unForgivable (An inCapable World Novel Book 2) (9 page)

“Should you maybe go in and check on them?” Carrie asks, pointing to the room.

“I don’t know.” I chew at my nails.

“They’ve been in there an hour.”

“You’re right. I can’t sit here any longer.”

I knock on the door and neither of them tell me to come in. Or maybe I don’t wait to give them the opportunity. I open the door and peer in, looking back and forth between them. Mickey’s dripping in sweat, even more than earlier. His eyes are glossy and he gives me a half smile.

“Everything okay?”

“I just gave him some drugs. He was having a lot of pain.”

Mickey coughs and Damien hands him a tissue. I gasp at the crimson stain on the white paper. “Oh my God.”

Damien gives me a look that silences me.

“He needs to rest. Let his body work on healing.”

“Of course,” I say. “Mickey, do you need anything else?”

“No, kid. I’m just going to sleep awhile.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You keep that promise, kid,” he says before his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Whatever you do, you keep that promise.”

“I will.”

Carrie leaves shortly after. She wanted to stay but has to work in the morning and there really isn’t anything she can do here, anyway. I sit in the chair beside Mickey, reading a magazine I found in the bathroom. It’s a men’s magazine, with half-naked women interspersed with thoughtful articles about cars and electronics. Not my kind of thing, but then, I’m sure it’s everything a guy could want and more.

I’m unfolding the centerfold with wide eyes when Damien comes in to check on us.

I let out a low whistle. “Well, Aria Fillion certainly has a lot of assets,” I say as I stare at her tits.

He peeks over my shoulder. “I’ve seen better.”

He smirks at me and he only lets me wonder a moment about who he’s referring to before he sticks his finger in the neck of my shirt and pulls it out to get an eyeful. “Yeah, much better.”

With hot cheeks and a goofy smile, I bat his hand away. “Too bad you won’t see them again.”

His eyebrows knit together. “Serious?”

I’m still smiling. “I haven’t decided.”

“Hmm. Well, that isn’t a no.”

“What happened to you to change from this shy loner guy to a guy who has the balls to look down my shirt in front of my very scary uncle?”

“A prostitute in Singapore.”

“What?” I sit up a little straighter. “Serious?”

He chuckles. “No.” He takes a seat on the window and the radiator rattles as he accidentally kicks it with his feet. He tenses, his nose crinkling as his eyes flash to Mickey. Luckily, he’s out cold.

“Are you going to leave me in suspense?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know what happened or when things changed. The military helped a lot, I suppose. They tore me down, almost to the point of breaking and then…they built me back up, only I wasn’t the same. I was bigger, stronger, faster. Girls looked at me then. I didn’t have to go to them because they came to me.”

A pang of jealousy hits me and I frown. Jealousy is something I’m familiar with. It’s something you learn to live with when you never feel good enough. Everyone has something or someone that you want, that just might make everything better in your life.

“There were girls in my unit too. The shit they talked about would make the men blush—me included. And they seemed to want to talk to me. They said I was easy to talk to. Maybe because I listened more than I talked—I had years of practice, remember?” He winks at me. “More listening to conversations instead of being a part of them.”

I drop the magazine into my lap and tuck my feet under me as I try and get comfy. God, this seat. He should toss it out the window. “I think it’s sad you didn’t talk in school.”

“Yeah, why’s that?”

“They all missed out on getting to know you.”

“You think you know me?” he asks.

“No. But I think I know enough to want to.”

He holds my eyes and I feel the butterflies again.

Mickey moans and his eyes go wide. I spring to my feet and stand over the bed but Damien pushes me aside. At his back, I can’t see what he’s doing so I hold my breath and wait for Damien to tell me what’s happening. But then he stands tall and his hands drop to his sides and there’s silence.

“Is he gone?” I whisper.

“No, but his pulse is weak and…”

I push him out of the way and drop to my knees.

“I’ll get some morphine.”

Mickey’s breathing is irregular. He takes one breath and then pauses for a few seconds and then takes two and pauses for another ten seconds. As the time between his inhalations grows longer and longer I worry he’s left us, but then he gasps and breathes in again. His eyes are rolled back and his mouth is open wide. The bandage to his gut is stained, but not like before. I thought because he was bleeding less that maybe he’d pull through. That maybe Damien was wrong. Sure, he knows what he’s doing, but he doesn’t know how determined or stubborn my uncle is.

Damien is at my shoulder, moving Mickey’s arm across his chest so he can jab a needle into his flesh. Seconds later, Mickey sighs and his eyelids flutter. He squeezes my hand.

