The Fortunates (Unfortunates #2)
Read The Fortunates (Unfortunates #2) Online
Authors: Skyla Madi
The Fortunates
By Skyla Madi
The Fortunates
Copyright © 2016 by Skyla Madi.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: June 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-655-8
ISBN-10: 1-68058-655-6
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To second chances.
Nine
A buzz rings in my ear, the result of a deafening silence. My eyelids are heavy, as if sandbags hang from my lashes. I blink, slowly, and the sharp lines of the world blur into dull shades of grey. If my brain powered down for a second, sleep could be possible.
The metal bars of my cell are cool against my burning cheek and I flinch as a small, rogue drop of rainwater falls from a crack in the ceiling and splashes on the tip of my nose. It sobers me, but not enough to make me want to move my head.
I’m still alive…
Still locked up…
Still a pending Fortunate…
I can’t even begin to wrap my head around it. How can I go from being an Unfortunate to a Fortunate? From dirt to gold? As per usual, my life is hanging in the balance…and so is Kathryn’s. If she lied about being my birth mother I’m dead, and if she’s telling the truth…she’s dead.
Kade hasn’t visited me and I don’t know if I should feel relieved or disappointed. Both emotions wage war inside me. I expect him to be in the city by now, completely impartial to what’s happening in my life. He killed his father. He got what he wanted. Why would he stay to defend me? I’m just a girl who caused him more trouble than I should have. Still, my lovesick heart twists painfully in my chest and I grit my teeth…
God
. I miss his face and his dark eyes. I even miss the stern way he purses his lips when he’s not pleased with me. I hate that I miss it. I hate that I miss
him
…after everything he’s done.
After everything we’ve done together.
Vince has visited me. Three times I’ve sat in silence while he has tormented me with explicit stories of Thirteen. He mimicked her cries and the way her hands would clench into fists every time he forced himself into her body. With every word, my heart squeezed uncomfortably in my chest and my eyes welled with tears, but I never let them fall.
Not for Vince.
I wouldn’t give him the pleasure.
I drag my stare from the cold, concrete floor to the barred window in the top left corner of my tiny cell. Pinks, blues, and oranges paint the sky in a pretty mess of colours and it sends thick rivulets of dread into my stomach. I don’t think I’ve ever been happy watching a sunrise. I heard the term “
a new day brings a new beginning
” once. Fortunates tend to use it a lot, but it makes no sense to me. For Unfortunates, a new day brings a new set of nightmares. The only thing remotely motivating about a new day for us is the possibility of it being our last. Can you imagine? Praying the sun doesn’t rise every night before you fall asleep? It’s abysmal. It’s a slap in the face to Mother Nature—or whoever put us here.
A heavy thud and a high pitched squeal rings throughout the tiny room as the main door opens. The only visitors this room gets this early in the morning are usually for Kathryn so I don’t lift my eyes. Her family doesn’t “risk” visiting her in the middle of the day because others might “talk.” God forbid another Fortunate witnesses them visit a loved one in prison. It’s always about image with them—how they look to everyone else. Apparently, it’s been seventeen years since a Fortunate has been jailed and killed because they broke the law. An interesting fact, I think.
I close my eyes and swallow hard. My tongue almost glues itself to the dry roof of my mouth and my throat sticks together. So much for moistening it. I haven’t had food or water for days and I can barely lift my arm without it sending excruciating pain throughout my body. I ache all over—in my bones and in my muscles. I wonder how Kathryn is holding up in the cell on the other side of the thick concrete wall I rest against. I’ve experienced this pain before. I’ve been starved, dehydrated, and sore countless times. I doubt she has.
Now that I think about it, she hasn’t begged for my forgiveness for a few hours now. Her privileged body has probably gone into shock and given up on her. I don’t think they could kill me by deprivation of liberty. I grew up deprived. I was raised by it—shaped by it. Deprivation doesn’t hurt me…and I guess I owe that to her.
The main door slams shut and a loud, heavy
clank
echoes through the room. I inhale and hold it, unable to expel it because my lungs have stopped functioning.
That smell
.
My stomach churns and my heart climbs in tempo, slamming against my ribs with the weight of a sledgehammer behind it. I keep my eyes closed as the sound of a shoe scuffing the concrete reverberates around the room, around my skull.
For days I’ve pictured this moment in my head. In detail, I’ve imagined what I’d say to him, but now the moment has arrived I’m not ready.
“You’re still here,” I mutter, letting my head fall back against the wall, my eyes still closed.
I look like death. That much I know. My hair is tangled and dry, my skin oily with sweat, and my clothes are covered in mud and dirt from the night I tried to escape and he caught me. The look of absolute disappointment and desperation on his face when he realised I didn’t want to stay with him…it haunts me. Every time I close my eyes I see that night…I see the way his brows pulled together when I told him I loved him or when I begged him to put a bullet through my head. Those are the scenes that contribute to my lack of sleep.
“You think I’d leave you behind?”
Honestly, I don’t know what I think anymore—especially when it comes to Kaden Sario, the only man who can both love and hate you in the same minute.
I smirk, despite myself. “Don’t get too attached to me, Kaden. I’m sure someone somewhere is polishing a bullet with my name on it.”
He chuckles under his breath like I told the joke of the year. “Your death isn’t an option for me, Nine.”
