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

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