The Fortunates (Unfortunate #2) - Skyla Madi Page 0,35

glass, he swallows the golden liquid in a single mouthful.

“I’m serious, Kaden,” I say, stepping away from the window. “How’d you do it?’

“Easy.” He flicks his dark stare to me, making my tummy flip. “It was you or him, and I won’t lose you for anybody.”

I take another step forward. “But he was an innocent.”

“And so are you.”

Kade pushes a glass across the marble bar surface, toward me.

Ambling closer, I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re being biased. You caring about me doesn’t make me more of an innocent than him.”

“I don’t just fucking care for you. I love you. I’d slaughter this whole damn town for you.”

“You’d aimlessly murder the innocent for me, but you won’t fight the guilty beside me in war? How does that make sense to you?”

“Nothing floating around in my head has made sense since you showed up.”

Unbuttoning his jacket, Kade slips it down his arms, folds it in half, and drops it against the bench. I frown as he loosens his tie and frees it from the collar of his light blue shirt.

“Plunging a society as fragile as this one into civil war is a bad idea,” he tells me, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms. “And getting yourself killed for something that will never change is moronic.”

I flinch because fighting for basic human rights isn’t a bad idea. Giving people a better quality life isn’t moronic.

“I don’t expect you to understand why—”

“You’re right. I don’t understand!”

“I don’t understand why it took one, one dodgy, insignificant asshole to whisper something in your ear and you instantly trust him.”

I didn’t trust Oliver at first, but he made some valid points. He needs a leader for his revolution and I’ll gladly step up to the plate.

“Oliver isn’t like that.”

He bristles at the mention of Oliver’s name.

“You’ve barely known him a day, Nine. They want you dead! Not a single Fortunate out there wants you alive! You think this fucking Oliver wants to level the field, give everyone equal opportunity? No. Why? Because that means he’s no longer on top. He’ll have to get his hands dirty—work for a living.”

I shake my head. He doesn’t know Oliver is involved with an Unfortunate and I can’t tell him. Oliver wants the opportunity to be with the woman he loves without fear, without hiding. He deserves that right.

“Kaden…”

“Don’t Kaden me. You will live the rest of your life as a Fortunate and will do so by my side.”

I flinch. “You’d take my choices away?”

“If it keeps you safe. From here on out, I will be the one to make every decision that directly impacts your life on your behalf. I am the only one with your best interests at heart.”

A lump swells in my throat. Kade might love me. He might be different in some ways when compared to his peers, but he is still a Fortunate. He still has his agendas and his seemingly endless list of prejudices.

“Forcing me to remain a Fortunate, to surrender my free will to you…that’s a death sentence. I love you, Kaden…but you’re out of your mind if you think I’d be happy with that.”

“You will, eventually. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to sit down and enjoy my drink in peace.”

I scowl at the back of his head. I’m not going to take this lying down. Is that seriously what he expects me to do? I’ve fought hard to get where I am. I’m not like the rest of them. I have a voice and it is loud, and it will not be silenced by anyone—not even Kade.

I push at the straps of my dress. He thinks I’m weak. After all this time he thinks I’m not capable of changing minds? Of changing the world?

I’ll show him. We’ll see who’s weak.

I push the straps of my red dress over my shoulder and free my arms. Wiggling, I manage to push the tight, bunched fabric over my breasts and down to my hips. Without a glance over his shoulder, Kade lowers himself onto the couch and places his drink on the little cylinder side table. Dropping his head back against the couch, he sighs and closes his eyes.

“I may be weak in strength, but you are weak in spirit,” I say, stepping out the puddle of red fabric that has pooled at my feet.

“There are worse things,” he mutters, not bothering to open his eyes.

How much sleep did he get last night? Was it as fleeting