The Unfortunates: The Unfortunate Series, #1

By Skyla Madi

Nine. 

 

She wasn't known by a name, only by the number carved into her skin at birth.

 

Raised in an Unfortunate camp, she spent her days preparing for her eighteenth birthday, when she'd be sold to a Fortunate and forced to tend to their every need. 

 

Gossip dictated the Sarios were the worst of the Fortunates, so when Nine found herself bought by the father of the Sario house, her dream of living a quiet, uneventful life of servitude shattered before her eyes. 

 

Thrust into the dark clutches of the eldest son, Kaden Sario, Nine must navigate the treacherous world of high society and assist her Fortunate in his dream of new world domination

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skyla Madi
• Release date: Aug 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201687137

Skyla Madi

Skyla Madi is an internation bestselling novelist of a moxed bag of romance who lives in sunny Queensland, Australia. She spends most of her time indoors, writing with one hand and raising her three youn children with the other.  Skyla lovs to hear from readers and encourages messages on her website, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Goodreads.  All business related inquiries can be sent via email to [e-mail]

Book preview

Also by Skyla Madi...

The Devil’s Cartel MC...

Burning Road

Burning Daylight

The New York Crime Kings Series...

Blood & Rust

Sin & Secrets

Smoke & Metal

Rage & Bullets

Ink & Bone

Guts & Glass

Death & Dust

The Consumed Series...

Consumed

Too Consumed

Forever Consumed

Always Consumed

The Slammed Duet...

Slammed

Crushed

The Unfortunate Trilogy...

The Unfortunates

The Fortunates

The Sinful Duet...

Into Temptation

Deliver Us

Standalones...

Beautiful Assassin

On Her Guard

Playlist

Stream the playlist on Spotify HERE

Mad World by Piano Fruits Music, Anton Goosmann

when the party’s over by Finneas O’Connell,  Chad Lawson

Wrecking Ball – Single Piano Version by Stephan Moccio

Bad Guy  by  Eklipse

Zombie – Arrange For Piano  by Maurizio Lucchetti

Blinding Lights by BAWK

Paradise by Vitamin String Quartet

driver’s license – arr. String Quartet by Music Lab Collection

Wicked Game by Claire Heaving

Hallelujah by Kim Jones

Dreams by Hans Mölle

Wildest Dreams by Duomo

I Can’t Make You Love Me by Keely Lake

Heat Waves by Vitamin String Quartet

Someone You Loved by Chiki Serrano

Let Her Go by Purple Tulips

Fast Car by Andrea Carri

Without Me by Karim Kamar

... and more!

NINE

The sun is up, filtering through the cracks in the boarded windows, its golden rays making the dust shimmer and dance. I lie on my hard mattress and stare at the dilapidated ceiling. I didn't sleep. How could I? Today is the day I'll be taken from this hell and forced to live out my days in another—happy eighteenth birthday to me.

Blowing air from my lips, I sit up and glance around the grimy, dimly lit room. At least forty bumpy mattresses litter the floor, each one cradling the tired body of another eighteen-year-old Unfortunate.

I heard stories about kids in the before time. A birthday was an exciting event they pencilled into their calendar every year. Birthdays were something they celebrated, something they sang about. At these celebrations, they danced, received gifts, and ate sweets. It was a milestone that commemorated their growth into adulthood. 

Into freedom. 

My soul longed for a time long past, for a celebration, dancing, and sweets.

As the gap between an Unfortunate's birth and their eighteenth birthday closes, we grow more anxious. It's a day we pray never comes. To us, our eighteenth birthday doesn't equate to freedom. It means servitude. It means death. Overnight, we become tradable goods. Livestock. Disposables. 

A sniffle to my left pulls my attention, and I turn my head. A blonde girl in the bed beside me cries silently into her shabby pillow, her body shaking like the walls of this prison at the height of a summer storm. I guess it's her birthday, too. A heavy pang of sorrow slams into my chest, and I catch my dry lower lip between my teeth. I reach out to touch her. My fingers graze her filthy bed sheet when a loud siren blares, vibrating the room. I flinch and clasp my ears, squeezing my eyes shut as nervous bile threatens to climb my throat.

The siren ends, and my pulse kicks into overdrive. I lower my hands, swing my legs off the side of my mattress, and slide my feet into a pair of black cloth shoes. My big toe peeks through a hole at the top.

