Earth s CoreChapter 19 Cultivation Inheritance
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Birthright - A Criminal Inheritance free porn video
Not for the first time, and most likely not for the last time either, you are equal parts grateful and resentful of the job your aunt provided you with. The pay was rather generous, and it was far from the worst line of work to find yourself in, but you certainly didn't have any drive or ambition to move up in the coffee-house industry.
After one last inventory check, you'd be done for the day. If your sister didn't have anything planned after school, you'd see if there was something the both of you could do to spend time together. As one of the only remaining members of your family, you were admittedly paranoid of growing apart from her and being all alone again.
You had moved out of your aunt's home after finishing school three years ago. Since then, you've done your best to get by in a town that has long since condemned you for suffering a “mental break” back when you were much younger. You and Noelle, however, knew that you didn't just imagine having a mother and three older sisters. What you didn't know was how they managed to completely and utterly disappear in less than a day. Your aunt Katherine obviously knew something, but after years of continually ignoring your questions and refusing to answer, you bitterly gave up on ever learning the truth of the matter. It still hurt if you allowed yourself to dwell on it, and you kept yourself emotionally distant from her and everyone else in town as a result. Noelle was the only one you could trust.
If it weren't for her, you'd have left town a long time ago. Even if you stayed long enough to graduate, you would have taken your chances leaving town even if the only thing you took were the clothes on your back. Kathy might have believed you were starting to forgive her when you accepted her job offer, in effect keeping you “close at home”, but she was just a means to an end. A part of you hated yourself for hating and distrusting her as much as your did, but she either ignored or underestimated just how severely you were hurt when the rest of the family vanished out of thin air and she refused to break her silence, knowing just how badly you needed to know something to try and make sense of it.
The job payed a great deal better than almost everything else available in town. Kathy was very particular about her business, and managed all the important aspects alone. Considering how rarely you dealt with customers as a brewer, you had no explanation for why the business was as successful as it was. By all rights, it was a small shop you'd be likely to find in any town that doesn't offer a lot of major consumer brands, but apparently the shop made 6 figures a month easy. Kathy said that there was a great deal more to the business that she handled behind the scenes but didn't elaborate further. Perhaps she figured that she could convince you into staying on as her employee by offering to share more information about her business as the odds of you leaving looked less and less likely.
It would be funny if it didn't feel like she spat in your face with the offer, even if you gave her the benefit of the doubt regarding just how much she believed you hated her silence all those years ago.
With an aggravated sigh, having contemplated old wounds for too long, you document the count on the computer in the back of the store and get ready to head home. Noelle would be out of school in another hour or so if she didn't have any plans with friends afterwards, so you wanted to try and come up with some ideas for something you could do to hang out.
The ring of the front door opening caused you a brief pause as you finished changing out of uniform. Hadn't you locked that door 20 minutes ago when you began cleaning up and closing the shop? Even so, all the customers were locals: they knew when closing time was, even if you hadn't flipped the sign. Kathy and Noelle had keys to the back door, so unless they forgot their keys it was unlikely they got in through the front.
Well, you wouldn't find out who was in the shop by just standing around. With a quick check confirming that you had all your belongings on hand, you open the door to the break room and make your way to the front.
Perhaps, going forward, you should listen more closely to the paranoid part of your brain.
Considering all the red flags you ran through in your head, and which way your luck usually runs, the only thing that surprised you was just how little you had been surprised by the figure in front on you.
Jeremy Pressman. Once a name that was synonymous with “popular”, “golden child”, “town favorite”, and other such praises for as long as you and he were enrolled in the same years at school. He could do no wrong, and was the single most important person as far as a vast majority of the town was concerned. His family was more than 80% of the financial backbone of the town since the day it was founded.
That was before he quickly hit his “rebellious” phase. Piercings, tattoos, drugs, questionable affiliations, etc. He still had his supporters, who believed he'd grow out of it. A lot more people than you expected followed that line of thought.
