The Almighty Heir's Return

“This is so you can learn your place! Got it?” Kayle Jamerson demanded through gritted teeth as he kicked Brandon in the stomach, while this one laid on the ground. Kayle reached down and grabbed Brandon’s hair, forcing him to look up. “Answer me when I talk to you, idiot!” 

He shoved Brandon hard to the ground and nodded for the others to finish the job as he walked away and lit a cigarette. As the others kicked, punched, and laughed at Brandon, Kayle felt his chest heat up. He hated being second in whatever it was, and if that slob of a guy thought he could humiliate the great Kayle Jamerson like that, he was sorely mistaken!

When they were satisfied, Kayle and his gang left, laughing, while Brandon lay sprawled on the ground, bleeding from the cuts on his face and his body aching. This wasn’t the first beating he’d taken from Kayle and the others, but this time they’d gone too harsh.

‘I have to get up…’, he told himself. And it wasn’t just to maintain some dignity, but because he had a part-time job, and when he glanced at the watch on his wrist —with the cracked glass— he let out a sigh. Yes, the accessory was broken. ‘That’s just great!’

Brandon stood up, feeling like he was all broken. Not far from the truth, after all. But there was no time to cry, not when he had to earn his living. He struggled to his feet, picked up his backpack from the ground, placed it on his injured shoulder, and dragged his ruined body to the ‘Chicken Sour & Grill’. The restaurant was only a few blocks away.

"What the hell, kid?" Mr. Shelman asked, hands on his hips as he stared at his employee's bruised face. "Look, I don't give a damn. Go change your clothes and get to the salon! The place is crawling with customers!"

"Yes, sir," Brandon said, and even speaking was painful. He went to the locker room, opened his bag, took out his uniform, and changed. It took him a little longer than usual, due to the pain he was in.

After washing his face, he looked at himself in the mirror and the sight was pitiful. If he were a customer, he definitely wouldn't want to be served by someone who looked like that.

"I wish it was just the way I look," he sighed because his body felt awful. His deep blue eyes were now ringed with red and purple marks. He shrugged and, after drying his face, went to work.

Carrying plates and trays was hard to bear when you were broke, but Brandon was never one to whine. He worked, and he worked hard. According to his friend Gregory, that was one of the reasons the big guys picked on him: jealousy.

‘You’re very smart and hard-working. Some people can’t stand that. But don’t worry, things will get better one day,’ was what Gregory used to say, and Brandon clung to that. Things would get better eventually, wouldn’t they?

He wasn’t just in pain, he was also distracted, and of course, that couldn’t be a good combination. He felt a terrible twinge in his wrist, and then water from the tray splashed onto a customer.

“What the hell? Have you lost your mind?” the customer asked, standing up, grabbing her napkin, and trying to dry herself. She was sitting with another woman, and they were clearly upper-class people.

“I’m sorry, ma’am!” Brandon tried to apologize, but the blonde woman glared at him.

“Sorry? Apologies aren’t enough!” she yelled and slapped him hard across the face. “This dress costs ten thousand dollars, you idiot!”

Mr. Shelman walked over and tried to calm the woman down, sending Brandon to the back of the restaurant. He knew the woman was lying about the price of the dress. It was pretty obvious, but he had to try to defuse the situation. 

Brandon could still feel the sting of the client’s hand on his cheek, and he waited for Mr. Shelman in the hallway outside the office. Once the two of them entered, the stocky, brown-eyed man clicked his tongue and looked Brandon over before shaking his head and sighing.

"Look, I'm sorry, but this can't go on like this. You always show up here with cuts and bruises and it's none of my business what you do outside of here, but it's interfering with your work. This isn't the first time and I know it won't be the last."

"Mr. Shelman, please..." Brandon tried, but the man wouldn't listen.

"Sorry, kid. Leave your apron here, along with your uniform, grab your things and go. Come back tomorrow to pick up your check."

Mr. Shelman looked at Brandon and left the office. Brandon sighed deeply. Great, now he was out of a job. Brandon worked hard, and never took a day off, but one mistake and he was out!

'The perfect end to a shitty day,'

He got on a bus heading home and as he was turning the key in the door, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and placed it between his shoulder and ear.

"Yeah?" he said, closing the door behind him and holding the phone properly. After hearing what the person on the other end of the line wanted, he frowned.