Beside me, the crying girl slips into her shoes and lifts herself to her feet. Shaking like a leaf, she turns and bends to make her bed. I don't understand why since she won't be coming back to it. Surely she knows that? 

I stand up, catching her attention. She peers at me through her messy blonde locks, and I offer her a small smile. She averts her watery gaze.

Swallowing hard, I smooth my palms down my grey, long-sleeved nightdress and step away from my mattress. I follow the lead of two boys who line up against the far wall by the entrance to our sleeping quarters.

I hear they need girls, so we should be okay for a few more days. Maybe even months, one of the boys' whispers.

Dread slithers through my stomach. The last thing I need is an increased need for female Unfortunates. There aren't a lot of girls in this room as it is.

The sounds of big, heavy boots thump down the hall, getting closer. I keep my gaze fixated on the back of the brunette head in front of me, not daring to make eye contact as the moderators enter the room. They scare the hell out of me. From their shaved heads and long, buttoned-up trench coats down to their big, black boots, they make my hair stand on its ends. 

Moderators were half Fortunate, half Unfortunate, and although birth control was compulsory for all Unfortunates, sometimes things happened. It wasn't right to treat the offspring like Fortunates, and it wasn't right to treat them like Unfortunates, either, so they created a medium. With moderators around, Fortunates no longer had to slum in Unfortunate camps or workstations.

Listen up! a deep, cold voice calls from the front of the room. Before you shower for the selection, an announcement is to be made. There is no requirement... He pauses, and my skin erupts with goosebumps. My heart pounds in my ears, spilling blood through my veins quicker than usual. For males in this selection.

There's a whimper behind me. My vision wavers, and I press my hand to my stomach. There's that nervous bile again, edging its way closer to the opening of my mouth. I swallow hard, but it doesn't help. As the boys return to bed, we shuffle along the wall to form a tighter line. 

Exhaling, I glance at the moderator at the front of the room. I recognise Soyer immediately. He cradles his monstrous rifle in his big hands and puffs his broad chest like a proud beast.

Well, well, girls, he croons, grinning at us, exposing his crooked teeth. Get in the shower and wash your filthy bodies. You've got a party to attend.

We stroll from the room, down a dark and decrepit hallway, and into the bathroom. The Moderators close the door behind us, and I let out a rush of air. I rub my trembling fingers against my clammy palms, balling my fists. Six girls burst into tears, including the blonde who sleeps in the bed next to me. The rest of us pull off our slate grey nightdresses and turn on the showers without a peep. To be caught crying isn't worth the beating.

The spattering jets of water that shoot from the shower head are as cold as ice and as sharp as knives. I stand under it anyway, not wanting to waste a second. I let it blast over me, cleaning away the dust and grime of the last week. Breathing heavily, I swipe the cold water from my face and walk to the small brass table in the middle of the shower room, where a few bars of clean, pink soap sit. I take a bar and rub the cherry-scented soap all over my body, lathering my pale skin in bubbles. I enjoy the way it slides. I rub it in the palm of my hands until enough bubbles build, then I sit the bar down and push my fingers through the knotty tangles of my long hair, separating thick strands as I go. Somehow, the sweet-smelling soap gets in my eyes. I hiss and squint and carefully make my way back to my shower. I shove my face into the ice water, washing away the burn, the bubbles and, temporarily, my reality.

As the last bubble runs off my body, the water is shut off, and in storm the moderators, their boots leaving dirty marks on the tiles. I still, my gaze glued to the bathroom floor. The urge to cover up is strong, but it's not worth the whipping I'd get as punishment. So, we let them ogle us and run their hungry gaze over our breasts and between our legs. 

For the most part, moderators are harmless. We are the property of the Fortunates from birth. No one else can touch us, and the punishment for those who break this law is death.

Four of you will be chosen today, so dress pretty, Soyer announces, drumming his fingers against his rifle.

Two more moderators enter. One carries a stack of raggedy towels, and the other cradles various colourful gowns. I squint. I've never seen hues so bright, or fabrics so long their hems almost kiss the floor. I take my towel as the moderator hands it to me, and I dry off, not taking my eyes off the gowns for a second. The moderator hangs the dresses on the opposite side of the room, and beneath them, he places new pairs of cloth shoes. Then they leave us alone in the bathroom.

No one makes a sound. No one moves, not even a twitch. 

I glance at the thirteen glistening girls in the room. They eye the mustard-coloured gown as if it's the key to not being chosen in today's selection. 

