A young man woke to a rough voice before the pain was fully processed by his body.
Looking up, he saw a middle-aged man glaring down at him. Broad shoulders. Thick arms. Short, rough blond hair stuck up in uneven strands.
Even from above, his square jaw made the young man feel small. He forced himself upright, clutching his stomach where a kick had landed.
"Uncle Robert—"
"Come here, you idiot." Robert seized the young man's hair and pulled him to the center of the room.
Thud!
Robert's left hook slammed into his stomach, folding him to his knees.
Before he could even catch his breath, another kicked came, sending him rolling across the floor until he slammed into the frame of his bed.
"Shane, you fucking imbecile. How many times do I have to tell you?"
Another blow landed before the words finished.
"Your job is to collect the money. If they don't pay, you wreck their store. You beat them. You take whatever you can."
Blows rained down. He couldn't count them, didn't want to.
He raised his hand to guard. He knew it wouldn't matter, but it was all he could do
"Where is my money?" Robert demanded. "They still owe us ten thousand"
Shane drew in air with difficulty and raised his head, though wisdom would have advised otherwise.
"They said they needed it for hospital bills—"
Another slap cracked loud enough to echo outside of the dark and depressing room.
"Did I tell them to wait when they begged me to save their sick brat?" Robert leaned in close, his breath smells with years of smoke and alcohol.
"No. So don't cry to me. I want my money. And you—" another kick, lighter this time, "—you kept cutting them slack. This isn't charity. It's business."
Experience had taught Shane that explanations only earned him more punishment. He stayed silent and took the blows.
"Pathetic," Robert spat. The glob landed near Shane's hand. Close enough to feel like it touched him. "No wonder your worthless parents threw you away."
"Don't forget," Robert straightened up. "I was the only one kind enough to raise an abandoned mutt like you. I own you. So do your damn job."
Bored, he turned and left.
Shane's hands curled into fists. Nails bit skin. His body screamed to move. To swing. To break something. Someone.
But freedom had a price tag, and Robert made damn sure Shane could never afford it.
'Calm down…'
He breathed. In. Out. Slow. The pain stayed, but pain was an old roommate. One that never paid rent and never left, so he was used to it.
'My mouth...It's still bleeding.'
He dragged himself to the bathroom. The mirror waited for him there.
'I look like shit,' he muttered, laughing bitterly at himself.
Gazing at his reflection, he realized how shitty his life was.
The mirror didn't lie. Dark circles carved shadows beneath tired dark eyes. His black hair was messy and rough. He looked older than he was, and scars marred his face—one across his cheek where his uncle had smashed him against a tray years ago.
Worst part? They weren't really blood-related. His parents left him behind as payment for their debts before disappearing from the country.
It wasn't just unfair—it was brutal. What kind of parents would abandon their child to a thug? Only psychopaths. And Shane had drawn the short end of the stick with such worthless parents.
"Brother Shane…"
He saw the source of the sound in the mirror's reflection: a pretty young girl, around eighteen years old.
Her blond hair was tied back loosely, a few strands escaping to fall in soft patterns around her face and brush against the pale fabric of her thin white tank top.
The thin fabric barely concealed the pink undergarment beneath. She was Nathalie, the daughter of Robert's third wife.
Any other guy would have been drawn to the view, caught by the gentle curve of her neck or the way the light played on her skin. They would fell their heart quicken or their thoughts drift somewhere dangerous.
But he didn't. At least, he tried not to.
"Did Uncle beat you again?" she asked softly, her gaze landing to the bruises on his face.
"I'm used to it. And don't just walk into my room. I don't want him getting the wrong idea."
"I don't care. I love you." She slipped her arms from behind.
"Stop it, Nathalie." He lowered his head on the sink, refusing to turn around. "I care about you… just not like that."
"Why?" she asked, her voice trembling as tears dampened the back of his shirt.
"You promised me. You said you loved me and that we would get married one day!"
He let out a bitter laughed. It was a childish promise made when they were both broken and desperate.
"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 a coward like me?"
She didn't belong in this messy life. She still had a future.
"I don't care about them. You're the one I want. Let's leave this place. I'm coming with you."
Her words made his heart pound and dragged up another traumatic memory.
One man tried to flee with a stash of cash; Robert caught him by the docks, gutted him like an animal, then dumped the body into the ocean.
The worst part wasn't the screaming. It was being forced to watch.
Robert grabbed the back of Shane's neck and forced him closer until blood splashed onto his face.
He tried to look away, but the grip only tightened.
'Step out of line, and this'll be you… and Nathalie.'
The memories nearly made him throw up in the sink.