Unforgivable Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Unforgivable One

  Unforgivable Part One

  Unforgivable Part Two

  Unforgivable Part Three

  Unforgivable Part Four

  Unforgiveable Part Five

  Unforgivable Part Six

  Unforgivable Part Seven

  Unforgivable Part Eight

  Unforgivable Part Nine

  Unforgivable Part Ten

  Unforgivable Part Eleven

  Unforgivable Part Twelve

  Unforgivable Part Thirteen

  Unforgivable Part Fourteen

  Unforgivable Two

  Unforgivable II Part One

  Unforgivable II Part Two

  Unforgivable II Part Three

  Unforgivable II Part Four

  Unforgivable II Part Five

  Unforgivable II Part Six

  Unforgivable II Part Seven

  Unforgivable II Part Eight

  Unforgivable II Part Nine

  Unforgivable II Part Ten

  Unforgivable II Part Eleven

  Unforgivable II Part Twelve

  Unforgivable II Part Thirteen

  Unforgivable II Part Fourteen

  About the Author

  Other Works from the Author

  Contact Author

  Unforgivable Part One

  &

  Unforgivable Part Two

  James Fuller

  Kindle Edition

  Unforgivable I & II - Copyright 2015 by James Fuller

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. With the exception of recognized historical figures, the characters in this novel are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  Unforgivable One

  Unforgivable

  Part One

  Status Quo

  The night was crisp, no breeze tantalized through the ancient forest of cedars. The moon was full and hung proud in the peak of the heavens, offering its mystical glow to the dark world below. The stars littered the obscurity above in random fashion - as if someone had poked countless holes through a sheet of black linen. It was a tranquil night by even the hardest of men’s standards. But it was lost on one...

  A dark, lone figure limped indignantly down the dirt road in almost complete silence; all that gave away his presence was the soft clink from the single spur on his left boot, which could be heard for some distance on this silent night.

  The loner wore a dark crimson woolen cloak around his lean shoulders. Most on a cool night such as this would have it pulled tightly around them, but the loner welcomed the unfavorable sensation on his damaged skin and his cloak hung open freely. The hood he wore concealed his damaged face and identity with the gloomy shadow it produced.

  Most folk were asleep at this late hour, safe in their beds, dreaming sweet dreams of what tomorrow may bring. But not him - he seemed to not need sleep now; hate fueled his every step, his every move, his every breath. A bitter odium which overwhelmed his very essence, mocking his commonly good natured self, forcing him to forget everything beautiful in the world, everything pure, everything that he had tried to live for. All for nothing - all a disgusting, cruel, twisted joke by the gods... if there were any gods...

  The smell of smoke lingered in the air and assured him he was close to the small town of Milton - his first destination. As the burning cedar aroma strengthened in the crisp night air, his body began to pulsate with agony from every wound that riddled his scabbing flesh. Vivid flashes assaulted his mind, his knees weakened and he slumped to the dusty road - salty tears falling freely as the memories of two nights past tore at his soul....

  ....They had just gotten back from the annual fall festival, held outside of Faer-Tri City. It was a full two days travel there, and a full two days back - they did it every year - it was his family’s only real outing that they could afford. His beautiful wife, Nikki, saved and hid every spare copper she could, so that they all could go down for three days of the weeklong festival and enjoy themselves to the fullest.

  His young daughter, Sofia, and son, Nate, loved the games and rides, while his wife enjoyed browsing through all the shops and merchant carts from all across Faer-Tri - he enjoyed the variety of food and culture that came together. It was the one time a year they all forgot about their lowly status in the world.

  He had just fed the horses and put them in their stalls for the night. He emptied the wagon and came in to relish in the days passed events with the ones he loved most, before they lay down to sleep, only to awake early the next morning back in reality of their poverty-stricken existence.

  His children played on the floor in front of the brick hearth with the toys they had gotten at the festival. His wife sliced up apples with a sprinkle of cinnamon, a light snack for everyone before bed. Water was boiling over the hearth for spiced taze for them all to share, when a firm knock at the door came. It was late and visitors arrived rarely, if ever, at this time. Jamus opened the door to the tip of a blade, which pressed into his chest, forcing him back toward the middle of the room as several large men entered.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he cried out, trying to keep the mounting fear from his tone. “Who are you?” He looked back to his family - they were huddled close together, terror radiating from their eyes as his wife tried to keep the children calm.

  “Jamus Willms - deep down I believe you know why we’re here,” the exquisitely dressed man with the sword to his chest replied, five of his intent driver companions fanning out through the house, while one chubby man stayed by the door. It was a face Jamus knew well - Markel Jones from one town over.

  Jamus swallowed hard as he recognized the pampered face of the intruder in front of him. “He can’t have her - she’s just a girl, not even twelve winters old!” Jamus bellowed, tears now rimming his eyes.

