unForgivable (An inCapable World Novel Book 2)

by Sara Hubbard

  “Evie,” I say quietly. “She’s in protective custody now, by the way. So I’m not sure how much she appreciates what I did for her. Then there’s the other girl I screwed over. Who knows what her circumstances were? She could have been a single mother with four kids to feed.”

  “Your heart is in the right place. It always is. Even if you don’t recognize that.” He shifts in his seat and grips the wheel with one hand. “I remember in high school you came between these two girls fighting behind the gym. God, what were their names?” He strokes the growing hair on his chin.

  “Amy Clover and Mia Boone,” I say quietly.

  “Man, Amy was a fighter. I think she could have taken on most of the guys at school without a problem.”

  I shrug.

  “What was that about?”

  “What do girls normally fight about? Boys.”

  “I was almost at the path leading behind the baseball field and I stopped to see what all the noise was about. There was a crowd around them as Amy kept punching her over and over. And then you sauntered up with a stick the size of my arm and you smacked the ground with it. Everyone stopped and stared and Amy laughed. And then I don’t know what you said but the crowd was gone and Amy was off Mia. No one else stood up to Amy in high school. And it didn’t have to be you to break up that fight, but it didn’t matter. You did it.”

  “Please. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

  “I’m sure it was to Mia.”

  I frown at him.

  “Why’d you break it up? I’ve always wondered.”

  “Mia was nice and she tutored me for a while. I’m not sure I would have graduated without her.”

  “Bad people don’t walk into a crowd alone and try to save someone.”

  I fidget in my seat, unwilling to hear him. He’s wrong. Sometimes bad people do good things. My uncle was bad most of the time, but sometimes he was my hero. Helping Mia didn’t make me a better person. I was just standing up for someone who was outnumbered. And it pissed me off that everyone crowded around and watched and cheered. That situation got me angry. “I couldn’t just stand by and watch.”

  “Because you’re good.”

  I groan.

  “I knew it. And so does Carrie…and Mona did too.”

  “Mona,” I breathe.

  “She said so.”

  My gaze darts over in his direction, hopeful.

  “She thought you were amazing and the best thing that ever happened to her.”

  “She wouldn’t say that.”

  “She didn’t have to.”

  I pull our intertwined hands up to my lips and kiss the back of his hand, as if to tell him thank you. If only she could have told me herself.

  Damien drives slowly, obeying the speed limit and observing the lights and stop signs. I’m not so careful. He almost reminds me of Declan. And not just the way he drives either…it’s that quiet, thoughtful look on his face that doesn’t seem to dissipate, not even when he smiles.

  “If you change your mind…about coming…” I say.

  “I won’t.”

  He turns down a lane, the road morphs from pavement to gravel. Near the end there is a gate with a man out front, his arms cross across his chest. He approaches us as the SUV slows to a stop. Damien lowers his window and the guy eyes him and then me. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him around The Pipeline. I might have fooled around with him once or twice. Not that I was ever really interested in him or anything. It was just something I did. Go to bars, get drunk, party, find a guy and have some fun. I don’t even know his name. Before, none of this would have bothered me, but I have to say, it bothers me now, especially when he’s looking at me like he wants to put his fist through my head.

  “You got business here?” the guy asks. He puts his hands on his hips, pushing back his jacket to expose the gun in a holster at his side.

  “Damien Mendes. I’m Jocelyn’s son.”

  He leans in, takes a closer look. “You got ID?”

  Damien sighs and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. The guard’s eyes never leave my face. “I don’t need to see yours,” he says to me.

  Damien glances at me and I give him nothing.

  The guard studies Damien’s ID. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. Aren’t you some kind of a war hero?”

  Damien doesn’t respond and I can tell, even while facing his back, that the connection makes him uncomfortable. Or maybe it’s the reference to him serving. He sits up a little straighter and grips the wheel a little harder. I guess he hates compliments about as much as I do.

  The guard lifts a radio up to his mouth. “I got two visitors for the boss.” Static crackles from the radio speaker as he lets go of the button. Another voice asks for names. “Jocelyn’s boy. And…” his voice changes. “Beth Bilski.”

  A large buzzing noise sounds before the gates slowly recede along the fence.

  “Go straight up to the house. No detours.”

  Damien puts the car in drive and accelerates up the slight slope, driving through the canopy of trees around us. The road forks and to the left Frankie’s house is a quarter of a mile up the driveway. A barn is to the right. We follow the road to the left and stop outside of the house. I’ve only been here once. Even in the moonlight, the white pillars glow like I remember from when I first saw them as a young girl. Three men stand on the porch and they march toward us, guns drawn and gripped at their sides. One of them opens the door and motions with his head for me to get out. I do as he says. He holds the gun—for now—so I’ll play ball.

  They let Damien get out on his own and when he rounds the car he glowers at the guy who puts his free hand out to death grip my upper arm.

  “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.

  Chapter Ten

  “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 a
ppreciate 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.”