My lips tremble at the mention of my name. Why does it sound so respectful, so promising, coming from his lips? I open my eyes and all of my organs clench at the sight of him. My tired gaze rakes over his dark, beautiful hair, olive skin, black eyes, and full lips. His crisp grey button-up shirt clings nicely to his torso, his black slacks sitting perfectly on his hips. His appearance is enough to breathe life into me, to fill me with a new kind of energy…or at least, I’m sure it would if I wasn’t on the verge of passing out. He crouches low, gripping a thick bar in one hand.
“Why are you here?” I ask, unable to keep my voice smooth and strong.
Subtly, he flinches as my voice cracks, making my heart tumble. I love him so much…he’s the only reason I have for not wanting to die. My world I can let go of, but not him…and it doesn’t makes any sense because despite how deeply I love him and the joy his beautiful face brings me, I don’t want to see him. I’m mad at him. I’m mad at him for not shooting me when I begged him to and for not telling me he loved me when I needed it…now two lives are about to be destroyed…in one way or another.
“Where else would I be?”
“Around. Living your life. The thing that caused you the most grief is about to be executed.”
“You have caused me a lot of grief.” Kade’s full lips curve slightly. “But I’m not about to let you die.”
Why is he doing this? Why is he making it so hard for me to hate him?
“So you’ve said…What about what I want?”
His lips twitch—a subtle movement I almost miss. As soon as it happens, it disappears, hidden under a frown. “What do you want?”
Doesn’t he know? What I want is simple. What I want is the only thing that can truly bring me peace.
“I want the results to come back negative. I want them to drag me outside, put a gun to my head, and pull the tri—”
“Like I said,” he states in a cold, clipped voice, cutting me off. “Your death is not an option for me.”
I simper. Of course. I almost forgot that Kaden Sario is a Fortunate, despite how desperately I wish he wasn’t, and he doesn’t like it when someone takes his toys away. What did he refer to me as when I first came to him? A possession. A fucking
possession
.
“When those tests come back what you want won’t matter,” I tell him.
Kade leans in close, so close the bars of my cell press into his cheeks. His eyes are darker than dark and the familiar feeling of intimidation bubbles in my chest. He reaches out with his hand and I keep my stare on his as he brushes the backs of his warm fingers along my jaw. “Don’t think I won’t take on the world to keep you alive.”
Stupid, beautiful man
. This is just like Kade. To act on his own impulses without thinking how it will affect other people. If he fights for me, who knows how terribly it will impact an already broken society? How many Unfortunates will potentially be punished if everyone learns just how tangled in love Kade and I have been? Fortunate or not, our love started somewhere and people won’t like where it began.
“Careful, Fortunate. That sounds an awful lot like the beginning of a declaration of love.” I shut my eyes for the briefest moment, absorbing his warmth and kindness since it might be the last time I feel it. “But we both know you can’t bring yourself to stoop so low.”
Opening my eyes, I lean away from his hand. He retracts it, his irises burning fiercely, piercing my chest. I love that Kade thinks I’m worth risking his life for and I love that he depends on me like I depend on him, but it’s too late.
“I—”
“What’s the decision on the mine?” I ask, dropping eye contact.
There’s a grave feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s heavier than concrete and just as hard.
He clears his throat. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”
I swallow. I should have known. Kade can be a reasonable man, but when it comes down to doing what society wants or doing what is right…he sides with
them
.
Every.
Single.
Time.
“I brought you something. It took me a few days to have it made.” Whatever it is, he fishes for it in his chest pocket and I lift my stare in time to see the gorgeous gold lion pendant with a red ruby mane.
Maybe it’s the depressed state I’m in, or the fact this room smells less than pleasant, but I hate it.
I absolutely, positively hate it.
Is it yet
another
sign of his ownership? Even when I’m seconds, hours, days away from death I’m his? Is that what he wants? For me to be enslaved to him until I take my final breath? Where’s the fucking humanity? Where’s the fucking freedom I deserve? If he wants to win me over in my final hours, he should forget about the Unfortunates in the mine and let them be. That’ll mean more to me than a necklace or forcing me to stay in a world I don’t want to be in. I could love him for that…for doing the right thing. I won’t feel guilty loving an honourable man.
“Is this your idea of a romantic gesture?” I ask, my voice doing that stupid shaky thing again. “Is this your way of declaring your love? I don’t want your necklace. Don’t you get it? I
don’t
want to live anymore. Not here. Not with
you
people. You should have put a bullet in my head when I begged you to at the lake. That was—”
“—not an option.”
I huff. I wish he’d stop saying that, because he’s in for a rude shock when they shoot me dead in the field while he watches. I blow frustrated air from my cheeks. I feel weak, like his stare is sucking whatever remaining energy I have left.
I know I have every right to be mad at him for not saying he loves me back, but is it unfair to hate someone for not killing you when you needed them to? Is that selfish?
“You ruined my life,” I say, my voice dead still.
He doesn’t flinch. Not a single feature on his face changes and, for a split second, I don’t know if I actually said it or if it passed by in thought.
“I could have,” he states, tucking the necklace back into his pocket. “But I didn’t.”
I smile sadly.
No, you didn’t.
Tears dance along the rims of my eyes, threatening to spill. I don’t want them to. I don’t want him to feel like he has to comfort me. I haven’t needed comfort for the last eighteen years of my life and I don’t need it now. I close my eyes again and the pressure is enough to send a tear rolling down my cheek. It feels strange…the moisture on my skin. My dried-up body hasn’t been able to shed a single tear for days, but the second Kade shows up he manages to squeeze one out of me with little effort. Go figure.
