At 12, I met Madeline. The bruises had come less and less, when Graham turned one year old. If Father hadn’t been MIA before, with the birth of his second child, he became next to non-existent. He only came around when absolutely required, such as being forced by The Queen or if all of the countryside got to chatter about the wayward Duke.
Madeline had mouse brown hair, brown eyes, and porcelain skin and a royal air about her that my mother had always wanted in a daughter. Madeline was the daughter she didn’t get the chance to have. I avoided the awkward looking girl every chance I got. Then one day, father got his hands on me for something Graham did. Maybe my little brother threw Father’s large block cell phone in the toilet, maybe even our coat of arms. But it was either the toddler or me…
Mother preferred when I didn’t make a scene around our home after such episodes, meaning she rather I make myself scarce when having a bloody nose, or busted lip. A royal with bruises, how could it be?
So as my face throbbed, I started through the lush green field land that surrounded our palace.
“Well, it’s not going to clean itself,” said Madeline. I knew the voice because she was one of the smartest in our class, besides myself of course. I turned to see her leaning against a land that has been the subject of argument, since her family bought the palace a few acres from ours, and this land has already been a gray area.
“What?”
“Your hand, why don’t you come over and I can have my nanny bandage that right up.” She grimaced at the bruises on my face, even though I can no longer feel them. It was clear when I turned around; she hadn’t even expected to see my entire face to be all black and blue. So, she didn’t mention it. “The help has to rest sometimes, so come with me.”
I shrugged. It was Burt’s day off.
I’ve always been either busy with my studies, or engaged in the popularity of having girls at the academy fall over me. But with Madeline being so shy, I never noticed her. For the first time, I looked into her kind eyes, wondering why she wanted to help…
Lux has that same sparkle in her eyes when we’re together. As Luxury sleeps so tiny in my arms, I continue to see a mixture of my old friend Madeline. Her aura radiates the same. Unlike with other women, where there’s just sex, it’s much more.
No need for companionship.
I should have known after the first night I bedded Lux. She has started asking questions, wanting to know about my life. I had quickly redirected focus to her life, allowing Luxury to discuss growing up and her relationship with her mom. The tactic was to make sure I wouldn’t be the center of conversation, yet still at that very moment, Luxury brought me even closer to her than I’ve ever want to be.
It reminds me of how close Madeline and I once were. But why did Lux have to say she loved me? I kiss Lux’s forehead. She smiles in her sleep. Measuring my movements, I unwrap myself from her arms, and get up with a sigh. I slip on a pair of black house shoes. And open the bedroom door.
The night Luxury went out on a double date, for the first time, I lost control. Just as powerless as when I was my father’s human punching bag. Should have never gone back to that feeling. Total an utter uselessness. But she hadn’t done anything with the man. Nothing would stop me from murdering that motherfucker for a simple good night kiss.
After watching Luxury sleep for a while, I step out the room wondering what this woman has done to me. She has some sort of spell on me, being able to deny me in the past. Though I’m confident that Lux has learned her role, I can’t even believe how much I enjoyed eating her out last night. The pleasures of feasting on the sweetness between her thighs rapture me to the point of madness.
As I slip into pajama pants and an undershirt, Burt exits the second bedroom. I yawn. It’s the middle of the night and he’s still in uniform as he holds up a silver tray with my laptop.
“Thank you,” I grab my Chromebook as the only constant in my life continues to spin.
“Earl Gray Tea?” he asks as usual.
“Yeah.” Rubbing my eyes, I take a seat on the living room sofa and press the power button. After navigating to D’Ross Enterprise internal system, and press on the logo, which is really a mimic of the D’Ross royal seal, I am directed to an impenetrable Internet system. A live view pops up.
“Good morning, Vic,” Monica’s chipper voice rings in my ear before I can even see her. A few seconds later, the connection completes, and her happy go lucky face appears.
“Hello, Monica.”
“Oh wow, it’s not morning where you are, I see,” Monica’s bright green eyes look around. Then gives me a rundown of the different businesses that might be of interest to capitalize on.
“Monica, before we go over the preliminaries, have you figured out who the anonymous requestor of Dr. Whitson’s death is?”
She pauses and it’s obvious that this is new to her. Not the request. I gave her more than enough time to find out. But her inability to understand that something has taken precedence to my work has me pissed. Despite my need for a meticulous kill, D’Ross Enterprise is my all. Mother isn’t into my need for capitalization, but she isn’t aware of how much Graham splurges.
