Chapter 9
1297 Words
Of the twenty-three profiles his people had gathered on Edward Kramer’s mistresses, only five remained. Lincoln stared at the women’s faces. Every single one was a beauty in her own right.
His eyes rested on the one with the fullest lips. Not surgically enhanced. Then he moved to the others.
He handed the file to Amika. The mage glanced through and nodded.
“Yes. This boy is powerful. And he doesn’t even know it,” the mage murmured.
Lincoln stared at his number two. Amika glanced up. He raised his chin.
“Continue helping him. He is a better bet than the Kramers,” he commented mysteriously.
Lincoln nodded. He turned to his freshly returned other second in command as he sat on top of his desk.
Palming the folder, he ordered his man. “We need three of our escorts. Not the popular ones. The more reserved ones. The age range specified.”
“Sure thing,” Harrison replied heartily.
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Tyler headed straight to his home, taking back streets and winding routes. It was not that he didn’t trust Lincoln, a man who had been supporting him for years. He simply didn’t trust anyone.
He touched the locket he had worn all his life lightly as he sped through the darkness. As always, it was hidden under his shirt.
He had two homes. One in the city, one outside. He was heading outside now.
He drove up the dirt road leading to his cottage. A very private space on a good-sized land, tucked away at the back of a servant’s estate.
A retirement community for former house carers of nobility – the highest of the lowest class in the nation of Ashrone, those who lived under ‘servitude.’
He found the irony extremely funny. He had purchased land right beside the very type of place he had sworn, all his life, that he would never dwell.
And, he mused as he parked his car and walked up to the door, which was opened by an elderly man dressed neatly in a light blue dress shirt and dark brown pants, I have a f*****g butler!
“Jeeves…,” Tyler droned.
“How terribly droll, Master Esteil,” the old, retired butler retorted dryly.
Tyler grinned at the old man. “How’s tricks?”
“Absolutely banging, Sir,” the man replied flatly.
Tyler laughed.
“Your dinner awaits, Sir. Please have some. Then, you may proceed to your workshop,” the old man called after him.
“Yes, Dad!” Tyler called lightly to the old man as he handed him his suit jacket and headed directly to the dining room.
The old man, Tyler’s butler, gazed patiently after the young man, a small smile on his wrinkled face.
After his meal, Tyler worked till dawn.
The Master of the Miran Auction House was about to go on an extended leave – again – and he needed his loyal customers to remain so, by getting enough work done before he had no more spare time.
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Back upstairs in his bedroom, Tyler stared at his reflection in the bathroom as water dripped off his face and the soft rays of the sun kissed the sky.
His eyes went to his necklace. An old, tired-looking pendant with a dull, copper-looking neck chain.
He smiled lightly. “Mother,” he whispered. “For you. For me. I will make them pay.”
He saw his mother’s gentle face. He sniffed, wiping his nose forcefully.
He saw Lord Edward Kramer’s face, and his mind moved to the past.
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“Please, Sir, the hospital won’t operate without the deposit. Just the deposit, Sir, I beg of you. I’ll find the rest!” the twenty-year-old Tyler Esteil pleaded with his family’s employer of fourteen years.
“And how will you find it? Hmm? Will you steal from me or sell my family’s information?” the Lord of the world, Edward Kramer, replied coolly as his three assistants looked on, smirking and snickering on the side.
“My Lord!” Tyler called out despondently, his face paling as the impossible thought of betraying his employer turned his stomach.
“Since you’re so smart, pay the deposit yourself or let your mother die. Get out of my office!” Lord Kramer bellowed, throwing a large book at Tyler’s feet.
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The scene replayed clearly in Tyler’s mind. His heart pounded against his chest, and his ears began to ring, even now, seven years later.
His face in the mirror reddened. The next scene played.
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“Please, Vincent, help me. Please. Just this once! Only the deposit! I’ll work for the money. Please! I’ll pay you back!” the young Tyler cried to his former ward.
“Mud-face,” the twenty-year-old Vincent Kramer droned caustically, “take your treasures from the mines and sell them! Sell yourself if you like! You’d do for more than a few commoners!” he retorted, laughing.
“Or…wait! Shall I bring you to some of my friends?” he droned, his cold eyes dancing as he eyed Tyler.
“Vincent!” Tyler all but wailed.
“That’s MASTER Vincent to you, you waif!” Vincent shot back, his words hitting like knives.
The young Tyler fell to his knees as his head spun. He stared up at the one he had valeted for, for twelve whole years.
“Master Vincent, please,” the young man croaked.
The young heir sneered. “Come with me to the club, I’m sure you’ll get at least half of the deposit tonight.”
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Tyler hung his head in the bathroom. Just as he had almost eight years ago.
Then, he raised it. His hazel eyes, exactly like his mother’s eyes, were ablaze.
Tyler held his own gaze. He recited words he had said to himself more times than he cared to count. He knew what he had to do. Every step of his plan.
He was going to start right at the top and work his way down.
“Edward Kramer. Vincent Kramer. Phase one,” he muttered, keeping his voice low even though he was alone.
“Kramer Holdings. Kramer Estate. Phase two.”
“In one year’s time. I will wipe the slate clean. All you have done to me, I will repay. With interest.”
The Master of the Miran Auction House inhaled deeply as he let the rage run its course. He had already learned never to try to cage it. Not when it was this high.
Repeating his mantra did not help. He already knew it wouldn’t.
He watched himself tremble, felt every muscle tighten as he gritted his teeth. His hands on the sink balled into white knuckled fists.
His corneas reddened and his vision blurred. Not from tears, those were long spent, but from an ache in his head, his chest, and his stomach that felt as if his entire being was in a pressure cooker working his body from the inside out.
Tyler knew it was almost done. That pain was the peak.
With his eyes closed, he felt his trembling subside and his legs turn to rubber. He put his weight on the sink, taking measured breaths.
Such episodes were an affliction for him – almost. It was not a panic attack or a depressive state. It was a hot, burning fire that flared up whenever he let his mind roam too far.
Nothing could cure it. Nothing could make it less painful.
In prison, in the Vault, he had been going through one such episode when a particularly ‘friendly’ inmate had tapped Tyler on the back in his usual ‘friendly’ way, and the younger man had not blinked before the scream had broken his trance.
- Writer