I startle as three girls, including the sulky blonde, rush across the tiles and dive at the mustard gown. As they fight for the dress, I watch the tangled mess of naked hunger pang frames and blonde hair. It's brilliant, I suppose, to choose the ugliest dress, but don't they know the consequences if we aren't chosen? If we're not selected before we turn nineteen, we'll be forced into sexual relations with other Unfortunates to produce more offspring for the Fortunates. If we don't serve a Fortunate, or birth a new Unfortunate, we're as good as dead.

I straighten and stroll across the shower floor, pulled toward the deep purple gown. If I'm chosen today, I might as well face my fears in a pretty dress. The rest of the girls have the same idea I do and take the green, pink, and royal blue gowns. I pull my dress from its hanger and turn as the crying blonde crawls out of the kerfuffle, hugging the mustard dress to her wet body. I lift my eyebrows, astonished. Sniffling, she lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. Hope glistens in her piercing blue eyes, and as she turns away, I spot her number tattooed on the clean flesh behind her ear.

Thirteen, that's her name.

Without thought, I touch the tips of my fingers to the number nine tattooed behind my ear. If I'm chosen, will my Fortunate give me a name? Or will I still be known as Nine? 

I follow Thirteen across the bathroom to stand beside her in front of the murky, wall-sized mirror.

You would've looked nice in the pink, I murmur, and her lips part, surprised I'm choosing now to talk to her for the first time.

She doesn't say anything back. I don't expect her to.

I step into my dress and pull it up until it covers my body. I tie it over my left shoulder, creating a beautiful side-sweeping bodice. I notice then that it's sheer. It's not transparent in this light, but the sun will light it up once we're outside, making the beautiful fabrics transparent for all to see.

When we're dressed, the moderators herd us through the crumbling building, like animals, poking us with the hard tips of their guns. Beside me, Thirteen gasps and stumbles over a rogue floorboard. I reach out and grip the band of fabric that flows freely from the back of her dress. Her weight yanks me forward, too, and I make a tight noise in my chest as we both crash to the dusty floor.

Get up! Soyer yells, his voice gravelly and punishing.

I release Thirteen's dress and jump to my feet, desperate to avoid the tail of his gun. Thirteen, however, is slow. She rests on the palms of her hands and knees, her body shaking as silent sobs rock her.

I said get up! He swings high, bringing his gun over his shoulder before slamming the end of it into her ribs.

I cringe as she screams. Gritting my teeth, I swallow hard and look away, peering into the dark room on my left—the children's rooms. Bright eyes glisten back as they quietly watch. A young girl, about six or seven, sits up in her bed, her eyes completely fixated on my gown. I bet I look like the princesses in the books they read to the children. When I was their age, I looked forward to story time, to the reprieve from reality it gave me. Now, I find it cruel. All those books have a happy ending. There is no happy ending for us, pretty gown be damned. The sad reality is that many of us die before the age of fourteen. Sometimes from sickness. Sometimes we're murdered. Sometimes we kill ourselves. 

Move! Soyer demands, shoving me hard with his gun, snapping me out of my thoughts. 

Pain crepitates through my torso, and I grit my teeth as I take one last glance at the little girl and keep moving.

The moderators march us down a flight of stairs, stairs that threaten to break as they creak under our weight. They usher us through an empty lobby, and we spend a second in there before we're pushed out into the bright morning sun. I squint under the blazing sun as if its only purpose is to burn the dress from my body.

In front of us, a cart is towed behind two breathtaking chestnut horses. I've seen horses before, but not ones as beautiful as these. They're well brushed, their coats glossy and short. They're well-fed, evident by their bloated bellies, and their hooves are clean, adorned with the shiny, silver horseshoes that curl like vines up their strong legs.

We're crammed into the cart one by one, and Soyer climbs on top to steer the horses. With a jolt, we rock against each other, our shoulders grazing as the horses carry us toward the ten-foot gate that keeps us caged. I glance over my shoulder at the looming, dilapidated manors that make up the Unfortunate camp. Now I'm leaving it; it looks less like hell and more like home. I'm going to miss it. I'll miss hiding in its nooks and crannies as moderators swept the halls looking for trouble. I'll miss not talking to anyone but sharing friendly and comforting glances. I'll miss my daily routine of waking up, eating breakfast, going to class, sitting outside under the giant oak tree, and finally, dinner and bed.

