Page 20 of Wild Card

“Ah. I understand. I’m going to set up some intravenous antibiotics here. It’s not as sterile as I’d like, but that wound on her leg is infected and if it’s not septic now, it will be soon. I’m going to give her some fluids, too, but once she’s feeling better you have to get her to eat.”

I feel a pinch on the back of my hand. I hate needles.

“Sorry honey. You’ll be okay.” The doctor pats my hand.

I didn’t realize I was crying, but wet tears slide out of the corners of my eyes.

I can’t say how much time goes by, but my head eventually starts to feel clearer. Slowly at first, and then all at once. My body is still sore and tired, but the needles are gone and so is the honey from around my brain.

Where am I?

I’m not in that claustrophobic attic. I’m on a bed under some silky covers.

And someone is sitting near me.

I nearly panic. What if it’s that creep Lorenzo? But as my eyes adjust, I see Gio’s muscular form in the moonlight. He’s crammed into a chair next to the bed. He’s obviously tried to maintain some distance between us, and I appreciate the gesture.

If I could get up, I could escape.

But I’m not strong enough yet. If I try to go now, I’ll probably end up back up in that attic. If I can stay here and get better, earn his trust, eventually I’ll be strong enough to get the fuck out.

If that’s the right choice. Depends on if my brothers would be willing to help me with that Freddie guy. They may not be willing and I don’t blame them for it—our father keeps them busy with dangerous shit.

It’s ironic, but being the family scapegoat, though painful and isolating in some ways, has allowed me to enjoy a level of freedom my siblings couldn’t dream of, trapped as they are by my father’s expectations.

But now it’s bitten me in the ass, and is it really fair of me to ask my brothers to possibly put their lives on the line to save me? Maybe not.

My work involves visibility. I can’t exactly leave and then disappear without income, and even though I do okay for myself, I sure as hell don’t have enough money to pay Lorenzo’s debts off. Freddie either has to get paid or be eliminated. Frankly I’d prefer the latter, given what Gio’s said about him.

But I bet Gio would’ve done that already if it were an option. I’m sure he’s well-guarded.

I need to keep thinking, keep planning, but a more immediate need strikes me: I need to use the bathroom.

I don’t want to scare the massive man next to me, but I can’t do this without his assistance. I reach over and tentatively touch his shoulder. His muscle feels like steel under my fingers. In different circumstances, I’d very much enjoy exploring the rest of him.

He snaps awake, his intense brown eyes boring into me. I gasp, and his gaze softens.

“Catriona? Are you feeling okay?”

“Bathroom?”

He shifts out of the chair and helps me up. I cling onto his arm. I don’t have to make a show of being too weak to escape. It’s just the truth of the situation, right now anyway. Might not be that way for long. My shin feels better—it’s wrapped up in some clean bandages and the throbbing has diminished.

He gives me privacy and waits for me outside the door. I have big, purple circles punched under eyes suddenly too big for my face. I don’t like how I look. I wash my hands and hold onto the vanity as I make my way to the door.

I’m vulnerable, and it’s terrifying. I believe Gio will protect me from his uncle where he can. I even believe he’d try to protect me from Freddie, but I’m certainly not at the top of his priorities list.

And why should I be? I’m not used to having to rely on other people and I hate it. I hate this. Even if my brothers would help me, endangering them on my behalf doesn’t seem right either. And It’s not like I could call the cops: they could get me out of here, sure, but what’s to keep Freddie or any of his goons from grabbing me again? I’d be living caged in by constant fear, and that would kill me in a different way. I need this to be over, and over for good.

Which brings me to my original conclusion that Freddie either has to be paid off or killed before he can kill me.

Normally I wouldn’t be so cavalier about someone else’s life, but in this case, it’s pure survival.

I walk slowly to Gio, holding onto his muscular arm. He puts his hand over mine and sweeps a curl from my face.

“You okay, Beauty?” His voice is husky, and it sends a tremor of desire through me. I should be pissed at what my mother would refer to as his “being too familiar,” that is, calling me by a nickname. But I like how he looks at me when he says it. Like even as gross as I look now, someone could still find me beautiful.

I place a hand on his chest, and he mistakenly attributes my reaction to an inability to walk back. He sweeps me into those strong arms and carries me back to the bed.

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