The Billionaire's Redemption

Gabby It’s official. I hate my life. Normally, I’m a pretty positive and happy person, but these last six months have been absolute hell. I feel like I’ve been dragged through the wringer then chewed up and spit out. Multiple, soul-crushing times. With a weary sigh, I punch out on the clock in the diner’s back room, untie my apron and stuff it into my bag. I’ve been on my feet for the past eight hours and they’re aching because I’ve been running around like a mad woman, trying to serve customers and deal with being short-staffed all day. I can’t wait to get home and soak them. When the diner gets busy, it’s good because the time goes by fast, but it’s also bad because now I’m exhausted. Like bone-deep weary and I feel like I could sleep for an entire week. No, scratch that. I could sleep for a month. I’d planned to go through my mom’s things, but I don’t have the energy for it. Mentally or physically. Last week, I lost my mom, my closest confidante and very best friend, to cancer. It’s the worst-damn disease and watching someone you love slowly lose her battle and waste away to nothing—into someone you barely recognize—is the most awful thing in the world. I wouldn’t wish the painful experience on my worst enemy. God, I could use a break. Shoving my ponytail off my shoulder, I duck out the back door and it occurs to me that no matter how hard I work I won't be able to clear the mountain of debt I acquired to treat my mom anytime soon. Hell probably not even in a decade. However, when your only parent is sick a girl does what she has to do ; Without an health insurance borrowing from a loan shark was probably not the best idea but I still did it regardless which I'm seriously regretting now. After hearing me talk about my money problems my best friend,Rose who works with me here at the diner as a waitress introduced me to a loan agency which I was game for because they didn't ask for any identification. I just signed what they wanted me to sign, cashed the check and set about giving my mom the best care available. Treatment is insanely expensive and she battled hard for the better part of last year. Last week, hospice stepped in, provided the necessary painkillers and everything else she needed. After crying my eyes out, knowing there was nothing else I could do, I forced myself to say goodbye as she died. Shit.The salty sting of tears threaten once again and I try to swallow them down. It’s impossible, though. I’ve been grieving since way before she died. Technically, since the terminal diagnosis.chemotherapy and radiation only did so much for her. The cancer spread fast moving from her organs and finally, to her brain. Swiping the tears from my face, I hustle across the street before the lights turn green.Luckily my apartment which is a very loose term to describe the dump I live in; is just a few blocks away but my feet are screaming with every single step. Ughhh I can't wait to get home and soak in a bath to relieve my aching muscles and my feet. Almost there, I tell myself; I imagine sinking into my bed after my bath and temporarily forgetting about the huge debt weighing me down. It’s truly suffocating, but I had no idea the kind of man I was dealing with, only that I needed money fast. But Rose told me a few stories, after I borrowed the money, of course, about what happened to people who didn’t pay Lawrence James Killian back. Even his name sounds sketchy; No one has come looking for payment yet, but I’m so edgy and it feels like I’m living on borrowed time. And that’s a damn scary place to be. Paranoia sets in and I force myself to speed-walk once I reach my block. The sooner I get safely in my apartment and lock the door, the better I’ll feel. All sorts of thoughts fill my head about movies where the person doesn’t pay back a loan shark on time. Mafia stuff and they break their arms and legs. Or, they seal their feet in a block of cement and toss them off a boat so they can sleep with the fish. Hugging my arms across my chest, a shiver runs through me. And it isn’t because of the slight chill in the late spring air. Normally, I love May. Everything is suddenly and completely alive again. The plants are green and the flowers are in full bloom. April’s rain showers have gone away and they leave so much beauty in their wake. It’s still not hot yet and I can open the windows and get a nice, refreshing breeze. I live in Brooklyn, so it’s not nearly as expensive or crowded as Manhattan, but it’s definitely come a long way from where it used to be. However, I’m feeling the strangest sensation that someone is following me. Yet, every time I’m brave enough to look back, there’s no one there. Just me and my overactive imagination. Which, I suppose, is a good thing. I know someone will be coming, though. Very soon. My best bet is they give me more time and they let me work out a payment plan. I don’t see why that would be a problem, especially after I explain what happened with my mom and why I needed the money in the first place. It’s not like I blew it all on a shopping spree or bought extravagant items like a car or house. No, nothing selfish like that. I paid for my mom to be comfortable in her final days. Anyone with half a heart would cut me some slack and allow me some extra time to pay the debt off. Wouldn’t they? Although after everything I’ve heard about Lawrence Killian, I question if he has an actual heart. As much as I’m hoping my lender will be sympathetic, I seriously doubt Killian cares a whit about my circumstances. Why would he? I’ve never met him personally, but I have heard plenty of rumors and hearsay—that he’s a cold, calculating businessman who doesn’t forgive or forget. And, still knowing this, I took money from him, anyway. God. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. I was too lost in taking care of my mother and overwhelmed by sorrow because I knew I was going to lose her sooner rather than later. And now here we are. She’s gone, but never forgotten. The money I borrowed—all 70 thousand dollars—is also gone. I used it to pay the hospital and the specialists for medicine and treatments. Then I used what little I had left to bury her. And, sadly, that wasn’t even enough. