She loosened her grip, just enough for him to turn around—only to lock her arms around him again the second they were face to face.
"Seriously? What are you doing? Stop being such a brat."
Nathalie clung to his shirt like she wanted to merged with it. No matter how gently he tried to pushed her away, she tightened her hold.
Her breath brushed against his face when she looked up. Hot, close, and hard to ignore.
Something about the way she looked at him made it tempting to lean in. A girl this pretty didn't need love to make a man exited.
Closing his eyes, he reminded himself that she was his sister, even if they weren't related by blood.
"You promised you'd protect me… that you'd marry me when I turned eighteen."
Another promise made when they were barely twelve. It shouldn't have meant anything by now, but she held onto it like it was carved in stone.
At this point, it was starting to feel like a full-blown brother complex.
"Forget that. That was kid talk. Just live your life. Find someone who can give you something better." A sigh escaped him .
"Someone who can get you out of this hellhole. I'm a coward. A screw-up. Whatever you saw in me… it was never real."
The room became silent again. Only her breathing filled the space between them.
"I don't care about any of that!"
Without warning, her lips crashed into his. A kiss that wasn't soft or sweet—just desperate. Tongue pushed into his mouth before he could stop it.
And instinctively, his body started to respond. Her taste lingered, and it messed with his head. Thinking clearly became harder, especially with her soft chest pressed up against him.
No man could stay still with a girl like her offering herself. His hand moved on its own, settling on her waist—small, warm, with just enough curve to make him forget everything for a second.
But just as the heat built, he shoved her away.
That moment—letting her go—hurt more than any beating ever could.
Letting this continue would cross a line. There'd be no going back.
"We can't do this. You're just confused alright," he explained, although it did not help that he was also breathing heavily.
"Fine." Her voice cracked as she wiped her mouth. Then she turned and walked out without glancing back.
Footsteps faded down the stairs, one after another, until they disappeared completely.
Ken locked the door to his room, then slid down the wall until the cold floor caught him.
Each breath burned in his chest. Maybe the floor was too cold. Or maybe he forgotten how to breathe properly.
'Fuck…' Every part of him wanted to hit something to vent his frustration. If he hadn't been such a coward in the first place, he would've escaped this life a long time ago.
But deep down, he knew it would be pointless. So he got up, grabbed two pills painkillers from the desk, and swallowed them dry.
Heat crawled under his skin the moment he lay down. Staring at the ceiling, all he could think about was sinking into it—vanishing, if only for a while.
Ring ring ring
The phone buzzed beneath a pile of shirts.
A message lit up the screen:
(Job at the market stalls tonight.)
'Another one. Told them to pay before things got messy.'
He remembered this shop. The owner had missed multiple payments because sales dropped hard for the last few months.
The twenty percent monthly interest didn't help either. It was straight-up robbery, but these people had no choice.
No bank would lend to them—or maybe they were already buried in existing debt, the result of trying to survive in a society like this.
With that weight in his chest, he closed his eyes and tried to rest.
A few hours later, the phone buzzed again.
His eyes opened slowly. He fumbled through the mess until he found the phone.
(We're outside. Don't make us wait.)
Getting up, he threw on a black hoodie, grabbed a knife, and slipped it into his pocket. Didn't bother looking in the mirror.
Same van as always waited for him outside. He opened the door, and the stink rolled out—sweat, smoke, and sour.
Three of Robert's guys were already inside. He knew them well because he'd spent most of his life tuning out their nonsense.
Niko was driving. Leon sat in front, chewing a toothpick like he was mad at it.
Dre was in the back with . Youngest in the crew, but always the loudest.
According to rumors, he got kicked out of high school for punching a teacher, then beating up several students bad enough to send them to the hospital. Typical schoolyard bully.
Niko and Leon weren't any better. Both had past cases of domestic abuse. The three of them fit together like trash in the same bin.
He wasn't any better. He might have just been following orders, but all the dirty work he did put him on the same level as the rest of them.
Sometimes, he even wished the cops would catch him. But then he pictured Nathalie alone—and that thought always made him hesitate.
Dre patted his shoulder like they were tight. "Bro, we're gonna crush those guys. That's what they get for not paying on time."
Ken didn't respond. He wasn't in the mood to talk.
"Don't bother him, Kid," Niko chuckled. "Heard the boss went off on him again for screwing up collections."
"Again?" Dre shook his head. "You know, bro, you're good at fighting. If you acted more like a real gangster, the boss might actually treat you like family."
Leon nodded. "I second that. I even heard the boss bragging about you—said you're the toughest in the crew. But he also said you're too damn stubborn. Like, you always hold back and don't fight unless you really have to."
Again, he said nothing. Maybe he just preferred silence—or maybe their company made him sick.
Although he was stronger than most, it wasn't by choice. He was just born with faster reflexes and picked up fighting quicker than others.
'Strong, huh?' he muttered to himself. Sounded like total bullshit.
To him, real strength meant living free—without chains, without being pushed into doing dirty work. People like him weren't strong. They were losers. Trash. Cowards who only knew how to prey on the weak—because beyond that, they had no real value.
Realizing he had no interest in talking, the trio treated him like air.
By the time they reached the market, things had started slowing down.
Some stalls were still open. Vendors packed up crates, counted coins under flickering lights.
Others pulled down tarps, whispering to each other as they watched the van stop.
The second the group stepped out, everything got quiet. Too quiet. Heads turned away. Shutters came down behind them like falling dominos.
Everyone knew them, but not for the right reasons