The gates scream as they pull open. They rattle and creak, and I inch forward in my seat, eager to see the wide world without the wire obstruction. Inch by inch, the gates expose the new world to me. The camp is situated on a hill, tucked away from the thick forest to the left and the ocean behind us. Off to the right, in the far, far distance, impossibly tall and jagged skyscrapers from time's past penetrate the sky. 

According to my teachers, the city is abandoned and fenced off. Only the heads of the four prominent Fortunate families are permitted to enter its barren streets. Dead ahead, the town of Freeport looms like the dark cloud of an impending thunderstorm.

We roll forward, and I peer over the cart's edge at the bright green grass. I inhale as excitement bubbles in my chest. I want to lay in its blades, to feel them on my skin. I glance at the other girls to see if they're as awed by the beauty of the grass as I am.

They're not.

They hang their heads. Their sad, grey stares are on the rotted floor of the cart. Thirteen hunches beside me, clenching her ribs as she sniffles.

Hey, I whisper to her. Look at the grass.

She shakes her head. I don't care for grass.

You haven't seen grass like this. At the Unfortunate camp, the grass is a pale green and only exists in random patches of spiky blades. Out here, it's a vast wonderland of beautiful, soft greenery. If you just look up a little, you'll see—

Why are you so happy, Nine? another Unfortunate snaps. I glance at her, my gaze going to the long, red locks that curl around her small breasts first. Seven's her name, I think. She looks small and sickly in her bright green dress. There are more important things than grass to worry about. In case you've forgotten, we're being sold today.

My eyelids flutter, her words making my eyes sting.

I haven't forgotten. How could I forget? I've thought about this moment every day of my life, it feels like. But we haven't been selected yet, might as well enjoy our last few minutes of freedom.

This isn't freedom. This is livestock transport. She folds her arms over her chest. We'll see how much you like the grass when your Fortunate forces you to eat a mouthful of it while he takes you from behind.

I swallow, hating how much truth rings in her words. I want to cuss her out, to admonish her for stripping me of my silver linings, but that wouldn't be fair. These girls aren't my enemy.

We all lose today.

NINE

The horses pull us through the outskirts of Freeport. Every now and again, the snake-like nerves in the pit of my belly writhe too much for comfort, but the clacking of the horseshoes over the wide cobblestone road soothes them back into a slumber. I peer through large shop windows and see Unfortunates running stores and cleaning tables in their plain, worn tunics. I wonder if I’ll be sent to the town to work? I’d like that. I want to be in charge of something.

Fortunates litter the pavements of the shopping district, dressed in fine suits and pretty dresses. I stare at them, gawking at the sheen in their hair and the cleanliness of their skin. They stare back at me, and it hits me then that I’ve never been in the presence of a Fortunate before, and seeing them so close makes the hair on the back of my neck stand. I avert my gaze, remembering one of the many rules that govern how I live my life. Don’t make eye contact with a Fortunate unless they address you directly.

We pass through the town quickly and draw closer to the large estates behind it. I keep my attention on them until they hang over us. Until we’re dead in front of the white stone manor in the middle. Two stone lions sit proudly in the foreground, guarding the manor’s intimidating wrought iron gates. I lift my eyebrows in awe. They’re carved so expertly that they look soft. How is it possible? I peer through the iron at the thick white columns that seem to bear the weight of the manor. Then, I look back to the lions. 

Lions. 

Blood drains from my face. This house belongs to the Sario family. I’ve heard the moderators talk about them over the years. I don’t know much, but I know this family goes through Unfortunates quicker than any other. 

Soyer stops the cart and leaps off the top, hitting the ground with a thud. I shrink into myself as he turns toward us, his lips curling into a wide, evil grin. He strolls around the cart, whistling a merry tune. Movement at the entrance of the Sario home catches my attention as a Fortunate strolls out the giant doors and plods down the stone steps. 

Soyer yanks at the metal clasps at the back of the cart, and one side falls. 

Get out and line up at the gate, he orders. 

I’m the first to exit the cart and head toward the gate. Anxiety builds. It starts in my toes as the cloth shoes hold my feet tight. Every time my foot connects with the hard ground, my heart thuds. Boom. Boom. Boom. I stop in front of the gates like I’m told. I’m so close I can smell the lacquer. I hold my breath, but the smell forces its way through my nostrils and assaults my senses. 

Please don’t let this become my home.

Don’t stand out and get a job in a kitchen; that’s my plan.

