With a low groan, a young man forced his eyes open at the sound of the one voice he hated most in the world.
"What are you staring at?" barked a man in his late forties, his gut straining against a too-tight stripe shirt.
Looking up, the young man, Ken, met the eyes of the person scolding him: Robert.
"Uncle…I —"
Before he could finish, a kick hit his stomach, forcing him to his knees.
"Where's the money?" Robert shouted. "They owe us ten grand!"
Gritting his teeth, Ken lifted his head.
"They said they needed it for hospital bills—"
Slap!
He barely got the words out before a palm cracked across his face.
"Did I tell them to wait when they begged me to save their brat? No. So I want my fucking money."
Ken stopped trying to explain. Nothing he said ever mattered.
"Stupid. No wonder your parents dumped you," Robert spat, his saliva landing inches away.
"I'm sorry for being stupid," he swallowed what little pride he had—though there wasn't much to begin with.
"Idiot. Remember this. I was the only one kind enough to raise an abandoned child like you. I own you. So do your fucking job," Robert sneered, then turned and walked off.
Ken clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he tried to keep the rage inside from spilling out. He wanted so badly to beat Robert down—to kill him.
'Calm down…'
Slowly, his breathing became more stable.
'I need to wash my mouth,' He stood and headed for the cramped bathroom.
The mirror reflected a worn-out face. Cheeks slightly sunken. Pale skin. Dark circles clinging to his eyes like reminders of too many sleepless nights.
Those shadows somehow matched his jet-black hair and eyes—traits passed down from his mother. The overall shape of his face came from his father.
Thinking of them didn't bring warmth. Only bitterness.
His parents were not good people. They were debt-ridden gamblers who blew through their own inheritance.
When he was ten, they left him behind with Robert, saying they would return with the money.
Of course that was a lie.
Not like things were any better when they were around.
They barely noticed him unless they needed someone to blame for their miserable life.
Opening the faucet, he splashed cold water on his face, then gargled and spat out a mouthful of blood.
His teeth were bleeding. It was a nasty sight—one that would've rattled most people.
"Brother Ken…"
A soft voice drifted from behind.
In the mirror's reflection, he saw a girl with soft-looking skin and pink lips.
It was Nathalie, wearing a thin white tank top that clung to her shoulder.
The light fabric did little to hide the pink bra underneath.
Any other guy would have loved the view. But he didn't. At least, he tried not to.
"Did Uncle beat you again?" she inquired.
"I'm used to it. And don't just walk into my room. I don't want him getting the wrong idea."
She was the daughter of Robert's third wife.
Even though they were technically family, Robert had no problem hurting anyone under his roof, wife and step daughter included.
"I don't care. I love you." She wrapped her arms around him from behind.
"Stop it, Nathalie. I care about you... but only as a little sister."
"Why?" she asked, her voice cracking as tears soaked the back of his white shirt. "You promised me. You said you loved me and that we'd get married one day. Was that a lie?"
He didn't answer right away.
It was a childish promise—something said during a time when both of them were broken and desperate for comfort. But he outgrown that already.
"Look… this isn't going to work. If he finds out, he'll kill me. And what about you? Are you really going to throw everything away for someone like me?"
Unlike him, she went to school. She had friends. People admired her for her looks and personality.
"Yes!" she cried more "I don't care about them. You're the one I want. Let's leave this place. I'm coming with you."
The words made his heart pound. He had seen what Robert did to traitors—people who dared to leave, disobey, or even whisper the wrong thing.
One man tried to flee with a stash of cash; Robert caught him by the docks, gutted him like an animal, then dumped his body into the ocean like trash.
Worst of all, Ken was forced to watch. Robert made sure of it—gripping the back of his neck, shoving his face forward, forcing him to witness every second.
'Step out of line, and this'll be you… and Nathalie.'
The image and words burned itself into his memory, the source of his fear, the reason he never fought back—no matter how badly he wanted to.
Remembering it sent a chill through his body. His hands trembled, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make them stop.
"Leave me alone," he muttered, hoping it would be enough to make her stop.
"No, I won't let go! Not until you say it—that you love me too. Just like you always used to!" Her grip tightened. She was too stubborn to listen.
"I already told you. That was when we were kids. Don't make this harder than it already is."