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pretend my life didn’t change so drastically in the last six months. If I hope and wish hard enough, maybe I can open my apartment door and see my mom inside. Somehow step back in time. She’d smile, ask me how my day was and tell me she’d baked my favorite oatmeal cookies and that dinner would probably be almost ready. Not anymore, though. Now, it’s just me. My dad took off when I was still a baby, so it’s always been just me and my mom. I think this is why her death has hit me extra hard. She was truly my best friend and, without her, my life is never going to be the same. Finally I reach the block where I live and heave a sigh of relief. Moving down the hallway to my floor I noticed Freya's light still on, she is a single mom of a cute 3 year old and the first friend I made in the this building; The rest are a bunch of snobs who think they are better than us which is laughable considering we all live in the same shitty conditions.I pause and dig down in my bag, searching for my keys. Returning to a dark and empty apartment sucks. It’s a little depressing to be all by myself, but what can I do? I’m not in the right place to try dating, so maybe I’ll get a cat. Not like I have a lot of options. Snagging my keys off the bottom of my cluttered bag, I stick them in the lock and twist. The old door creaks open and I step inside. The building is old, but fairly well maintained. Well, kind of, anyway. Sure, it could use a fresh coat of paint and when it rains, it smells a little musty, but I’ve always felt safe and I’m appreciative of the nice neighbors well neighbor as only Freya is nice. When my mom was sick, she brought me dinner a few times which was a kind gesture. Trust me, the last thing on my mind had been cooking, so her thoughtfulness touched me. It had been nice and not many people go out of their way to be nice anymore. As I stop to open my mailbox, I think about my future with the way my life is going I’m going to be a lonely, old cat lady with no family, no prospects. One day I’ll die and no one will even know. I suppose someone will stumble upon my corpse eventually but, by then, the cat may have already eaten my face off.Ughhh. That settles it, I decide, reaching into the narrow slot for my mail. No cat. Shoving what mostly looks like ads and bills into my bag, I shut the mailbox and head toward the stairs. I’m on the second floor and tend to avoid taking the rickety elevator whenever possible. It’s shaky, breaks down more often than it runs, and I always have an overwhelming sense of doom every single time I step into that dimly-lit cab. I always get the overwhelming and awful feeling that the cables are going to snap or something and I’m going to plummet to my death. Although, I guess it’s safe to say I’d probably survive a drop from the second floor to the first. However, the way my luck has been going recently, I don’t want to chance it or tempt fate.No, thank you. It’ll be the stairs for me. Swinging my bag over my shoulder, I hike up the slightly uneven wooden stairs, trying to ignore my aching feet. No matter how comfortable my shoes were when I first put them on, nothing is comfy after running around in them for over eight hours. The stairwell seems to go up and up with no end in sight. When I finally reach the top, I let out a little sigh. Almost there. There’s not much in my fridge and I’m contemplating heading straight into a bath followed by bed. I’ve lost weight because of the extra stress and anxiety, but I don’t let myself splurge on food or going out to dinner. Ever. It’s just a luxury I can’t quite afford right now and that’s okay. I suppose I could eat that packet of instant noodles after I soak my tired feet.I’m almost halfway down the hall when I abruptly stop short. My eyes land on my apartment door and it’s slightly ajar. Not all the way open, but just enough that I notice. Did someone break in? There’s no way I forgot to lock it. Although I’ve never had a problem, my neighborhood could definitely be better. God. Just when my life can’t get any worse, it takes a plunge. Fate must really hate me.Standing there, I chew on my lower lip and wonder what to do. Should I go inside and check things out? What if someone is still in there, though? Doubtful, but who knows? But, who’s going to break in and hang around? Unless they just got inside.I suppose I could always go to my neighbor’s place and call the police from there. That seems like the smartest thing to do. Besides, maybe Freya saw or heard something. She’s a bit of a busy body that I wouldn’t be surprised. She might even have something useful to tell me and the cops. I’m turning toward her place when the door to my apartment suddenly opens all the way and a man steps out. My heart and feet freeze at the same time and I swallow hard. He’s big and burly with a mean look in his beady eyes. I’m holding my breath, not sure what the hell to do when he gives me an oily smile. “Are you Gabriella Thompson ?” He possesses a gravelly voice that sends a shiver down my spine and Iautomatically take a stepback “ No.” The lie slips from my lips. C’mon, Freya. This would be the perfect time to open your door and put that busy body of yours into action.But, of course, her door remains firmly shut and it’s so quiet up here now that I wonder if anyone is even home. There are four apartments total on my floor and I’m not hearing a sound from within any of them. Figures. Normally, I hear Freya's TV playing at top volume and the kids next door to me are screaming and the couple across the way are fighting with each other.Right now, though? Not a peep. You’d think I was in a cloistered monastery somewhere surrounded by nuns who took a vow of silence.God help me, I think. The giant takes a threatening step closer. “You sure about that? Because you look an awful lot like her.” He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in his dark eyes and panic consumes me when he starts stalking toward me. Too scared to think logically, I spin around and do the only thing I can do—I turn and bolt. My achy feet are long forgotten as I race back to the stairs, fly down them and shove my way out the front door and back outside. I just need to find a group of people, some life, a crowd, anything. Anything to deter the man who is now chasing me. “Gabriella!” he yells, stomping after me. “You owe my boss some money.” My entire body breaks out in a clammy sweat when he growls those ominous words Lawrence Killian wants his money and I don’t have it. I knew this day was coming, but now what? I can’t spend the rest of my life running and hiding. Shit. Maybe I don’t have a choice. All I know is I am absolutely terrified and I need to get as far away from Killian’s enforcer as possible. Because one thing is clear. That huge behemoth chasing me? He wouldn’t just break an arm or a leg. He’d kill me. I could see the violent storm brewing in his black eyes. I’m not stupid enough to stop and chat with him, either. All he wants is Killian’s money and when he finds out I’m broke, that I don’t even have twenty dollars in my bank account, he’s going to end me. And, as much as I miss my mom, I’m not exactly ready to see her again just yet on the other side. Pushing myself harder, I spot a couple of kids hanging on the corner outside the small bar up ahead. A sliver of hope fills me. Maybe, just maybe, I can find someone to help me.I sure hope so. If not, I’m in big trouble. God, I hate my life. But that doesn’t mean I’m going down without a fight. My mama did not raise no quitter.