Chapter 69 Chapter 69

Chapter 69 Chapter 69
Tito’s POV

I honestly expected walking back into the house to feel strange, considering everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours, but I didn’t expect to walk straight into absolute chaos.

The moment Kendrick and I step through the doorway, the air feels charged, like the remnants of something loud had just happened. And then my eyes catch Chloe standing in the middle of the living room holding a half-broken bottle of wine like it’s a weapon she’s genuinely ready to use.

My brain stutters.

Right in front of her, Selene—the woman Kendrick brought earlier who helped me shower and change—stands frozen in place, holding a kitchen knife the way one would hold a spatula, as if she had absolutely no idea how she ended up part of this confrontation.

Opposite her, leaning casually against the dining table, is Damien—Kendrick’s brother—twirling a pistol in one hand with an amused expression, as though he’s watching a street performance instead of standing in the middle of an accidental standoff.

For a second I don’t breathe. Nobody moves. We all just… exist in the weirdest tableau known to mankind.

Then Kendrick lets out a long, drawn-out sigh handed directly from the soul of a man who is too tired for this nonsense.

“What,” he asks, rubbing his forehead, “exactly happened here?”

Chloe jumps like she didn’t even realize we’d walked in. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she quickly puts the broken bottle down, almost dropping it again. “Oh my God—Tito! Your brother—this man—he scared me!”

Damien scoffs, dramatically offended. “Brother? I look way too good to be her brother. And to be clear, I didn’t ‘scare’ anyone. I walked in and saw strangers in the damn kitchen. How was I supposed to know we suddenly had visitors? I came to check on Tito, not start World War Three.”

Kendrick cuts him a glare sharp enough to slice through metal. “How many times,” he says through clenched teeth, “have I told you to stop waving a gun around this house? You look like a thug, Damien—not whatever aesthetic you think you’re pulling off.”

Damien blinks at him, then turns the full weight of his sarcasm onto the room. “Wow. Hurtful. Deeply hurtful, actually. Also, this isn’t waving,” he says, spinning the pistol one more time, “it’s flair.”

Selene lets out a tiny gasp and mutters something in a language I can’t place. Chloe finally lowers her shoulders, but she still seems on edge, eyes darting between all of us like she’s trying to understand what kind of dysfunctional family she just walked into.

Damien sighs when he sees how rattled she is. “Okay, okay. Look—I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll, uh… help you clean it up?”

Chloe blinks at him, coming back to herself a bit. “No, it’s fine. You don’t need to. I just—I wasn’t expecting… that.”

I touch her arm gently. “I’m really sorry, Chloe. He’s… always like this.”

Damien gasps like I just stabbed him with emotional betrayal. “Wow. That’s how you describe me? After everything I did last night?”

I raise a brow. “You shot someone.”

“I saved you,” he corrects, pointing the pistol at the ceiling for emphasis before Kendrick snatches it out of his hand so quickly Damien barely has time to blink.

The tension collapses into an awkward, almost comedic silence.

Kendrick shakes his head and walks over to help Chloe gather the shards of broken glass. Selene puts down the knife—thank God—and returns to the kitchen.

Damien—now disarmed and significantly less dramatic—drops onto the couch. After a moment, he glances up at me. “So… how’re you holding up?”

I don’t really know how to answer that, not with every part of my body still wired with leftover adrenaline from the night before. “I’m okay,” I say, though my voice doesn’t sound entirely convincing. “Just… trying to get through the day.”

He nods thoughtfully, leaning back, the mischievous glint in his eyes softening just a little. “Your first impression of me was shit, wasn’t it?”

I snort before I can help myself. “I mean… you shot someone in front of me the last time I met you. Then you showed up again like nothing happened.”

He shrugs, unapologetic. “Well, life is unpredictable. You ever seen a cat fall off a table and then pretend it meant to do that? That’s basically me.”

I laugh in spite of myself, relaxing into the cushions. I didn’t expect to feel comfortable around him after everything—but weirdly, his chaotic energy is easier to deal with now that the fear isn’t hovering over my head like a storm.

We start talking, lightly at first, about school, how Kendrick keeps me locked out of half the truth about his life, the random trouble I always seem to attract on the streets. Then, naturally, the conversation slides toward last night.

“You were lucky I was there,” he says, shaking his head. “Homeboy looked like a full-time crackhead. Like the kind that doesn’t even need drugs to behave like one.”

A shiver runs through me at the memory of Jax’s eyes—wild, desperate, drenched in something that looked like venom and obsession all twisted together. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I know.”

Damien watches me for a moment, studying my expression like he’s trying to gauge how much I’m holding back. His tone softens, losing the playful edge just enough to feel sincere. “You did good, you know. Keeping yourself together. Most people would’ve broken hours earlier.”

My throat tightens unexpectedly, but before I can respond, Kendrick walks back into the room.

“Get your feet off my couch,” he says, smacking the back of Damien’s head lightly.

Damien shoots upright, groaning dramatically. “Damn, okay, Dad.”

“Move,” Kendrick adds, jerking his head.

Damien stands, rolling his eyes but instantly shifting into that strangely respectful posture he only uses around Kendrick. There’s still a defiant spark in him, though—the sibling flavor he can’t hide.

“Tito,” a soft voice calls behind me.

Chloe stands near the hallway, her bag slung over her shoulder, looking a little pale but trying to appear composed.

“I’m ready to go home.”

I step toward her, searching her expression. “Is it… because of everything that happened yesterday?”

She shakes her head quickly. “No. No, not that. I’m just tired. And I remembered that my mom needs her meds.”

I nod and pull her into a hug, holding her tightly. She squeezes me back with surprising strength.

“Please,” she whispers, “return to school soon. I need someone sane there.”

I laugh softly. “I’ll try.”