Damned If I Do

Aimee Ungersma

Description

We both stood there exhausted, looking at each other like they do in old western films. "I just need to talk to you Archer, please don't throw more stuff at me. I would never hurt you or your family." He glared at me while lifting his arm back up. I glanced to his sides to see what else he had to throw but didn't see anything. Then it sunk in that the only other thing around us both was my car. It was levitating above me as I looked at Archer who was glaring at me again. "Speak then, but when you are finished know that I will destroy your car and you under it." I could feel my eyes stinging as tears began to form. I wasn't ready to die but I was stuck at this point.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
• Date de parution: 31 janvier 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781398406100
• Langue: English

Extrait

D amned If I D o
Aimee Ungersma
Austin Macauley Publishers
2022-01-31
Damned If I Do About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four
About the Author
Aimee Ungersma is a single mother of two sons, Ian and Elliott. She works two jobs and writes in her spare time. Aimee’s creative writing began in high school when she received extra credit on essays for entwining fictional stories with her history homework. Then many years later, she began to write her first book Damned If I Do, because she was at work telling tall stories and a co-worker told her that if she made that into a book, he would read it. So she wrote it! In her free time, she enjoys writing, playing outside with her sons, working out, trying to cook, and being around any kind of water. Aimee is looking forward to writing the next three books of the Damned Series for the readers.
Dedication
I would like to dedicate and thank my friend Jim Fisher for encouraging me to write my book. To Marcia Stratton for inspiring me to make a character like you. To my sister Laurie and her husband Ryan for listening to my book and telling me when something sounded off. To Saundra, my brother Ronald, and my uncle Adam for editing. To my sons Ian and Elliott as well as my nieces Lorelei and Margot for your love. Lastly to Les and my other friends who helped me, inspired me, and believed in me.
Copyright Information ©
Aimee Ungersma 2022
The right of Aimee Ungersma to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781398406094 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398406100 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published 2022
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd ® 1 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
Acknowledgement
Thank you to Austin Macauley Publishers and their team for publishing my work. Thank you to Les, Amber, Dan, Ron, Margaret, Laurie, Ryan, Ronald and Adam for all of your help. Thank you to the Rohrman family, Riley, Mark, Jason, Marcel, June, Marilyn, and Jim as well as Cliff, Tina, and Courtney for your donations.
Prologue
I walked into the room, which reeked of coffee and wet clothes. Lightning flashed by the window, lighting up the raindrops pouring down outside. I looked to the middle of the room where six chairs had been placed into a circle facing each other. As I stared at the glum faces occupying five of those six chairs, the thunder followed the lightning with a loud clap that rattled the walls of the old building. This had caused my attention to go back to the window and let out a sigh.
As I stared out the window, I didn’t hear the cough or the clearing of his throat, but when I heard, “uh, miss?” I turned my head to see an old man who was standing behind a woman sitting in one of the chairs. She had a bad acne breakout on her cheeks. He smiled at me but his eyes looked like he would rather have cut his own arm off then be here on a Thursday with the rest of us misfits. I smiled back at him as he asked in a kind but impatient tone, “Would you care to join the rest of us and share your name?” He indicated to the rest of the group with his hand.
“Oh shit, I forgot what I was doing for a second. Sorry.” I laughed. While walking into the circle of chairs towards the empty one that was meant for me, I turned to face everyone and with a deep sigh (I do that a lot by the way). I stated proudly, “Hello, my name is Marcy Goode and I’m an alcoholic.”
As I sat the whole group replied in unison, “Hi Marcy!”
Chapter One
That’s right, I’m an alcoholic! Well not really, I don’t like drinking actually. I just to go to the AA meetings because I like to hear other peoples’ problems, to make sure their lives suck more than mine. does that make me a horrible person? Probably, but crashing the AA meetings on a Thursday night is a lot better than the time I tried to attend an anger management class. Those people had some serious issues, not to mention tempers that kind of scared me. Apparently, I didn’t meet their criteria either but whatever, it’s their loss. Not mine.
So what kind of problems could I possibly have in my life that would be bad enough that I would be willing to waste my time listening to the life story of a boozer you ask? Well, for starters, I am over three hundred years old. No, really. I was born during the Salem witch trials back in the late 1600s. My name is actually Mercy Good and like any other witch out there, I just age very slowly. Yes, you heard correctly, a witch.
I am the second child born to Sarah Good who was condemned and killed shortly after she gave birth to me during the witch trials. No, I am not immortal. I just age well like any other fine cheese, so I look like I’m only in my thirties. I should be dead I suppose, but my life was spared after I was born because a stranger approached my mother while she was in jail awaiting the gallows and offered to take my older sister away. My sister Dorcus (who later had her name changed to Dorothy) was also imprisoned for being a witch at just four years old. The stranger must have pitied my mother because I was saved too.
Snapping away from my thoughts and history I was back in the AA meeting. I let out a sigh as the instructor was still going on about how we were in the very middle of our twelve-step program. “Tonight is a very important night for us all,” he went on in a monotone voice. “Step 6 of our program is surrendering yourself to God.”
I cringed out in pain at his name and accidentally blurted out loud, “Oh shit.” I began to panic, as everyone in the class looked in my direction with unhappy stares. I had been to enough of these things to know better than to come to step 6, I thought to myself, then turning a bit red in the face said, “Sorry,” to everyone in the room. I quickly raised my hand causing the instructor to look surprised that I wanted to speak since the whole rest of the evening he all but had to pull teeth to get a word out of me.
“Yes? Um… I’m sorry I forgot your name, dear.” He looked a little embarrassed that he didn’t remember my name.
“Marcy,” I replied, “I just realized that I left my purse at the liquor store and I really need to go get it before they close.”
I’m pretty sure I just watched this man’s eye twitch at my request but he said, “Of course.”
I smiled while thinking to myself that I just broke this man’s brain. “Thanks!” I said as I stood up, reaching for my purse, and hanging it over my shoulder. I had to squeeze myself between the chairs of people as I bolted for the door. Yes, I realize that was a lame excuse but I had to get out of there like four minutes ago. Just as I was reaching for the door handle, it swung open to reveal a very tall man in a black wet coat and short brown hair. His beard was wet from the rain and dripping on the floor between us. He must not have seen me since I’m not the tallest crayon in the box because he was smiling at the rest of the class, however, just like the instructor, his smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes either. What the hell, I thought to myself, am I the only one who actually enjoys coming to these things?
I went to walk past him when he reached out his hand and said in a very polite manner, “Good evening miss, I’m Father Shepherd.” I looked up at him, then down to his outstretched hand, then back up to his face. He must have been six foot six the way he was towering over my five foot five frame. He still had his hand out waiting to shake mine.
I gave him the nicest smile I could manage and replied, “This is New York pal; we don’t shake hands or touch other people here.” His smile started to reach his hazel eyes as I could see his crow’s feet start to appear. He nodded and put his hand down to his side.
I went around him to reach for the door handle when he asked in almost a concerned tone, “Is the class already over?” looking down at me then over to the instructor.
“Negative,” I replied pointing to the circle o’ fun. “They are still going.”
I grabbed the handle this time before he turned his full attention to me, “Are you leaving?” I dropped my hand from the handle letting out a sigh before turning around to look up at him.
“Yes, I left my purse at the liquor store and I need to go get it.”
He laughed for a moment before saying, “but your purse is right here, silly.” He touched the strap of my purse that was resting on my shoulder. I swatted away at his hand, which went