(Mis)fortune (Judgement of the Six #2)
Melissa Haag
Note to the Reader
This is not Luke’s story. You can read about Luke and Bethi in Book 3, (Un)wise. This is Michelle’s story, which starts at the beginning of same summer that Gabby meets Clay. All the stories connect, and the characters will continue to grow throughout the series. Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Clotted potatoes stuck in my throat when I tried to swallow. I tried again, and they slowly slid down. My overladen plate of food mocked me. I didn’t want to eat. I wanted to go hide in my room, away from our dinner guests. I almost blanched just thinking the word guest. It didn’t at all describe the men sitting at the table with us.
Blake asked my stepfather, Richard, a question about their latest stock investment, and I dutifully looked up. Just as quickly, I looked back down at my plate like the meek little mouse Blake wanted me to be. I didn’t mind playing a meek part when sitting with these men. Blake didn’t give me any trouble, but the other ten men with him often did. Dinners went smoother if I kept my eyes on my plate.
Blake sat at one end of the table, and my stepfather sat at the opposite end. I, unfortunately, always took the middle seat on the side with five chairs. It gave me more room than if I sat on the other side. If given a real choice, I would have rather sat next to Richard.
The six men across from me stared at me through the entire meal. At every dinner, different men stared at me. How many business associates did Blake really have? These dinners had been happening since my mother died four years ago. Once a month, every month. I hated them. I felt like a freak on display. Hey, come on in! Have dinner with the freaky girl who predicts the market and makes us all rich. Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite. She’ll do exactly as I say.
I thought of my brothers, who slept in their beds, and forked another bite of potatoes into my mouth. Yep, I would do as Blake said. He’d made it painfully clear who he would punish if I didn’t.
One of the men across from me nudged my foot under the table. I didn’t look up. It would just play into whatever he planned. Probably some lewd gesture. For business associates, as Blake usually introduced them, they dressed more like mill workers, wearing torn, stained jeans and ragged shirts. They were sometimes unwashed, too. I didn’t judge them by their appearances, though. Their actions told me what I needed to know about them.
The man kicked me again, harder. I tucked my feet under my chair in an effort to avoid his long reach as Blake asked me a direct question.
“Michelle, my dear, are you trying to withhold your latest premonition?” He sipped his wine and watched me. Blake’s medium build and salt and pepper hair gave him a distinguished look that hid a very mean personality.
“You know I haven’t,” I said in a quiet, biddable voice as I met his gaze. If I tried keeping a premonition to myself, I got sick. First, it was just a niggling headache. However, the longer I held the information inside, the worse the ache grew until, finally, I broke down and started babbling the information with pain-filled tears.
“Sorry, Blake,” Richard said from down the table. “Michelle gave me the information yesterday. When I went in today, I just invested what we discussed last night. I didn’t think you wanted me to bother you with it.”
I lowered my gaze to my plate again. A puppet, that’s all I was. Just then, the man across the table kicked me again. The hard toe of his boot bruised my shin. I looked up, eyes blazing with hate, and whispered two words—they rhymed with “pluck you”—that sealed my fate.
In a blur, Blake shot from his chair, sailing toward me over the table. His hand curled around my throat and the momentum of his move carried me backward, lifting me up. My long skirt tore when it caught briefly on my tipping chair. Before I could blink, Blake slammed me against the wall. My feet no longer touched the ground.
My stunned mind couldn’t comprehend what just happened. No one should be able to move that fast.
Barely breathing, I panicked and fought to pry away his hand, forgetting to be meek. He laughed and squeezed my neck a little harder. My eyes darted around the room looking for help. Behind him, Richard stood, but said nothing. No help. There never was for me.
I focused on Blake. The calculated look in Blake’s eyes reminded me of his expectation. Swearing at his “associate” hadn’t been a bright move. Still trying to wheeze in air, I stopped clawing at his hand and instead wrapped my hands around his forearm for support. His hold loosened, and I gasped. The air burned, but I didn’t stop pulling it in greedily.
All the men at the dinner table watched us, and the one who had kicked me, smirked.