“Vic, I’m working on it. The entire tech team is working on breaking through a six-tier system. Paul has been tripped up so many times by X-Member’s–”
“You’re not hearing me, Monica.” I could give a fuck that she’s bringing up Paul one of the best hackers in Europe. “You, Paul, and everyone else are paid top dollar. If Paul is asked to hack into the motherfucking queen’s personal email, so be it. Monica, if you are given a task, and you’re certain of your inabilities, then you know what to do.”
“Yes, Victor.” Her heart-shaped face reddens at the thought of not completing her duty.
“When will I have the requestor’s information?” I ask, taking the hot cup of tea.
“By the end of the day.”
“Negative.”
“This afternoon–your time if that’s okay,” she sputters.
“Yes. Now tell me about our latest potential acquisitions,” I command. Monica gives the rundown on the different failing businesses and provides statistical information on which ones are a shot out of the ballpark or not, per our risk analysis predictions. Then I’m on a video chat with my entire financial board. Of all my duties that I neglect, these meetings aren’t one of them. Each and every one of these members holds even more than an advanced degree in business and acquisitions. They are the foundation to my ever-growing business.
About an hour into the discussion, the board is divided as to one of the riskier companies that we have had our eyes on for a while.
High risk, high reward.
“Victor, may I speak?” Asks Hartford. He’s one of the smartest on my team, but the most cautious when it comes to monopolizing businesses. On occasion, his knowledge is correct, and I have to realize that this isn’t a game of chess with me as king, but we’re dealing with people’s lives–employees, and even the founders who have built their business from the ground up. It’s imperative that every time we swoop in and take over a business that this is a sure thing. Predator to prey, bulldozing businesses brings the rush that I have learned from my father.
“By all means, Hartford,” I reply. The entire room is quiet, knowing that we bump heads often. From one dominating force to another, I know I could learn to be more calculating like Hartford so I listen intently.
Hartford, and his meticulous articulate mannerisms won’t allow him to begin to explain the necessity to wait, when Burt is handing over the cell phone that only takes X-Member calls.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I must excuse myself this morning,” I begin, knowing that this meeting was important. In another life, Whitson would’ve been dead already, Lux in mourning, and myself at this billion-dollar meeting since it includes a pending acquisition.
“May I take the reign?” Hartford asks. “We’ll discuss the options available and you can review later.”
“Yes,” I quickly disconnect, close the laptop and answer the phone on the third ring.
“Hello, Victor, am I to presume you’ve taken ill?”
“No,” I reply gripping the receiver so tightly that my knuckles turn white, thinking about the Siamese twins, just the beginning of my assassin woes.
“Family troubles?” the electronically disfigured computer voice asks. “Something, anything that would cause you to sit on a mark for almost two weeks, Sir?”
“I have reason to believe that the requestor is operating under false pretenses.” Wow. Being around Luxury has me making dumb statements. Of course, the profile reeked of the necessity for Doctor Whitson to die in a swift manner. Death provides a hasty hush.
“That concerns me?” replies the liaison from X-Member.
I rub the back of my neck. Yes, I’ve murdered innocent people, all because of my need to kill. Good people, who were deemed untouchable, died by my hands. All because of their so called “untouchable” positions. One of the best parts of a kill is reminding someone who is virtually limitless that the 2% error in their security or defense systems could potentially be their demise. My father’s words whisper in my ear even now, as if my finger is on the trigger, and already for the shot. However, for the sake of my reputation with X-Member I add, “I don’t fucking appreciate being lied to. Marks can be as white as snow; profiles can be one sentence long, no explanation given. And I couldn’t give a shit. It’s all a form of art. But to be lied to.”
The liaison provides a mechanical chuckle, “Now you’re taking the noble route?”
Technically… “Yes.”
He sighs. “It’s been great to have you on the team. The Siamese twins haven’t returned so, they weren’t much of a warning I’m sure. You have $500k that was previously wired to you–"
“This is about $500k?” I shout, damn, in all actuality, I rarely, if ever consider the funds being paid. X-Member wires money as soon as the mark has been selected. Not the smartest way to conduct business. But we live by the honor code and flair of confidence that the mission will be executed.
“No, it’s not about the money. It’s the principle.”
“Come for me. And me alone." It’s wishful thinking, but I say it anyways. Later I’ll have Burt rewire their five fucking pennies.
"You and everyone that is connected to you, sir," he replies.
“Then your entire system is fucked.” I hang up with that. I’ll make good on putting down any assassin sent my way. They don't know of my true identity, that's how X-Member works. Yet, they know Luxury. So, my being with Lux should run its course. But selfishness won’t allow me to leave her alone.
Besides, she’s already vowed to be mine.
To compound even more variables, I'm sure these customer service centric assholes are already preparing to have another assassin finish Doctor Whitson.