The other girls line up beside me as the Fortunate swallows the distance. He reaches for his gate, and my teeth chatter as the iron clangs, and he swings it open like it weighs nothing. 

Opening your own gates, Michael? Soyer says, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. Has the world gone fucking mad?

It’s July fifteenth. The older man, Michael, shakes Soyer’s hand. It’s a busy day, so I’ve got no one left to spare.

They exchange more pleasantries, mainly about the weather, and they gossip about Milano’s order of three Unfortunates when he’s only allowed two this quarter. As they talk, I use the time to analyse Michael Sario. What do I know about him? I know he’s the head of the Sario house. I know he’s the father of two sons, Kaden and Vincent, and his house specialises in mining, metal, and precious gems. If I had to pin an age on him, I’d say he’s in his late forties or early fifties, and I don’t suspect he’s dying any time soon. Like all the Fortunates I’ve passed today, Michael is one of the healthiest-looking men I’ve ever seen. His stance is proud and strong, his hair barely greys, and his skin is primarily wrinkle-free. 

You’ve outdone yourself this time, Soyer, Michael says, stepping toward us, reminding me nothing of the brave lions at his gates and more of a sly wolf. They’re stunning. The lot of them. 

Someone whimpers. My stomach drops. 

How many do you need, Michael?

Two, I need two. Michael rubs the palm of his hand over his stomach like he’s contemplating his next meal. If it were for me, I’d pick the redhead. Alas... He flicks his volcanic glass stare over us, one by one, and back and forth, until he settles on me. It’s for my son. 

I swallow as painful tendrils of dread burrow in my chest. Don’t look at me, I urge him. Please don’t pick me. He slides his slimy, wolfish gaze down the length of my body, and I grit my teeth.

Vincent?

Michael shakes his head and continues to appraise me through the sheer fabric of my dress. No.

Kaden? Soyer asks, his voice tainted with disbelief. 

Yes. It’s his birthday in a couple of days. Michael steps forward and closes the distance between us with his calculated steps, placing himself right in my face. My heart races, pounding relentlessly in my ears. He’s close, so close if I took a deep breath, my chest would touch his. Tell me, Unfortunate, do you know how to please a man?

I shake my head. N-no, sir.

My teachers told me how, but I’ve never practised it. 

You’ll do just fine for Master Kade, he says. My heart stops cold as tears sting my eyes. He’ll tell you how to make him happy, I’m sure.

My throat constricts. I try to swallow it down, but it doesn’t help any. 

It’s his twenty-fifth birthday already? Soyer wonders aloud. You’re looking for a First Unfortunate?

A First Unfortunate? I recall a lesson about First Unfortunates. They handle most of their Fortunate’s errands, attend most parties, and complete anything their Fortunate requested, both in and out of the bedroom. No other Fortunate can order a First Unfortunate around unless permitted by the owning Fortunate.

Michael nods, grips my shoulder with his warm fingers, and pulls me into him. I go with it, not wanting to take any chances while Soyer has his finger pressed to the trigger of his rifle. Michael flicks a lock of my hair over my shoulder and reads the number behind my ear. 

Nine. My skin crawls as my name falls from his lips. You’ll do.

Michael pulls me behind him and turns to the girls. Hidden from his dark appraisal, I almost sink to the ground.

I’ll take the blonde as well.

My lips part as my eyebrows shoot up. Blonde? There’s only one blonde here. I glance at Thirteen. She’s shaking—her entire body trembles as she bites her lip to hold back her tears. 

We need more kitchen staff. Michael steps toward her and takes her by the elbow. And you remind me of honey-soaked pancakes.

He escorts her to stand beside me. The other girls sag in relief. It’s a subtle, collective movement that Soyer and Michael overlook, but I do. It’s not over for them, but at least they weren’t chosen to serve the worst family of them all. Soyer said earlier they’re only taking four of us today. There are two spots left to fill, but at least their chances of being picked have halved. 

Right, Soyer booms. You lot get back in the cart. 

Where are you going now? Michael asks him. 

Knowles residence. 

Nodding, Michael waves him off and turns to face Thirteen and me. 

Come, he orders, pushing past us. And don’t dawdle. 

