Her arms loosened, giving him just enough space to turn.
But the second he faced her, she pulled him back into her hold.
"Seriously? What are you doing? Stop being such a spoiled brat."
Her breath grazed his lips. The look in her eyes made it almost impossible not to be swayed by her charm.
A girl this pretty didn't need love to make a man exited.
'Calm down. She's my sister.' He closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay calm.
She hugged him tighter. "You said 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.
"That was kid talk. Just live your life. Find someone who can give you a better life. I'm a loser with no future—you'd be better off with someone else."
Silence filled the room again. The only sound was her breathing.
"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.
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.
Letting this continue would cross a line. There would 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 trembled as she wiped her mouth. Then she turned and walked out without glancing back.
Ken locked the door to his room, then slid down the wall until the cold floor caught him.
'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 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.'
He remembered this shop. The owner 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 spent most of his life ignoring 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 was trash too. Orders or not, the things he did made him no better than 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