The Fortunates (Unfortunate #2) - Skyla Madi Page 0,75

from Kade’s grip. “Why don’t you make me?”

“Anna,” Kade hissed and she ignored him while Vince cackled menacingly.

“Why don’t I make you? Well, aren’t you tough?”

“Tough? No. I’m terrified.” Over her shoulder, she glared at Oliver, John, Kade, and around the rest of the room too. “But since no one else is going to open their mouths and stand up for what’s right then I’m left with no choice.”

All hints of humour disappeared from Vince’s features. His jaw tightened on and off repeatedly, until he said: “I told you to kill her.”

“I’d much rather kill you.”

Collective gasps echoed around the room and Kade was sure his was amongst them. After that, Fortunates began to leave, murmuring nervously between each other. This wasn’t fun for them anymore. Those who were more sensitive to life and death left with uncomfortable expressions on their faces, and those who were wired more like Vince stayed for the inevitable bloodshed.

Eventually, Vince sighed and smiled at Kade. He pointed the handle of the gun in his direction. “You’ll kill her, won’t you, brother?”

Anna’s shoulders dropped with a flinch. She believed he’d do it. He did it last time. He shot an Unfortunate in the head so she didn’t have to…but he wasn’t that man anymore.

“You hand me that gun and it’s not Portia’s head I’m burying the bullet in.”

Anna relaxed, Portia sobbed, and Vince grimaced. “You care for the Unfortunate?”

The Unfortunate? After all this time, Portia was still “the Unfortunate?”

“Portia has been our kitchen hand for as long as I can remember. She is an integral part of our system. Without her, it collapses.”

Vince laughed once, turning the gun around and holding it by its handle. “Integral? Collapses? I can make my own fucking sandwiches.”

“If you think her worth ends at sandwich making then you are terribly mistake—”

BANG!

Kade looked away.

Thud.

Damn.

∞ Anna ∞

No.

Not again.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Vince scratches his head with the gun. “I couldn’t hear the rest of your sentence over the sound of the bullet leaving my gun and entering her skull.”

I blink rapidly, expecting her to disappear and for me to wake up in my warm bed. She doesn’t disappear and I don’t wake up. Crimson blood gushes from her chest and spills onto the white tiles. The puddle underneath her lifeless body increases with every second that passes and soon there’ll be none left inside her petite body.

She’s gone.

He shot her.

Tears well in my eyes as the realisation of what just unfolded hits me. Portia is dead. The woman I met in the kitchen on my first day out of camp is gone.

Alive one minute.

Dead the next.

A handful of moderators enter the room, slinging their guns over their backs. I press my palm to my chest to see if my heart is still beating. It’s strange…my heart pounds against my hand, thrumming to its usual rhythm, but I don’t feel it in my chest. Kade brushes past me, seemingly the only one who can get his legs to work. I steal a glimpse of his face as he passes by. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips slightly downturned. The regular olive tone in his skin has paled and he holds his body smaller than usual.

There’s nothing but deafening silence in the room as he approaches Portia’s lifeless body. I clench my jaw on and off, rubbing my tongue along the roof of my mouth to stop the surge of grief that lingers on the precipice of my impending emotional breakdown. Inwardly, I fight tooth and nail to keep myself together for Kaden’s sake. Why? Because Portia is his. I will have my time to cry and it’s not before him.

Kade stops at the edge of the puddle of her blood, but it doesn’t matter. Soon enough, it expands, seeping underneath the soles of his shoes. He watches the rich, crimson liquid spread further and listens as people begin to whisper. He doesn’t care. They no longer matter. It is like, in this moment, he understands the reason for our fight. The reason this rebellion must happen. If not us, who? Society has to change. We’re heading down a path every generation before us has followed. We keep waiting for the generation after us to fix the mistakes we’ve made, but no one does. Instead, we expand on it. We make it worse.

And worse.

And worse.

Until it builds up so high we can no longer backtrack. Then what?

Sacrifices must be made. We need people now who are willing to spill their own