unForgivable (An inCapable World Novel Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

to leave and then turns back quickly. “Don’t tell Mona I said nothing. She’s fucking scary when she’s pissed.”
    I nod. “No, I won’t. Thanks, Henry.”
    As the cooks leave, I stand by the open door. The wind blows in, chilling me, and the fine hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I rub my arms and worry my bottom lip between my teeth. Carey and Henry seemed genuinely concerned and not much rattles them. Plus, like Mona, they’re usually pretty consistent about minding their own business.
    Am I worrying about nothing? Mona carries a weapon all the time, so it’s not like this is strange and unusual. But after today…her threatening Sam…I have to wonder if she’s about to do something really stupid—or if maybe she has already. Fuck, Mona . Because if Sam turns up dead, Mona is likely to be the first person the cops question.
    Motive? Yep. Deadly? Um, absolutely. And she flat out threatened Sam.
    Oh, Jesus. Carey and Henry are right to be worried. Why couldn’t they have told me this earlier? I punch Mickey’s number into my cell phone as I pull the heavy door closed with a thud that seems to rock the walls. Every ring on my phone makes my heart beat faster.

Chapter Three
    W hen I called Mickey earlier , he didn’t answer. Neither did Mona. After a half dozen voice mail messages, it becomes clear to me that they’re not going to answer until they’re good and ready. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong. It’s a gut feeling that leaves me practically sick.
    I curse them both as I sit in front of the television in my apartment, biting at my nails and continuously checking my phone to make sure the ringer isn’t off. After a few hours, I can’t help but fall asleep. It’s been a long day and working on my feet takes its toll on me. There are times when I feel like I have the body of a seventy-year-old. Without meaning to, I sleep well into the middle of the night, dreaming about poor Evie and the man who beat her up, except I feel every punch, every kick. I taste blood in mouth. Though I try to scream, nothing comes out.
    Bang, bang, bang.
    My eyes pop open. I take a breath and wipe the sweat from my brow. The dream felt so real.
    Bang, bang, bang.
    Dazed from sleep, I reach for my phone but after another rap at my door, I quickly realize the noise isn’t coming from my phone. I turn the clock around and frown at the digital reading: 5:00 a.m. That better not be Mason. I swear to God I don’t have the patience for him tonight and sex is the last thing on my mind.
    Bang, bang, bang.
    I scurry to my apartment door and stretch up on my tiptoes, hoping to God it’s Mona or Mickey. My heart plummets into my stomach when I see two men I don’t recognize: two men wearing blazers and collared shirts—with jeans. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize them for who they are: cops.
    Please be okay. Please, please be okay.
    I open the door, but leave it latched. I’m wearing a tank and panties—not that it matters, but I don’t exactly want to give them a free show. Plus, I’ve been trained not to trust cops any more than I trust criminals. They try to make you feel as if they’re your friends when they’re really looking for information or attempting to nail your ass to the wall. Cops might just be the fakest people I know.
    “What do you want?” I ask, my voice still hoarse from sleep.
    “Beth Bilski?”
    “Who’s asking?”
    One of the men reaches to his waist and removes a badge from his belt. I catch the butt of a handgun poking out from under his arm when his blazer hitches.
    “I’m Detective Keith Russell, and this is my partner, Detective Mitch Connor.”
    I stare at them blankly, waiting for them to tell me why they’re here at this ungodly hour.
    “May we come in?” Russell asks. Although his smile looks forced, his chocolate brown eyes look sincere. Still, I’m skeptical, and talking to cops in my world is a mortal sin—one people don’t