When I’ve pulled my hair back into a ponytail, tied up tightly with a band that pulls at my hair, I open my door and come nose to chest with my Fortunate.
Shit.
His crisp black suit smells fresh and warm, like spring mornings, and slowly, I drag my eyes up his chest, over his beautifully thick throat and onto his face. I don’t dare take a step back as I take in his dark, coal irises.
“Good morning,” he states. I think… I think I can hear an accusatory tone. Surely, he can’t be mad that I slept in my own bed? It’s not really that big of a deal. “Sleep well?”
“Uh, I gues—”
His hands fly to my chest and he pushes me back into my room. I stumble backwards, but manage to find my balance before I fall on my ass.
“Kade,” I hiss. “What the hell—”
My words catch as he snaps forward and grabs me by the throat. He squeezes, not enough to hurt me, but enough to shut me up. “You said I could trust you!”
“Y-you can.” I manage to squeeze out at great pain to my throat. “Kaden…”
He tightens his grip. “You were on my computer.”
Oh. I literally feel blood drain from my face and the hurt that flickers over Kade’s features tells me he can see it. “Let me explain.” A sharp spike of fear shoots into the thickest arteries of my heart and I blink out a rogue tear that blurs the vision in my left eye. Thankfully, he slightly releases his grip. “The night we had sex—the first time—I was trying to sleep, but I couldn’t. Your computer was glowing so brightly so I got up to turn it off. I saw a message from your father.” Kade’s jaw contracts rhythmically, but his features don’t soften. What does it matter? There’s no way I can spin this story to help me. I invaded his privacy. “I clicked it and I read it. When I was finished, I closed it and it disappeared. I thought you wouldn’t notice.”
“I almost didn’t,” he says. “Until moderators kick my door down screaming they saw an Unfortunate escape from this house and head for the lake.”
My brows pull together. An Unfortunate escaped? “Thirteen…” Oh my god. She did it! She got away! Absolute joy fills my insides, warming me like a kitchen during dinner.
“I thought it was you,” he mutters, looking me dead in the eyes. “You were gone and there was an attempted Unfortunate escape… and I thought it was you.”
Attempted? The welcomed warmth begins to cool. “Attempted? What does that mean?”
“They caught her.”
At his words, my entire body slumps and his hand falls away. “They caught—” I swallow hard. “What are they going to do to her?”
Kade doesn’t answer me. Instead, he grips me by the elbow and pulls me out of my room. I don’t dare fight him, not with so many Moderators lurking about. One by one, they all wait against various walls, watching the uneasy Unfortunates do their jobs. On my way past the kitchen, I catch Portia’s eye and she gives me a sympathetic smile. I don’t smile back. I keep my eyes on the floor as numbness takes over.
Kade opens a door on the bottom floor, almost adjacent to his father’s room. No one is in a panic about Michael’s disappearance. They mustn’t know yet. He pushes me in and I stumble yet again. I glare at him over my shoulder before turning to the rest of the room—and what a room it was. It’s the perfect sitting room, filled with plush, royal red couches and matching drapes. It’s then I become hyper aware of my feet as the soft, mahogany carpet kisses the soles. It radiates cosiness and warmth. I’m completely lost in the room until someone clears their throat. I bring my attention to the people who occupy the gorgeous room—Albert Knowle and his wife Melissa, Kathryn and John Milano, Will and Rita Miller, Vince Sario… and Kade Sario. All four household surnames in the one room… I drop to my knees and keep my hands behind my back. This is clearly a formal meeting. An Unfortunate should never be standing during a formal meeting unless ordered to. In their presence, I’m suddenly a mass of quaking nerves. Not even the brush of Kade’s leg against my arms as he stands beside me is enough to still them.
“I’ve brought her here, just like you asked,” he states. “A waste of time, but you’ll come to see that.”
“I’m sure this has nothing to do with the poor girl,” Kathryn objects, watching me with such sympathy. She’s always been kind to me… for no reason. I like her. I like her a lot.
“We’ll see,” Vince rebuts, adjusting his navy blue sweater. “Thirteen was talking to someone last night and I’m willing to bet everything I own it was her.”