  A snide smile creased the man’s powdered face, “Lord Carter didn’t take kindly to your public refusal at the festival. You humiliated him and forgot your place in this world, Jamus Willms!”

  “She is my daughter. It is my right as her father to give blessing to her suitor when she is of age for it!” Jamus snapped back angrily, bitter terror drenching his every word.

  The man’s lips quivered involuntary with rage and he backhanded Jamus. “Again you forget your place, peasant! Lord Carter requires the company of your daughter - with or without your consent and you have no right to deny him!”

  “Over my dead body!” Jamus cried defiantly, taking a step forward but stopping as the blade pushed him back with enough force to puncture his flesh and he could feel blood begin to trickle down his chest.

  “Then you won’t be disappointed with tonight’s outcome.” The man nodded and two of the large brutes grabbed Jamus from behind.

  “No! Pl
ease, by the gods no!” Jamus cried, as he was dragged across the room and thrown against the back wall - both greasy men began raining meaty fists into him. He heard his wife scream and lunged forward out of the barrage of brawny knuckles, but he didn’t make it far before he was pinned down to the cold wooden floor where several more fists found his flesh.

  “Hold him there,” the leader ordered them. “Let him watch this. This is what happens to those who forget their place in life and disrespect those of high nobility.” The leader barked as his men began tearing open Nikki’s light grey dress, grabbing and groping at her soft exposed flesh. She cried and pleaded for them to stop, trying in vain to fight them off, but the act of defiance only heightened their rapacious lust for the sinful crime.

  “Please, no! Do what you will with me, but leave my family alone, please, I beg you!” he bellowed out, trying to crawl his way to her. His fingers were already raw from the effort and they left fresh, bloody marks with each attempt. No matter how hard he tried, he could not overpower the two men holding him.

  Nate pulled his tiny arm free from the sweaty grip of the hulking, dark haired man holding him and his sister and snatched the dull knife from the table that was still slick with apple juices. He charged the men holding down his half naked mother in a blind, foolish frenzy. The knife sunk deep into the shoulder of a pock-faced attacker - he roared out in shock, his fist connecting with Nate’s face, shattering the boy’s nose. Nate was thrown to the ground by the force of the blow, blood pouring freely from his nose and mouth as he cried out.

  “You’ll pay for that, you little pissant!” hissed the wounded brute as he kicked the boy, sending him sprawling across the floor near the blazing hearth. Another brutish kick forced the boy into the coals and Nate howled in agony as the flames licked and scorched his skin.

  “Please stop it, please stop! Leave him alone damn you!” Jamus wailed, his arms stretched out almost to the point of dislocation, but to no avail, he couldn’t move under the strength of the men. “Stop it! Please!”

  The brute pulled the knife from his shoulder with a grunt and threw it to the floor. He pushed down on the boy with his foot, holding the poor child half in the flames, listening to his wails of anguish. The small caldron of water was boiling, the smell of the fresh spiced taze emanating from it. With a malicious grin the man tipped the pot, spilling its blistering contents over Nate. He flailed and screamed even louder for several heartbreaking moments before going sickly still - silent.

  “NO!” Jamus wailed, thrashing violently, pure rage taking him over at the sight of the unspeakable things happening to his wife and son before his very eyes.

  “Oh no you don’t, peasant,” one of the brutes on top of him barked, grabbing a handful of Jamus’ hair and slamming his face into floor several times, blood now oozing from his crooked nose and split lip.

  “If you want your turn you better get over here,” the powder-faced leader told the thug who still stood by the hearth, looking down at his nightmarish dirty work. The man grinned sadistically - his scared face giving him the look of a fiendish demon as he unfastened his thick leather belt while he walked over to Jamus’ wife.

  Time and time again they raped her; ravaging her over and over, licking and biting every inch of her tender flesh - the more she fought the worse it was. They bruised her with their fists, cut her with their knives until finally she hadn’t the strength to move, barely able to draw breath as her tear-stained eyes looked helplessly over at her husband. They forced Jamus to watch the whole scene, until finally they slashed open her throat - her lifeblood soaking into the old wooden floor boards and staining her pale blond hair crimson.

  The leader strolled over to Jamus carelessly - powdered face streaked with sweat, his henchmen lifting his battered form up so he could look at him. “My Lord offered you a better life for your daughter’s hand. You refused - you had no right, filth!” He slapped Jamus hard, his jeweled ring biting into Jamus’ face. “Now look around, look what you have done to your family Jamus Willms. Was it worth it?” He pointed to Nate’s body still burning in the hearth, his skin blackening and cracked, then to his wife’s abused corpse. “You did that to her you know, you, you and your stubbornness, your foolish pride. Who are you to think you have a choice? A great man offers you and your family a chance at something better and you throw it in his face. Now look at what your choice has brought you, Jamus Willms!”