We trot behind him as he leads us down the path to the stone steps of his porch. We climb the stairs, and the front doors pull open for Michael. My gaze skitters over the male Unfortunates who hold the large doors open, the brass handles in their hands. I eye their lovely crisp, white tunics. They look healthy. They look well-fed and clean, and for a moment, I wonder if the Sario family is as bad as everyone makes out. It’s evident they take care of their Unfortunates, or at least it is at a glance. I peel my gaze from the Unfortunates and onto a wide, marble staircase in the foyer. A young man, an important-looking young man, leans against one of its elegant gold rails and toys with an uneaten apple. 

Michael exhales, already irritated by the man loitering on the stairs. What do you want, Vincent?

Vincent, Michael’s son, grins, exposing his perfect white teeth. He tosses the apple up, then catches it in his hand as he drops down a step. He’s going to hate you. 

What’s new?

We stop at the bottom of the stairs, right behind Michael, and Vincent meets us there, not allowing us to go any further. Sidestepping his father, Vincent assesses us, leaning so close his pleasant, warm breath blows against my skin. When he’s done toying with our hair and lifting our dresses, he moves in front of Michael. 

Give them both to me. 

Michael snorts. Enough Unfortunates have been wasted on you.

Wasted? My stomach turns. 

So? You’re king of the world. What’s two more?

I said no. You want something to do? Michael points over his shoulder at Thirteen as he plants a foot on the first step. Show this one to the kitchen. Give her to Portia.

Seemingly annoyed, Vincent cuts his coal eyes at me. There’s something personal in the soulless depths of his glare as if I’m being thrust into the middle of a feud that has raged for decades. 

He’ll hate her. 

Michael calls over his shoulder, She’s an Unfortunate, Vince. I don’t care. 

KADE

He finally slipped into the solitude of his room, away from his incessant father. It’s your birthday in a couple of weeks, his father’s voice rang through his mind.  It's tradition to receive an Unfortunate on your twenty-fifth birthday. You have no choice but to accept.

Kade dropped into the large leather chair behind his desk and exhaled in exasperation. He didn’t want a gift from Michael Sario. He didn’t want anything from him.

He sat forward and glanced down at the mining documents he’d been prying through for weeks. Something wasn’t right. His mines were collapsing, and he had no idea why. He studied the map laid out on the blueprint before him, trying to find a pattern. Nothing.

A creak crept through the room as his door opened, but Kade didn’t bother dragging his gaze toward the bodies entering his private space. He already knew who it was and what he brought with him. An eternity of silence passed before Michael scoffed.

Well, he said. Here she is.

Kade didn’t lift his attention from the blueprint. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact his father went through with the purchase when he knew how Kade felt about it. Kade didn’t want an Unfortunate, and he certainly didn’t have the time to train one. Despite his displeasure, images of what she might look like flickered through his mind. She’d have dispassionate eyes, no doubt. He bet she was sickly thin and shaking like a leaf, too.

I told you—

And I told you it’s tradition, Michael snapped. "Kill her tomorrow, I don’t give a damn, but you will accept her today and you will thank me for it." 

Gritting his teeth, Kade lifted his gaze to the Unfortunate his father picked out. He dragged his stare up her purple gown. The cut of fabric gave shape to her wide hips, narrow waist, and accentuated her voluptuous breasts. He dragged his gaze over the milky skin of her chest and onto her pretty, heart-shaped face. The Unfortunate blinked her violet eyes at the floor and pushed her long, damp auburn hair over her shoulder. Something pulled tight in his being. She was beautiful, pure, too pure for his dark gaze to rest on, and that made him sick.

I don’t want her, Kade said as he dropped his attention to his blueprint.

She’s a gift. You have to have her. I expect you to mark her and show her off at the selection since we’re hosting the event. The soles of Michael’s shoes tapped the hard floor as he stepped around the Unfortunate and moved toward the exit. I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted. Kade frowned and lifted his head as his father opened the heavy door and slipped through. He almost closed it, then paused and opened it enough to stick his head through. Before I forget, her number is nine.

Michael Sario closed the door, leaving him with the last thing he felt comfortable being alone with. He’d changed though. He was no longer weak and unpredictable. He was a Fortunate, of Sario blood, and he was capable of keeping an Unfortunate under his thumb.

Kade looked to the Unfortunate for the second time. She slipped out a tiny sliver of her wet, pink tongue and moistened her lower lip. At the sight, something pulled tight deep in his abdomen and he pushed out of his chair.

NINE

My heart races in my chest, battering my ribs, as Master Kade circles his desk and stalks closer to me. My stomach rolls and threatens to upturn the nothing I ate this