I am now? Cold and numb and able to kill?
Carrie stays with me for a few more hours. We sit together, not saying a word. This is how I know she’s a friend. Being together in silence is enough, and it’s comfortable. Damien leaves us be, and I’m sure it’s because he’s upset with me. I try not to care, though it’s a lie. His opinion suddenly means something to me and it amazes me how quickly he’s managed that. I feel a connection to him regardless of how little I know him or how scary the thought may be.
At some point, he leaves the apartment and the slam of the door makes me jump. I watch through the window as he storms out into the alley with his hands gripping his hair. He hauls off and kicks a dumpster before hitting it with his fists. The noise echoes through the alleyway, the clamor loud enough to resonate through the closed windows. I press my hand against the pane. I’m sorry. I’m doing this to him. Making him crazy.
This is yet another thing I have to add to my conscience.
“He’ll be okay,” Carrie says. “He wants to protect you, but he can’t protect you from yourself.”
“You think I need protection from myself?”
She shrugs. “We’re not on the same level as the Dantes,” Carrie says. “No matter how much you want to believe you can be. You’ll never be Mona and I kind of think that’s a good thing. We don’t think like she did. If you want to get through this, you need to listen to Damien. He’s not the guy you went to school with anymore. He might seem sweet and reserved, but he’s killed people. A lot of people. If anyone can help you through this, it’s him.”
“Maybe I don’t want him to help me. Maybe I want to do this alone.”
“Why? To prove a point? Will that be satisfying for you when you’re dead?”
I grimace at her. Everything she’s saying makes sense, but it doesn’t remove the hurt and anger that continues to swell inside of me or quiet the little voice in my ear that encourages me to take revenge. It’s stupid, I know it. Going after the Dantes alone will no doubt get me killed. Especially if I continue on this path alone. But can I ask for help? Or accept it? I’m not sure I can. Pride is an awful and stubborn thing and it doesn’t listen to reason.
Carrie gets a few phone calls while we sit together and she ignores them. The next time her phone rings, I snatch if from her and read the name attached to the number. Donatelli’s Italian Bistro. “Are you supposed to be working right now?”
She shrugs.
“Carrie, the last thing I need right now is to feel guilty about you losing your job.”
“You just lost your uncle and you’re my best friend.”
“There’s nothing you can do right now,” I say, holding her hand.
“I can be here for you.”
I wrap my arms around her shoulders and hug her tight. “I’ll be fine. Maybe some time alone will help.”
“Or maybe you’ll do something stupid.”
“Is that why you’re skipping work?”
I practically push her out the door when she says, “No,” because she’s an awful liar.
When she’s gone, I tiptoe back to the spare bedroom, to where Mickey’s body still lies. The door is shut and I put my hand on the thin wooden barrier and stay there. I want to go in and stay at his side. I know he’s dead, but Damien and Carrie are wrong. That’s my uncle. Not just a body. Being near him might help me feel less empty. But as I put my hand on the doorknob, I can’t turn it. I don’t want to remember him like this. Pale. Cold. Lifeless. So I take a step back and lean against the wall behind me, lowering myself to the floor.
The door opens and I hear footfalls on the stairs before the door unlocks and Damien appears at the end of the hall. He props his hands on his hips when he sees me, tipping his head to the side. The long hair on top of his head falls over his right eye.
He says nothing. Just walks forward to lower himself onto the floor beside me. He takes my hand. Doesn’t ask, doesn’t hesitate, just takes it like it belongs to him. And we sit in silence with my head resting on his shoulder.
I have a feeling he’d stay like this with
me forever if I asked him. Seconds, minutes, hours, days. I don’t think it would matter. What did I do so right to deserve even a moment of my life with him? Amid all my mistakes, I must have done something right.
I flip his hands over and note his cut up knuckles. They’ve already started to bruise. His other hand is the same, only he has a deep cut to the side of his thumb. I lift our joined hands to my lips and kiss his knuckles, each of them.
He sighs and leans in to me a little harder. Like he can’t get close enough.