You wonder how they'd spin the current scenario, where he stood in front of you brandishing a large knife with the very clear intention of using it. He also had two muscular thugs behind him, waiting patiently for an order.
“Always knew you'd never amount to anything, Mommy's Boy. Still, you've done pretty well for yourself all things considered,” Jeremy responded, playing with the edge of his knife idly.
“Didn't think you'd have time in your busy schedule to check on me in person. Running out of kids to shake down for candy? Too bad we're eight months away from Halloween,” you replied.
“Funny guy, aren't ya? Wanna see how funny you are without a tongue?”
“If anything, I'd rather you take my ears. Wouldn't have to listen to all the shit that comes out of your mouth.”
Getting irked at your constant remarks, Jeremy directs the two muscle-heads forward.
“I'll do you one better: I'll smash your head in and finally get rid of your stupid, ugly mug for good!”
You weren't exactly on equal footing with Jeremy's goons in regards to pure muscle, but you had plenty of practice against any number of random thugs and delinquents he could bribe or threaten into harassing you. They had no real idea of how to fight except “go straight and hit the other guy hard” all at once. So it was a mystery to you why they always acted surprised when you simply moved out of the way faster than they could hit or grab you and then hit them back.
Their intimidating physique just made them a bigger, clunkier target. And its not like being muscular was the same as wearing armor, let alone good armor: they still had plenty of soft, vulnerable spots that even a practiced amateur could aim for as long as they knew what to look for. Joints, especially the small ones in the hands and feet, were more delicate than wannabe tough guys like them thought. A quick stomp or smack caused both thugs to flinch in pain, and caused a reflexive desire to shield that injury from further harm. An elbow to the jaw followed by a kick to the face soon after, and both were down on the ground. Maybe not down for the count, but Jeremy was always a “style over substance” kind of guy when it came to the delinquents he employed. All he cared about was how intimidating they'd look, not how well they'd do in a fight.
He should have at least learned to start diversifying his pool of minions, or providing them with information on how you've already gone through several dozens of similar meatheads.
And true to form, the thugs on the floor were just like the others you've had to deal with. Any thoughts of an easy paycheck went out of the window at the first sign of anything more than mildly inconvenient pain, and a broken nose/busted jaw more than qualified in their minds for the “fuck this, I'm out” clause that always came up when the pissy little Pressman ass-stain tried throwing other people at his problems. Namely, you.
This time though, a knife to your side provides a very painful epiphany: you had gotten too complacent.
Jeremy had always been a hands-off kind of guy: his hands were too good to be getting dirty “taking out the trash”. But he'd hardly been a sane and competent individual back in high school, and the addition of booze, drugs, tattoos, and violence into his life since then did nothing to suggest he was on the path to bettering himself.
You were so focused on the knife that you had been unguarded against the punch doing its best to break your jaw from one of the thugs, both of whom recovered and regained their confidence after seeing their boss dig several inches of steel into your left flank.
The punch knocked you off your feet and launched you against the wall, hitting it with your head before gravity took you back to the ground. The now open knife wound in your side, the feeling of a dozen or so hairline fractures in your jaw, and the painful throb inside your head suggesting the beginning of a concussion didn't promise a fun-filled afternoon for you. Not that you had the ability to fully process your situation on account of the previously mentioned concussion currently rattling your brain.
Jeremy's mouth, in a twisted approximation of a righteous smirk, was moving. But whatever he was attempting to say was impossible for you to understand, even if you vaguely recognized that he was probably bragging about the current situation. The two goons entered your line of sight, as blurry and unfocused as it were, and it was pretty clear they hadn't had enough. Whether that would end before or after you died, you had no way of knowing.
It was almost a blessing when you lost consciousness before they could begin in earnest. If you were lucky, you'd be able to wake up later to appreciate it better. As things stood, you barely recognized the highly likely possibility that today would be the day you died.
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