unForgivable (An inCapable World Novel Book 2) by Sara Hubbard Page A

when I witness a man’s anger.
    And that image looks nothing like Damien. But I don’t know him, and this is just another reason why I need to.
    If I were Damien, where would I hide something? Definitely not in plain sight. I look up in the corners of the room, then the floor. A hidden floor board? I tap my foot on random boards. This place is too clean and I don’t believe for a second he doesn’t have something hidden here. The bed? Why am I so stupid? I get on all fours and lift up his sheets, checking underneath, but all I see are rabbit-sized dust bunnies. Hmm. But wait…his mattress lies just a little uneven. I lift it up and jackpot. A .40 caliber handgun. A Browning. I tip it to the side and notice the serial number is shaved off. Huh. You don’t get a gun like this unless you intend to hurt someone and not get caught. I press the button on the side and let the magazine slide down and into my hand. One hundred percent loaded and there’s one in the chamber.
    I sit cross-legged on the floor, Damien’s gun in my lap, staring up and out the window as the sun finally reaches the clouds. The stream of light funneling in through the blinds warms me, but it does little to soothe me. This gun could mean nothing. He might just have one for protection…but then why shave off the serial number? I considered getting one not so long ago when I got roughed up outside a club. Stupid me got so blind drunk that I couldn’t take care of myself and I had to call for help—as usual. Declan came to my aid that night.
    The door swings open and I hear a sweet, “Hellooooo.” A woman. Shit. I stand and pad to the door, hiding behind it. The gun is heavy as I clutch it in my left hand.
    “Damien? Are you up yet? Damien?”
    Her high heels click on the hardwood as she approaches his room. She’s going to see me.
    “Damien? Where the hell are you?” I hear the musical sound of her pressing buttons on a phone. Then silence. “Damien, it’s your mother.”
    I know her voice.
    Why is it so familiar to me?
    “I swear you could at least pretend to sound happy to talk to me,” she says. “Where the hell are you?” Pause. “No you’re not, because I’m at your apartment.” She’s quiet for another moment. “Hello? Damien? Are you there?” The woman mutters curse words under her breath and I let out a quiet sigh while I anxiously wait for her to leave. She doesn’t give up easily. She clicks her way back to the living room and I hear her puttering around in the kitchen. I peek through the crack of the door where it meets the hinges, trying to see her as she moves about the apartment, but I only get a view of her back. Dark hair. Long legs.
    I lower myself to the floor and wait. Holy shit, woman. When will you leave?
    I don’t know how long I wait. It seems like forever has passed when the door flings open and Damien appears. I perk up, leaning in closer to see and hear what transpires next, hoping to glean some information.
    “Mother? Seriously? What are you doing?”
    “I’m making coffee.” Annoyed. “Would you like some?”
    “No. How did you get in?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “Actually, it does. Because obviously, I need a bigger lock.”
    “I could pick any lock you throw at me, son.”
    He runs his hands through his hair and his eyes train down the hallway to meet mine. Or I think they do and I lean back. Though I’m probably imagining it, he seems to want to keep my presence as quiet as I do, because he hasn’t ratted me out. I have to give him points for that, at least. He wants to keep me hidden.
    He sighs and takes a seat at one of the bar stools at the counter. “This isn’t right. You have to know that?”
    “Oh, get over it. I needed to see you. I’ve had the worst night of my life and I needed someone to talk to that isn’t…well, you know.”
    “No, I really don’t.” He folds his arms over his chest.
    “Jimmy is still in jail. That bitch Mona Bilski was working with the cops. And