“You need to decide,” Damien says quietly. “Sooner, rather than later. The longer he stays, the harder it will be for us to…hide him.”
He’s referring to the smell. The thought makes my stomach turn. The rotting body of my uncle is not something I would soon forget. In fact, I’m pretty sure it would give me nightmares for the rest of my life. Plus, he’s right. I need to make a choice, not just about Mickey but about what to do next. I’ve already decided, but I need to commit, so with closed eyes I nod. We’ll take Mickey’s lifeless body to the Dantes and then, when the time is right, I’ll do what I promised.
Chapter Nine
Damien hefts my uncle over his shoulder. Mickey’s wrapped in an olive green shower curtain, the ends tied with gray duct tape. Seeing him this way…lifeless…encased in a manner that makes him look like yesterday’s trash…hits me hard and instinctively my hands go to my stomach, as if holding it will stop the nausea and ease my nerves.
“It’s for the best,” Damien says.
“Yeah,” I say, not fully believing it.
I step aside so Damien can pass me in the hallway. He walks to the door but stops to offer me a look of sympathy before descending. I grab one of his sweaters and follow after him.
“Lock the door behind me,” he says after opening the outside door and walking through.
Confused, I stop on the stairs. The door slams shut. Does he really think I’m going to let him do this without me? I bound down the stairs, fling the door open and find him by his SUV, the back door open wide, Mickey still resting over his shoulder. The moon is full and gray and shines a light on his solemn face. I glance around, trying to make sure no one hides in the shadows to witness him carrying a body. When I’m sure we’re safe, I say, “Do you seriously think I’ll let you leave without me?”
“That was the plan, wasn’t it?”
“No,” I snap. “I agreed to take him to the Dantes. I never agreed to let you go while I stay here with my thumb up my ass!”
He frowns at me. “Not sure I’ve heard that expression before, but…okay. If that’s what you want to do while you wait.”
I feel like I’m about to stomp my feet and take a tantrum in the alleyway. Could he be any more infuriating? “There are only two ways this is going to happen. We go together or I go alone.”
He tosses Mickey into the truck, and he lands with a thud.
“That’s my fucking uncle!”
“Wow. You got to stop with the language.” His eyes glance all around and up to the lit up windows floors above us. “And keep your voice down.”
“Why the fuck would I do that?” I whisper, my tone sharp.
“It’s not ladylike.”
“Ladylike? You’re giving me grief for my mouth when there’s a body in your truck? I think you need to adjust your priorities. I’ve got bigger flaws than a foul mouth.”
“It’s a pretty one, though,” he says, a tiny smile claiming his lips.
I frown at his attempt to be cute. Yes, it worked. And yes, it pisses me off to no end that he almost made me smile back. I gasp as I notice Mickey’s hand break free from the plastic. It flops out, hanging over the edge of the truck. Damien quickly takes Mickey’s hand and tucks it under the curtain, but I still see it.
His white flesh and the blood under his chewed off nails.
“You could end up like him,” I say before drawing my mouth into a straight line. My voice is shaky and I curse myself for it, not wanting to show my fear.
“And so could you, which is why I’m coming.”
“I’ve already pulled you in too deep. There’s no coming back from this once I show up at Jimmy’s house with you.”
“We’re not going to Jimmy’s.”
“What? Of course we are.”
“Jimmy’s still in jail. Frankie’s running the show now.”
Frankie is Jimmy’s slightest less sadistic brother—though not by much. Although I do recall my aunt saying he’s more reasonable.
A clang rings out into the night. A rat scurries almost by my feet and I jump back, almost stumbling. Damien puts his hands out to steady me and I stare up at him as his arms surround me.
“Stop fighting me,” he says. “Let me help you. You think I would have made it through Afghanistan without friends? Without brothers?”
“Are you addicted to risks? Maybe an adrenaline junkie?”
He snorts and shakes his head. “I’m addicted to you, maybe.”
I sigh and push away, rolling my eyes at him and his smirking face.