  The leader wiped the blood from his hand on a rag from the table, as he walked over to Nikki’s body and looked down with a grin, as if admiring his work. “I would suggest whatever god you pray to, you pray now, Jamus Willms.” With that, he nodded to his men and they began their assault on Jamus once more.

  “Take her to the carriage - My Lord will be pleased to see her, again,” the leader told the man who still held the terrified girl - she was trying to bury her face in her hands. “And for you, Markel, as promised for your services,” he handed the plump man who stood watch by the door a bulging pouch of coins.

  “Thank you, sir,” Markel stuttered out, taking one last look at the horrific scene he had helped create.

  The last of the brutes knocked over the burning oil lamps as they left the house. The flames were quick to spread, consuming the dry, old wood that made up the cottage. Within minutes, the raging fire gutted the small building - the supports gave out and the wreckage crumbled in on itself.

  No one in the small village had dared come out of their homes to come to Jamus’ families aid, in fear of what might happen to them if they did….

  ….Jamus’ inconsolable sobs stirred him from his dark memory. He was lying on the cold earth, curled up. He pulled himself to his feet with great effort. He wiped the stinging tears from his face, flinching as he tore away bits of burnt skin and scab as he did so. But the pain only refueled him as he continued to walk towards the town of Milton - toward the first to suffer his wrath of vengeance....

  Unforgivable

  Part Two

  Envious Parasite

  Light wafts of cedar smoke cascaded out from the high brick chimney, lingering in the cool night air around the affluent house, a house ill-gotten and undeserved. Jamus wonder how many had fallen victim to Markel Jones and his perfidious ways to build such a splendid house. How many individuals had been murdered, so that he may profit off it in some way? How many families were broken or abducted? There had always been rumors, but Jamus wasn’t a man who paid attention to such talk, a fool he had been. Had he been more wary of this man things may have been different....

  ....It had been their last night at the Fall Festival. They had just finished the day’s activities and were on their way back to their wagon, which they used as their campsite. Markel Jones had convincingly happened upon them.

  “Evening Jamus, Nikki,” Markel said stopping them, a misleading smile upon his face. “A pleasure to see you two and your beautiful children here again this year.”

  Jamus didn’t care much for Markel - he had been trying to court Nikki the same time as Jamus had been. Markel had tried to use his status and money to win Nikki over - Jamus knew without a doubt that the men who had beaten him down one evening had been working for Markel. It was meant to be a warning to Jamus - to scare him away - it had almost worked too.

  “Evening to you , Mr Jones,” Jamus replied, not wanting to be rude for the sake of his children, but his stern look wasn’t lost on Markel - though if he cared, it did not show.

  “So I heard a rumor that Lord Carter has asked for your Sofia’s hand - that must be very exciting for you,” he said, his smirk revealing that he knew the truth of the matter.

  “Yes he did...” Nikki replied, her tone weary but polite.

  “But we politely refused his offer - Sofia has yet to see her twelfth winter, she is nowhere near the age for such things,” Jamus cut in coldly.

  “Ah yes, I guess that is a little young for marriage, even to a powerful Lord,” Markel replied, emphasizing powerful with an extra hand gesture. “And
of course, a father would know best.” He said the last part with a casual look towards Jamus, though his eyes darted back to Nikki. Yearning glistened in those brown malicious eyes and caused a filthy smirk on those thin lips.

  “Yes, I do. It was nice to see you again, Markel, but we must be getting back,” Jamus countered bitterly, wanting nothing more than to be away, before he gave the wrong impression to his children.

  “Ah yes, I am sorry to have kept you,” he replied smugly. “Tomorrow night I insist that you and your family dine with me at my table.” Again, his words were more posed towards Nikki.

  “I am afraid we will have to refuse, Mr Jones - we will be heading home on the morrow at first light,” Nikki replied, trying to be friendly. “Jamus needs to be back to work helping Marcus with the crop before the frost comes.”

  “Such a shame, but alas, I wish your journey home to Ever-Dale be swift and safe.” Markel bowed politely and then left, an arrogant swagger in his gait.

  ....Yes Markel had tried to bait them. Had they stayed the extra night, Jamus was sure something would have happened there. Not that it mattered - it had happened anyway.

  Jamus stared into the house through a small side window. Markel Jones sat at a large silver laden desk. It was an elaborately designed desk; carved throughout its front and sides with fierce ancient warriors - clad in strange mystical armor and weapons - fighting demons and beasts from other worlds.

  Jamus could feel the rage-driven creature within him begging to be released. His breathing picked up - no longer shallow and jagged, but deep and staggering, leaving a misty film on the outside of the window - fogging his view of his target. A malicious grin quivered uncontrollably and spread across his scabbed lips. His burnt hands were trembling almost unbearably at the anticipation of his revenge on his much-hated rival.

  A quick movement reflected off the window from behind him, stirring him from his twisted contemplation. With reflexes that belied his body’s current state, he spun to the side as the axe blade cleaved into the ground where he had been a moment before.