Bought by the Devil’s Mercy

Abigail's Pov At five in the morning, half of the people in New York city were still asleep but poor people don't get to sleep for long hours not when bills had them on chokehold. I tied my apron behind my back and pushed through the kitchen door of Jerry’s Café, already sweating from the heat of the coffee machine. The place was small, always too warm, and smelled like burned toast, cheap butter, and coffee. “Aby, the milk is almost finished,” Tessa called from the front counter. “I know.” “You said that ten minutes ago.” she added. “And I still know.” “One day, I’ll report you to the manager” She snorted. I glanced up and let out a fake smile which vanished almost immediately. A smile. Tessa was the only person who could drag that out of me these days. I poured coffee into a cup and slid it onto the tray. I had been awake since three. My mother had another bad night at the hospital. The nurse said her breathing had become unstable again. They needed another round of medication. Another test. Another bill. Another look from the doctor that said poor girls should stop asking for miracles if they could not pay for them. I had stopped crying in hospital bathrooms two months ago. Now I just counted. I counted minutes, hours, breaths and days. How long before my mother’s body gave up. How long before all my savings and extra loans ran out completely. How long before I did say goodbye to the only woman who had been the only source of consolation after my father abdanoed me. “Aby.” Tessa’s voice called out to me softly. I glanced my tired eyes up to her. Everywhere went silent for some minutes as it was obvious she was reading the exhaustion in my eyes, the way my dry, cracked lips moved tirelessly even when everyone was out of hearing. A pitiful smile formed on her lips which was suddenly replaced by a frown. She dropped the empty jar in her hands and walked towards, placing her hands on my shoulder. “Abigail, are you okay?” her voice was filled with piry, meant specially for me. I blunked hard, trying to stop the tears forming in my eyes from dropping. If only she knew that being fine was a luxury. Apart from using her paycheck to pay her tuition which even the scholarship she was on covered half percent, Tessa had bo reason not to be fine. She didn't have to worry about a dying mother. She never had to worry from the constant calls and anxiety that comes with answering to loan sharks. “I am alive.” I said quietly. She leaned closer. “You can borrow from me” I let out a short laugh. “And then you’ll borrow from who?” “Tessa please..” my voice cracked betraying the tears I tried burying. “I will be fine” she tried convincing me. “I have lesser bills to pay.” “Not in New York.” That made her laugh, but it faded quickly. “Did you go to the hospital last night?” “Yes.” “How is she?” I swallowed. The truth was ugly. My mother had become so light under those blankets that every time I tucked them around her, I felt like I was covering bones and skeletons. She still smiled at me. That was the cruelest part. She still tried to smile like things would be fine. “She wanted to be sure I was fine.” “She asked if I had eaten,” I said. Tessa’s face changed. “Aby, what did you say?” “I lied and said yes.” She reached across the counter and squeezed my wrist. That was how we stayed for two seconds. Her hand on my wrist, my eyes on the cups of coffee. The noise of the café rushing around us. Then the bell over the door rang. I turned automatically, expecting another office worker in a suit. Instead, three men stepped in. Immediately, they stepped in, the atmosphere thickened. It was strange how fear could enter before words did. The first thing I noticed was how expensive they looked. The three men exuded a sense of quiet confidence and power, their sharp suits and polished shoes screaming wealth and authority. They looked like they'd just stepped out of a boardroom, their crisp shirts and tailored trousers expensive in the quietest, most dangerous way. Men like that did not come to places like Jerry’s for coffee. Tessa straightened beside me. “Do you know them?” “I should be asking you.” I glanced at her and then turned back to the three strangers. One of them stayed by the door. The other two looked around once, as if checking exits. Then a fourth man entered. He was younger than I expected. Maybe twenty-six or rather twenty-seven. He had a calm face, neat dark hair, and the kind of posture that said he did not need to raise his voice to be obeyed. His piercing gaze met and instantly, I felt something sink low in my stomach. He walked toward the counter. “Abigail Sweden?” he asked. My fingers tightened around the tray. “Who are you?” “How did you know me?” His eyes moved over my face for one second, unreadable. “My name is Michael Reid.” “I didn’t just ask your name. I asked how you knew me.” I