Chapter 128: Chapter one hundred and Twenty Eight

Kendrick

“You haven’t given me a response.”

Natasha finally broke the silence. She had been looking at me nonstop for days, making little noises, throwing random comments into our conversations, even humming under her breath whenever she thought I wasn’t paying attention. I had noticed. I had simply chosen not to respond.

I parked the car beneath a large tree. The neighborhood around us was quiet and reserved, far removed from the chaos we had left behind. I switched off the engine and stepped out.

“Kendrick?”

I ignored her and started toward the house. The passenger door opened behind me.

“I’m talking to you.”

Her footsteps followed. Then her hand caught mine. I stopped.

“This isn’t the place for your childish feelings, Natasha. We have something far more important to deal with.”

The words left my mouth cold and sharp. I regretted them almost immediately. Her fingers loosened around mine. The hurt in her eyes was impossible to miss.

She brushed a hand through her short hair and looked away for a moment, swallowing whatever emotion had risen in her throat.

“My feelings aren’t childish.” Her voice was quieter now. “You don’t get to belittle them just because you don’t feel the same way.”

I turned toward her.

“I took your silence as a rejection,” she continued. “And you know what? I can handle rejection. What I can’t handle is being made to feel stupid for having feelings in the first place.”

I said nothing. She laughed once, but there was no humor in it.

“I’ve spent my entire life being invisible to people. I know what it feels like when someone looks through you instead of at you.”

Her words settled heavily between us.

“You didn’t have to like me back.” She stepped away. “You just had to say no.”

I watched her turn toward the house.

“Na—” I stopped myself from wanting to call her back. What could I possibly say to her? I couldn’t. We wouldn’t work. I couldn’t give her what she wanted.

We wouldn’t work.

I wasn’t built for this.

I had spent too many years learning how to survive without letting anyone close enough to matter. Natasha deserved someone who could give her more than silence and unanswered questions.

And I wasn’t that person.

She rang the doorbell. The door opened. I stepped forward.

The information of the surviving children from the orphanage the police man Duff had given me had been the assignment I, or rather we, had been handling for days. We had been going from house to house, and it seemed most of the children who were not adults didn’t know Diana, or they said good things about the orphanage. It meant they didn’t know about the dark side.

Which was baffling to me. Were the victims selected?

We were down to the tenth house. A woman with silver-white hair opened the door.

She studied us for a moment before stepping aside.

“Come in.”

That alone surprised me.

Most people had stared at us with suspicion or fear the moment we introduced ourselves.

We followed her inside.

The house was small but clean. Old furniture lined the walls, and faded photographs covered almost every available surface.

The woman lowered herself carefully into a chair.

“My feet hurt,” she complained, rubbing one ankle. “I can’t stand for too long anymore.”

Then she coughed, so hard and deep that it shook her entire body. My chest tightened.

For a second, I wasn’t in that room anymore. Instead, I was younger, sitting beside my mother. Watching her struggle for breath while she coughed. The sound of that cough had followed me long after she was gone. I swallowed and forced the memory back down.

Natasha was already moving. She found a glass, filled it from a nearby pitcher, and handed it to the woman.

“Here.”

The woman accepted it with trembling fingers.

“Thank you, kind child.”

Natasha smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

The woman took a few careful sips before placing the glass on the table. Her eyes returned to us.

“So…”

She adjusted the shawl around her shoulders.

“How may I be of help to you?” she asked. “My bad. Take a seat.” She offered. It was only a double-seater sofa.

“I don’t mind standing,” Natasha said, refusing to sit beside me.

The lady looked between the two of us. So much for her feelings not being childish.

I cleared my throat.

“We are here because of One Love Orphanage.”

Her face froze in place.

I adjusted, opening the zip to my leather jacket and bringing out a picture. I stood up and handed it to her.

“Do you perhaps remember her?”

She stared at the picture for a few seconds longer.

“No,” she said. “My twin sister worked here for years. When it got burnt, she never remained the same again until she passed away.”

She coughed hard again. Natasha rushed forward and picked the cup up for her.

She shook her head.

“I’m fine.”

We didn’t waste time after that. It was time for us to leave. Before we left, Natasha wrote down her number on a piece of paper, telling the woman she would check on her from time to time since she lived alone and had no one.

As we headed to the car, the woman spoke.

“You both better fix your problems.”

The drive was quiet. Natasha didn’t say a word, neither did I. It was already late, and the best thing was to go home. Horrixo was different, laying low, but I knew it wasn’t for too long.

“Pull over,” Natasha said.

“Why?”

“What does it matter to you? Or are you rethinking?” she asked, her eyes staying on me expectantly.

I stopped the car at the roadside.

She scoffed.

“Fuck you, Kendrick.”

Then she got down, giving me the middle finger.

Natasha was an orphan, roaming the streets five years ago. She had only been eighteen when she tried to pickpocket Alessia’s phone from the casino. She moved like a ghost; you barely noticed. I hadn’t even noticed, but Alessia did, of course.

Then she offered to take her off the streets.

That was five years after Alessia saved me.

She was still too young for the things I could do. She flagged a vehicle and boarded it.

I followed it. I didn’t know why, but I did.

She stopped at a clubhouse, and it was written for ladies only. She entered inside. I pulled over.

The Velar spotted me quickly.

“Wanna go in?” he asked.

I looked at him for a few seconds, wondering what I was doing here. I already rejected her because I wasn’t interested. I should leave.

“Yes.” I nodded instead.

Inside smelled of alcohol, smoke, and sweat. It was packed with different species of women. My eyes scanned the entire crowd on the dancing floor for her.

Then I spotted her on a table, chugging down a glass of whiskey.

A stripper kept filling her cup up. That was too much alcohol.

I stepped forward and then stopped. I decided to just watch from afar, but that was until I saw the stripper slipping something into the drink and twirling it for Natasha.

I got up instantly. The music was too loud to scream, and she was halfway through the club.

I hurried into the dance floor, weaving my way through sweaty bodies, hands from horny ladies, but she already brought the drink to her lips, drinking the contents.

I grabbed the cup from her and smashed it on the wall.

“What are you doing here?”

She laughed.

“I’m seeing things now. I’m so hopeless.” She shook her head.

I grabbed her hand.

“We are leaving.”

She frowned, then reached forward and poked me on the face. She pulled her hand away from me.

“Get lost!” she dismissed me, grabbing the stripper beside her and locking their lips together.

My jaw clenched. I tore them apart, then struck the stripper at the corner of her neck so she could pass out.

“What is wrong with you?” she screamed.

“We are leaving. I won’t say it the third time, Natasha.”

Before she could refute again, her body swayed. I caught her before she fell, lifting her up, bridal style.

By the time we made it out of the club, she was a sweating mess, writhing in my arms. Then I felt her tongue licking the corner of my neck. She moaned.

My foot froze in place.

What the hell had they put in her drink?