The Wrath of Jordan Jefferson

“Leave me alone, please! I said leave me alone!” the girl screamed.

Her voice sliced through the evening air like a blade. Jordan Jefferson paused, one foot already halfway onto the narrow path that curved around the hills.

He turned slowly, brows furrowed. He had heard the fear. It wasn’t just a quarrel, but something like oppressive fight.

The road from the market was long, dusty, and half-empty, as usual, though not far from the Bennett mansion. Jordan preferred it that way. He had always liked walking home alone, it helped him clear his head, especially after the kind of day he just had.

The weight of the groceries in his hands didn’t matter. What mattered was the peace. But this evening, that peace vanished the moment he heard that cry.

He dropped the two heavy bags at his feet and rushed ahead.

He was tall and well-built. His giant height often betrayed his 26-years of age.

Just a few metres away, by the edge of the bend, he saw her. A young lady, cornered. Her scarf had been pulled halfway off her head, her arms hugging her chest as she stood trapped between three men—thugs, clearly.

One of them had a crooked smile, the kind that meant trouble. Another was chewing gum like he had no worries in the world. The third? He just looked like he was ready to pounce.

Jordan didn’t think twice.

“Hey!” he shouted. “What do you think you’re doing? Let her go!”

The tallest of the men turned to him slowly, squinting. “Guy, face your front,” he warned coldly. “This matter doesn’t concern you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jordan said, his voice calm but firm. “I said let her go.”

The second thug stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “You must be very foolish.”

But as he moved, his eyes caught something.

He stopped abruptly, narrowing his gaze at Jordan’s neck. There, beside his collarbone, something showed, it was faint, but visible enough in the fading light.

The man froze.

“Wait... He has the mark!” he shouted, panicked. “He’s one of them!”

The third thug leaned forward, squinting. As soon as he saw it, his face changed.

“Let’s go!” he barked. “Let’s get the fuck out of here now!”

Within seconds, all three of them had taken off, disappearing through the trees like their lives depended on it.

Jordan just stood there, stunned.

The girl, still trembling, turned to him slowly. Her eyes darted to the side of his neck, and she took a step back.

“You—what are you?” she whispered.

“I should be asking you that,” Jordan replied, confused. “Why were they scared? What’s this about a mark?”

She swallowed, eyes wide. “That mark... it belongs to a group. I don’t know exactly, but they're the most powerful and feared people in New York.”

Before he could ask another question, she turned and bolted down the path, her scarf falling behind her.

Jordan stared after her, lost.

He raised a hand to his neck and touched the small birthmark that had always been there. A curved line, almost like a crescent moon. He had always thought it was just a mark, nothing serious.

He sighed, bent to pick up the groceries, and continued the walk home.

Maybe these people were just strange.

Or maybe... there was something he didn’t understand.

**************

Thirteen years ago, Jordan woke up in a hospital bed with tubes in his arms and pain in every part of his body. He had nothing, no memory, and no clue what had happened. The only thing he remembered was his name – Jordan. And that was strange. The doctors told him he had survived a terrible car crash. He was the only one pulled out alive.

Everyone else in the vehicle had died.

It was Ezra Bennett, the patriarch of the Bennett family, who found him. Ezra had seen the wreck with his own eyes, stopped his car, and helped get Jordan out. He waited at the hospital. He paid the bills. And when no family came forward, Ezra brought him home.

He treated Jordan like a son.

He gave him a name. Sponsored his education. Sent him to the university. Paid for everything.

Jordan studied Business Administration and graduated with good grades. After his internship program, Ezra encouraged him to work at Bennett Industries—their family company. But more than that, Ezra arranged for him to marry his daughter, Zoe.

It was meant to secure Jordan’s place in the family.

Jordan, with no memory of any past life, accepted. He thought maybe this was his second chance.

But he didn’t know what he was walking into.

Zoe Bennett never wanted him not to talk of marrying him. She only agreed to marry him because she didn’t want to disobey her father or most importantly lose her inheritance. Her mother, Esther Bennett, hated him even more. From the day he stepped into that house as a son-in-law, they made it clear to him that he can never be part of them.

Now, with Ezra ageing and no longer active in the company, Jordan had become a glorified servant in the very house where he once ate at the table.

***************************

As he pushed the gate open that evening and stepped into the massive compound, Esther’s voice cut through the air before he could even take two steps forward.

“So you still have the boldness to return, Jordan?”

Jordan looked up. Esther stood at the entrance with her arms folded across her chest. She was dressed in her usual all-black gown, her face hard and emotionless.

“I went to the market. There were delays—”

Before he could finish, she marched down the steps and slapped him hard across the face.

“You dare speak back at me?”

Jordan held his cheek in silence. He didn’t move.

“For that nonsense, you will not eat anything in this house for the next twenty-four hours. In fact, until I say so. And after you’re done cooking, go and wash the cars. All of them.”

She didn’t wait for a reply.

She turned and walked back into the house.

Jordan bent down, picked the scattered groceries, and walked to the kitchen. The chef looked up as he entered, but no one said anything. They had all learned how things worked in the house.

Jordan rolled up his sleeves and joined him quietly.

He had once worked at Bennett Industries, reporting to the Board and attending high-level meetings. But now? He had been demoted to work in the kitchen – he chopped onions, washed dishes, and swept the corridors.

When Ezra asked why he no longer went to the office, Jordan lied out of fear.

“I feel more useful here, sir,” he said softly.

Ezra had stared at him for a long moment but didn’t press further.

But now that Ezra barely came downstairs, the others took every chance to reduce him. To remind him he was just a man who had no history.

Later that evening, as darkness fell and the air cooled, Jordan stood at the garage, scrubbing the tyres of the last car. His shirt clung to his back, soaked in sweat. His hands were blistered. The compound was quiet, except for the sound of his sponge against the metal.

Suddenly, headlights flashed at the gate. The security guard opened quickly. A black car drove in, it was Ezra and Zoe. They had gone out for the evening, as usual.

As the car parked, Ezra stepped down first.

He looked around slowly, then saw Jordan kneeling in front of one of the cars with a bucket.

He frowned. “Where are the other workers?” he asked.

Jordan opened his mouth to speak, but Esther appeared beside them almost immediately.

“He dismissed them,” she said quickly. “He said they weren’t good enough.”

Ezra looked at Jordan, then back at Esther.

He said nothing. Just shook his head slowly and walked towards the house.

Zoe lingered behind.

She approached Jordan, eyes cold and unfeeling.

“You think doing all this will make my father keep loving you?” she asked, her voice laced with contempt. “You’ve been pretending for years, but I see through you.”

Jordan didn’t respond. He continued washing the side mirror.

“You’re just a poor boy who got lucky. And you’ll always be that. My father may not see it, but I do.”

Jordan looked up at her quietly. For a second, his eyes met hers but he said nothing.

Just then, a sudden gasp came from the stairs.

They turned quickly.

Ezra was holding his chest, his face pale.

“Daddy!” Zoe shouted.

Esther screamed. “Ezra!”

He stumbled and fell, groaning in pain. He couldn’t lift himself up. His breathing was heavy. One hand clutched his chest tightly as his legs gave way.

Zoe ran to him. “Somebody call the hospital!”

Guards rushed forward. The driver joined. Esther knelt beside him in panic.

Jordan remained where he was, frozen, his sponge still in hand.

The man who saved him... the man who gave him everything... was being lifted into the house, gasping for breath.