“Damien, I know you have ties to them, but if they decide that they want me dead, they might just take you along with me. You mother won’t be able to protect you.”
“I can handle myself,” he says, his tone serious. “Beth, you need to trust me. Can you do that?”
I sigh and close my eyes. “I’m trying.”
His warm hand on my face stills me. When I open my eyes, he doesn’t look hurt or pissed. “I can let you have your way on some things, most things even. But when it comes to your safety? I could care less what you want. So get the fuck in the truck. I’m done with this conversation.”
He slams the back door shut and walks away from me. He climbs in and the engine purrs as he waits. It sits idle for a moment or two while I decide it’s no use arguing with him anymore. And if I’m really being honest, I don’t want to go there alone.
I climb in and glare at him, needing to give him at least one more sign of protest and one last chance to walk away.
“Belt,” he says, gripping the wheel.
“Are you serious?”
“Safety first.”
I want to hit him over the head.
He’s nothing like the guy I imagined him to be when I first met him. He looks like your average handsome bad boy destined to break a million and one hearts. I’ve only known him a few days and he’s none of those things, except maybe beautiful, even with the scar down his cheek that I’ll one day ask him about when I’m sure he won’t think me rude. He’s been a good friend, someone I can talk to, someone who’ll offer me comfort when I need it. He’s someone who’s dependable and loyal. He’s someone that I want to know better—even if the timing is completely wrong.
He turns onto the main road and keeps to the flow of traffic, glancing often from his peripheral to check on me. It starts to get annoying. And then there’s his taste in music. Country? He even hums and sings a few lines under his breath.
The heated seats are a nice treat, especially after sleeping in that awful chair in his apartment. I sink into the leather, my eyes growing heavy. I should be amped up right now and preparing for a possible fight. Or death. That might come too. But beside Damien, I’m oddly at ease, and I’m thinking about this as he asks me, “Are you scared?”
I roll my head on the head rest to face him. “Not right now.”
“Hmm.”
“You?” I ask.
He grins and I guess I have my answer.
There’s no talking him out of this, and I’m done trying. I close my eyes but feel his gaze still on my face. Then the warmth of his body radiates up my arm as he gently takes my hand in his. And I’m too selfish too pull away.
The wind is strong and whips against the car, rattling the metal. Black walls of trees zip by, and the night grows darker as slate grey clouds block out the moon. I see the sign to Brockhurst, the small suburb where Frankie lives. We make a left and he picks up speed. We’re almost there and tension builds in my che
st as I wonder if today is the day I die, just like Damien said he wondered each day when he was deployed. Is this what he felt like?
I clutch his hand a little tighter and he squeezes mine right back.
“I don’t deserve you,” I say.
“I’m no angel, Beth. I’ve made mistakes, too.”
“But…I’ve never been a very good person.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Believe it. I’m a taker. I use people. I take what I need and then I leave them in the dust when I decide it’s time to move on. If you’re helping me because you think you can save me…don’t. There is nothing left to save.”
“If you believed that, then you wouldn’t be making the trade.”
I sigh and tilt my head back in the seat as he turns the corner and accelerates down the street, swerving every now and then to avoid the divots in the road that never seem important enough for the town to fix.
Nothing left to save? Nothing worthwhile, maybe. But I’m not doing this for me; I’m doing it for Mickey. I’m saving my life so I can keep my promise. And so I can keep Carrie and maybe Damien safe, especially when he seems to care so little about his own life. If I die today, then at least I know I did all I could. I didn’t back down or run away like a coward. Aunt Mona and Uncle Mickey would be proud of me for that. I know they would.
“You know…Mona thought the exact opposite of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You think you’re a taker?” He shakes his head. “She told me about all the times her inventory would be lower than expected and she’d catch you giving free food to some of the homeless people who came into the pub, even after she told you to keep them out.”
I blush at his words, not wanting to put any faith in them. “Lots of people would have done the same.”
“She told me you practically begged her to hire a girl down on her luck even though Mona was already set to hire someone else—because the girl needed the job more.”