“Mickey?” I choke out. When he doesn’t answer, I say his name again.

“You promised,” he says, his voice weak. “You promised,” he repeats.

And then without warning it’s like his whole body sighs as his final breath escapes his lips. I don’t need Damien to feel his pulse or tell me the obvious as his eyes go blank and the color drains from his body.

My Uncle Mickey is gone.

* * *

I
’m aware of voices
, though it takes me a moment to recognize who they belong to. At some point I must have fallen asleep, bent over the bed where Mickey still lies. My trembling hands lift from his chest and I hold them up to look at them. They’re as pale as his skin.

I push myself back to sit on my feet.

“Beth?” Carrie says, kneeling beside me. She lays a hand on my shoulder and I turn to her, make sense of her blurred image through the fog of my tears.

“He’s gone,” I say quietly and without emotion.

“I know, honey. I know.”

She pulls me into a hug and I rest my head on her shoulder. I don’t cry anymore though. I’ll never cry again. I have no one left to cry over. I look up to Damien, who leans against the far wall with his hands hanging at his sides. His face is expressionless. I glance away from him, feeling bare and exposed as I sit here. I don’t want him to see me like this. Weak. Vulnerable. Messy. The last thing I need is for people to think of me this way.

Carrie holds me tight, her hand gently stroking my back. At some point, she guides me to the living room. I sit there by myself, alone with my thoughts. I don’t even know what I’m to do next. I don’t know who I am anymore. My life with never be the same without Mickey and Mona.

“
Mickey and I won’t always be around to take care of you
.” Mona’s words hit me like a dart to the chest. I told her I could take care of myself but how can I? I’m a mess. She didn’t believe me when I said it, and deep down I know she was right. Ready or not, it’s up to me now. I need to step up and fix my messy life.

I hear noise in the other room, ripping…grunting. It continues awhile longer and when all is silent Damien and Beth emerge from Mickey’s room to stand in front of me.

“I should have taken him to the hospital,” I say taking a break from biting at my nails. “You said he could have survived. I could have…”

“You did what you thought was right. You listened to what he wanted.”

“Because he always knew best. So did Mona. I knew it was a bad idea but I refused to trust my own instincts. I didn’t want him to feel the same way about me as he felt about Mona when she died.”

“How did he feel about Mona?”

“Betrayed! He thought she made people lose respect for our family.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

I shrug. “So now he’s dead, but he doesn’t
hate
me. So, essentially, to keep his love I helped kill him. You warned me and I still refused to see reason. First Mona and now Mickey.” The blood of each of them forever staining my hands.

“How could you think any of this is your fault?” Damien asks.

“Because it is, directly or indirectly. Does it even matter?” I shake my head.

Damien sighs in frustration as he approaches me but I take a few steps back, making it clear I don’t want to be touched.

“We can’t change what’s happened. And unless you fired the gun that put a bullet in his gut, you’re not responsible for his death. Understand?”

I do understand. The problem is that Damien doesn’t. He couldn’t. And I know he won’t approve of what I need to do next: carry out my uncle’s last wish. I’ll do it because I owe it to him. And because his blood
is
on my hands and I feel as if he won’t rest if I don’t do what I promised.

Hours pass. I sit on the windowsill, staring out, my mind completely blank. When I found out about Mona I was so upset; I felt like I was falling apart. I should feel this way about Mickey and I don’t. I think I’m numb. If I have any emotions left inside of me, I don’t feel a single one, not even anger.

But numb is better. It’s what I need right now to do what I need to do. Because I can’t let my emotions deter me.

“We need to get rid of Mickey’s body,” Damien says softly as the day turns into night.

“Body?” I scoff. “Is that what we’re calling him now?”

Carrie elbows her cousin and he turns away from us to walk to the window. He moves the curtains aside, looking down onto the street below. It’s sunset now. Where did the time go?

“I’m going to suggest something and you’re not going to like it,” Damien says.

“Damien, shut your mouth. We talked about this,” Carrie warns.

“You talked about what?” I’ve been left out of a conversation that seems to involve me. “Tell me,” I say, when no one talks immediately.

“Your uncle is gone. His body is just a shell. If the Dantes could see for themselves that Mickey is dead…then they may just forget about you.”

I can’t believe what they’re suggesting and it makes me want to start throwing things at them. How can they be so cold?

Damien hold up his hands. “Hear me out. They want Mickey because they think he played a part in the death of Mona’s husband. Or maybe they think Mickey will retaliate or who the fuck knows why. Show them his body and they won’t have an issue with you anymore. You can still have a life.”

“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?”