unForgivable (An inCapable World Novel Book 2) Read online

“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 unlo
cks 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.

  I wake up covered in sweat. Damien’s arms are around me, his leg hiked up and dangling over my hip. His body is like a furnace and his heat surrounds me. It’s comforting, and yet stifling at the same time. I wiggle away from him, stopping momentarily when I feel his cock stir against my back. Wow. It feels like he has another leg pressed up against me and I have to look over my shoulder to make sure but no, his other leg is straight and it reaches past the arm at the other end of the couch.

  If I wasn’t so hot right now, I might wake him up with morning sex. I sit up and smile to myself, my gaze traveling from his middle to his face. His eyelids flutter and his full lips blow out small puffs of air. His chest rises and the sparse hair that covers it tickles my thigh.

  He’s peaceful like this. Handsome. The more I’m near him, the more he grabs a hold of me. The me from a week ago would have stripped bare and climbed on top of him, using him to satisfy myself and my hunger. The me from today still wants that, but considers what will happen if I do. We’ve had sex and it was amazing. One time and I think I could walk away. Maybe he could, too. But more than that…I think we’re in danger of finding something more.

  Ah, who am I kidding? He’s made it clear he wants as much as I can give, which is why I need to be so careful.

  I won’t hurt him like others have hurt me. I don’t want to. If I fuck this up, he might never forgive me. He’ll never look at me the same and that thought stings a little.

  His eyes slowly open and now it’s his turn to smile. His sleepy, doe-eyed smile has my stomach dancing. He reaches out and his hand touches my shoulder while his other takes my hand. “Come here,” he says.

  I lay down, this time facing him as he caresses my cheek. “Can’t sleep?” he asks.

  “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Such as?”

  I let out a breath. “You.”

  “My favorite topic,” he says with a grin.

  I bury my head into the crook of his neck and lightly shake my head. He excels in relaxing me and making me forget about everyone and everything else. “Don’t go anywhere,” I say. “Give me time.”

  He grips my hip and pulls me close, my leg resting on top of his. His cock twitches and rests between my legs. I close my eyes and sigh.

  “I’ve been into you since you were fourteen. Do you really think I’ll get bored so easily?”

  “Maybe. Everyone else has before you.”

  “Then they were morons.”

  Lightly, I hit his chest. “When it happens constantly, I have to face the facts. It must be me.”

  “Or the guys you pick.”

  “Funny, that’s what my aunt said.”

  With a lazy finger, he strokes up and down my leg and over the curve of my ass. He detours and moves through the short hair between my legs, sending chills through me. I lose my breath and let out a moan. I can’t have a serious conversation with him while he continues to touch me like this.

  “The guys you dated in high school were pricks. I hated the way I’d hear them talk about you.”

  This stills me. He’s not telling me anything I don’t know. I’d see some of it in writing under the bleachers or as graffiti in the girl’s bathroom. Popular, yep. With girls, I suppose. But not like I was with boys. Chad took my virginity without a second thought for my feelings, knowing he didn’t want anything more from me. But before that, I never said no to other things. To any boy who wanted attention. I might have refused sex a lot, but I’m sure the guys who used me for other things talked about it, and maybe embellished. It’s probably why Chad thought he could treat me like that. Because when I told him I was a virgin, he laughed at me.

  “Why did you let them treat you like that?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  His hands move to my back, tracing a line down my spine, and I tense from the delicious feeling deep within. “My mother was the same. She’d have boyfriends at the house all the time. She didn’t care if I was there or if I could see. I guess that’s what I knew. That’s how men treated girls like her and me.

  “That’s when Mona stepped in. We
came to visit and Mona paid for everything. Mom had a bad relationship and she’d been beaten pretty badly, but when we came, she just fell into the same pattern and took up with a guy that was no better. Mona came home one night to my mother naked with a boyfriend in the living room. Mona lost her mind. I was in my room, with headphones on, trying to drown them out. Mona told Sasha—my mother—she had to go back and she agreed after a long fight that thankfully Ralph wasn’t there for. I can’t even imagine if he’d been involved or saw my mother having sex in his house.” I shudder at the thought. “She left and Mona asked me if I wanted to stay. I said yes. My mother’s not a bad person, I think she was just lonely. I know that now because…”

  “That’s how you feel?” he asks.

  “Sometimes,” I say quietly. “I never meant to be like her; it just kind of happened.”

  “You’re not like her. I don’t think you would do what she did. You wouldn’t ignore your child to get off. I just don’t see that about you.”

  “I think your opinion of me is skewed. If I let myself be with you, you’ll see everything. And I kind of like knowing that someone sees me as you do right now.”

  He wraps his arms around my shoulder and pulls me in close. I find it hard to breathe against the heat of his chest but I turn my head and let him hold me. I love every minute of it. When he tries to pull away, I resist and he gives me my way. Soon, it’s not enough. I want more, and I tilt my head up and search for his lips. The moment our mouths touch, my whole body relaxes and I feel as if I’m falling. Only he’s waiting to catch me.

  I lower my hand to his boxers, slide my hand underneath the waistband, and encircle his long, thick cock. His breath hitches as I stroke the length of him faster, moving from the base to the tip and covering him with his wetness. It gets me hot and I pull down his boxers while he fumbles to pull down my panties. After tossing them to the floor the barrier between us is gone. He grips me and rolls me onto my back. I open my legs wide for him to settle in tight against me. His dog tags dangle in my face and he tosses them over his shoulder. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice husky.