All Chapters of Billion Dollar Man: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

BenThe moment I touched down in New York I was caught up in the fever of the city. I was thrown into the deep end at work, and I had to tread water all the time. I didn’t even have time to think about Mila and everyone else back home.And that was a good thing. I knew the moment I thought about Mila too long I would feel terrible for what I had done to her. And I would struggle with a broken heart because by hurting her, I had also hurt myself.On Saturday morning, I met with Ms. Houghton again. The realtor had been all too happy to hear from me. Even though I hadn’t taken the other place, she knew I had money judging by the houses she showed me, and if she sold one to me, it meant her paycheck was going to be a big one.“It’s a pity the other place was scooped up, after all,” she said to me after we made small talk. “It was a perfect fit for you. But not to worry, I have a few houses for you to look at.”I wasn’t in the mood to fuss. When we’d gone through the first house with Ms. H

BenAs long as I knew that everyone back home was safe, I wasn’t going to let myself freak out. Victor Brantley, my new worst enemy, had been seen in Portland with two of his henchmen. David Thomas, my PI, had been keeping tabs on them for me after I realized that my father had run into serious debt with the Mafia. My father had been killed because of it. So had Uncle Dean.The Mafia was the reason I had to run back to New York, again, leaving a friendship, a relationship and a family behind in Portland. I blamed my father’s debts and what the Mafia was doing for ruining my relationships, too.But I wasn’t bitter. I was far too busy trying to fix his mess to be bitter. I was only worried sick that something was going to happen to Mila or to Jerrod or any of the other people that I cared so much about.That was one of the things they had threatened my father with – picking off the people he loved, one by one. So far, they had proven they weren’t playing games.My plan was to pay them t

MilaWhen I opened my eyes, the concrete floor was at eye-level, cold against my cheek. Even though I’d been on it for a while.A long while, judging by how my body hurt when I rolled over onto my back. My neck hurt when I tried to turn my head from side to side, and it felt like my whole body was going to seize up if I moved too fast.I lifted my hand to my cheek. The cut had stopped bleeding not long after it had been made but the skin was tender and on fire. Inflamed, I was sure. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. I had to stay calm. It was the only way I was going to get through this.How long had it been since I’d been taken? I had no way of knowing. There were no windows in the basement I had been put in, only a naked light bulb that was always on. Without the change from day to night and back again and with my phone taken away from me, I’d lost track of time completely. I didn’t even know if I’d slept for ten minutes or ten hours.It was on the lo

BenThe Rat & Parrot was a shitty hole-in-the-ground kind of pub in a bad neighborhood that I would never have gone to if my hand hadn’t been forced. The lighting was low, but it wasn’t for ambiance. When I stepped in through the doors, everyone looked at me. It was clear I was far from home. I was glad I hadn’t put on a suit, which I had considered for this meeting.Then again, Victor Brantley was nothing more than a piece of shit at the bottom of my shoe, as far as I was concerned. He hadn’t deserved a suit. And judging by his meeting spot of choice, I had been right. No one who kidnapped and killed people was worth respect, in my humble opinion.I had no idea where to find the guy. I had hoped he would stick out to me, but everyone in this joint looked like they had crawled out of the gutter. That had been the plan. At least half of the guys in the bar were people I’d paid to be there. Money could talk all kinds of languages.Someone at the bar lifted a hand in a wave to me. A pair

MilaI didn’t know how long I’d been in this basement, but I felt like it had been forever. I was getting weaker and weaker, and I was getting worried about the cut on my cheek. If it stayed untreated for much longer, it was going to create a scar, and I didn’t want to walk around with a reminder of what had happened to me on my face for the rest of my life.If I even made it out of here. It wouldn’t matter if there was a scar on my face if I was dead.No. I wouldn’t think like that. I had to stay positive that I would get out of here, that I would be able to look back on this, years from now and say, “I escaped.”I hadn’t eaten since I’d arrived. They’d brought me food once, but it hadn’t exactly been edible. After a while, when I hadn’t eaten it, they’d taken it away. And that had been it.My stomach rumbled as if to agree with what I was thinking.I was still on the floor, shivering from the cold and uncomfortable. Every now and then I got up and walked in small circles, stretching