fired back defiantly. Tessa shifted closer to me. “She said what she said.” Michael looked at Tessa, then back at me. There was no anger in his face. That almost made it worse. “I’d like to speak with you privately.” “I’m working.” I replied. “It concerns your family.” My throat tightened. “My family?” “Yes.” My heart sank deep into my stomach as beads of sweat covered my face almost immediately. My family was one woman in a hospital bed. My mother. That was all I had. I put the tray down carefully. “What about my family?” “We can't do this here”. I let out a low dark laugh which sounded humorless, more like a growl. “What the hell are you saying?” I barked, glaring at the four men who stood opposite weighing me with their eyes. “Aby, calm down.” “You can leave.” Tessa said with a low voice. One of the men near the door took a step forward. Michael lifted a hand slightly, and the man stopped. That tiny movement told me enough. He was in charge. “Miss Sweden,” Michael said, still too calm, “I’m trying to be respectful.” “And I’m trying to keep my job.” I defended. His gaze dropped to my apron, the cheap café logo, then came back to my face. “This job will not matter in five minutes.” That did it. Fear rose so sharply inside me, my eyes blurring around me. I made a conscious effort to breathe and stop myself from tripling off. I pulled off my apron. Jerry shouted from the kitchen, “Abigail, where are you going?” I didn’t answer him. I stepped out from behind the counter and stopped in front of Michael. “You have two minutes.” He looked around the café. “Outside.” “No.” His jaw hardened a little. “I said two minutes,” I repeated. “Start talking.” For the first time, something colder entered his eyes. He reached into his coat. Tessa inhaled sharply beside me. But he only brought out a folded document and placed it on the counter between us. My name was written on the front. So was my mother’s. A cold shiver ran down my spine. “What is this?” I asked. “A debt.” I stared at him. He stared back. Then he said the sentence that split my life into pieces. “Your father borrowed one hundred million dollars from my boss and disappeared.” For a second, I forgot how to breathe. My father? I had never met him. I have never heard his voice or seen his face. He was not a person in my life. He was a blank space. A shame. A man who had denied my existence before I was even born. So how could a stranger walk into a café and lay my life open like this? “You’re mistaken,” I said. Michael’s expression remained cold.. “I’m not.” “I don’t have a father.” “You do. His name is Henry Sweden.” My knees almost gave way. I had heard that name only once from my mother when she had a fever. She had been half-conscious and crying. She had told me my father was Michael Sweden and when she got pregnant for me, he denied her, threw her out to the streets and travelled out of the country. “He used your mother as guarantor,” Michael went on. “He left your home address too.” Tessa whispered, “Oh my God.” I looked up at Michael, fury suddenly pushing through the fear. “That has nothing to do with me.” “It has everything to do with you.” “It doesn’t! He left us. Whoever he is, wherever he is, go find him.” Michael’s voice stayed level. “We intend to.” “Then do that.” “We will. But if the debt is not settled, the guarantor pays.” My heart slammed hard against my ribs. “My mother is in the hospital.” I thundered. “I know.” The room tilted around me, my eyes blurred around me and I could feel life vanishing away from my eyes bit by bit. My knees gave away but Tessa suddenly caught my arm. “You know?” I repeated. Michael held my gaze. “Yes.” That one word was enough. He knew where my mother was. He knew she was vulnerable. He knew exactly where to press the knife. “You have one week,” he said. I let out a low laugh. Not because it was funny, but because if I didn’t, I would scream. “One week to do what? Find one hundred million dollars in my apron pocket?” Michael leaned closer, and when he spoke, his voice dropped low enough that only I could hear. “You would have to choose between your own life or the one you love.” I stopped laughing. Tessa stepped in front of me. “Get out.” Michael looked at her almost kindly. “Stay out of this.” “No” she retorted, blocking the little space that separated me from him. He ignored her and slid a card toward me instead. It had only a number and a name inscribed on it. “When you’re ready to talk, do the needful.” he said. I stared at the card. I did not pick it up. Not until he turned and walked away. Not until the other men followed him out. Not until the bell over the café door rang one last time and the room breathed again. Only then did I grab the card with shaking fingers. On it, in black ink, were four words. “Michael Reid. Call first.” And underneath that, one line had been written by hand. Or your mother pays.