Page 18 of Wild Card

Catriona

No matter what I do, I can’t seem to shake the honeyed fog that envelopes my brain. I’m so tired. I can’t believe my fight has drained out of me so fast. I want to get up, claw at the walls of my prison, but instead I asked Gio to help me wash my hair.

I’d been sweating, and the salt was itchy and uncomfortable on my scalp. He was surprisingly gentle, and I like how his hands felt on me. How fucked up is that? I still think he’s my key to getting the hell out of here. He’s obviously not a sadist like his pig of an uncle.

Or that man Freddie.

But the bad blood between our families scares me too. When it came down to it, why would he protect me over his uncle and his grandmother? What reason does he have to care about me when my own father doesn’t?

I don’t know what I should do. I can’t think straight.

There’s a knock on the door and Gio enters, followed by his loathsome uncle. Seeing Lorenzo triggers my fear response and I’d probably be hyperventilating if I had the energy. The older man’s been in a fight, new cuts and bruises accompanying the claw marks I left on his face. I hope he got his ass kicked.

“The fuck did you do?” Lorenzo snarls. “She doesn’t exactly look the part in clean clothes and with her wounds all tended to.”

“You know better than to start with me.” His tone brooks no argument. “She’s got enormous fucking bruises all over her face, and she hasn’t eaten since she’s been here. She looks gaunt.”

Rude. But he feels guilty, and I’ll take whatever advantage I can get.

“Good point,” Lorenzo concedes. “Where’s that spirit, honey? Let me hear that sass.”

If I could, I’d tear his eyes out for laying his hands on me. For thinking he has any right to my body. I bet I’m not the only woman he’s touched against her will. Pathetic excuse for a man.

“Let’s get this over with,” Gio says. He won’t look at me.

He should be ashamed. I know this wasn’t his choice, but he’s got to admit I’ve got it way worse right now than he does.

“No word from your daddy. Doesn’t seem like your family wants you back. We’re going to need you to ask for our money a little more nicely. Gio will film again. But hey, cheer up, I checked and your follower count has absolutely exploded. Lots of people leaving you well wishes.”

I muster the strength to glare at him for mocking me. I’m frankly surprised the videos haven’t been deleted. They’re pretty graphic, but I guess the ad revenue is too good to pass up. Gio slips the battery back into my phone and I get an absurd urge to grab it and text my father, beg him to save me. Beg him to love me like he does my sisters.

But it wouldn’t change anything.

I’d still be here and even more humiliated.

Besides, I don’t have the energy to even stand, let alone make a play for my phone.

I don’t feel real—it’s like I’m sitting somewhere in the back of my mind watching all this, disconnected from my body. Gio walks over and puts the back of his hand on my forehead and the expression of concern on his face makes me nervous. Do I look that bad? If he’s worried about me even after what my father did to his parents, then I must.

I generally try to look my best on camera. Oh well.

Gio trails his fingers down the side of my face. He looks like he’s about to say something when his uncle yells at him to get a move on.

His jaw clenches, but he stands up and points the camera at me, holding it to a high angle, like I’d told him to before.

“Ask for the money, give the burner number,” Lorenzo instructs, saying the number again. “We’ll upload it to your platforms for all your viewers to enjoy!”

How does Gio feel about his uncle being a sociopath? I try to keep my eyes on him.

“Now!” Lorenzo barks.

“Hi kittens,” I slur. “Thank you for your words of encouragement. I miss you all too. I’m…” My eyes slide shut. I hear a loud noise, like someone stomping their foot, and snap back awake. “Um.” I look over at Lorenzo who rubs his fingers over his thumb, the universal sign for money. “Dad I’m sorry. I’m not doing great so if you could help me. Please? Was it four million?” My tongue weighs about a thousand pounds in my mouth. “Text me.” I manage to say the burner number. “Love you all. Bye now.”

Gio shuts off the video and his repulsive uncle grabs the phone, eagerly posting the video. He can have it. I just want to sleep.

“What the fuck is wrong with her?” Lorenzo asks as I curl up on the bed.

“You beat the shit out of her. What do you think is wrong? Just go. I’ll take care of things here.” Gio grabs the phone from his uncle.

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