Page 29 of Wild Card

“That’s not their fault,” I say. “Thank you, though. For being honest.”

“Catty, you need to be smart and lay low. We know you’re somewhere in Providence, but we need more time to narrow the location down.”

He pauses for just a second, as if centering himself.

He hasn’t called me Catty in years. My childhood nickname dropped off for the most part when Birdie got hers. Only my girlfriends use it sometimes.

“When we find the people responsible, they’re dead, no matter what. They’ll pay for hurting you.”

I know what Callan’s saying here. Even if I’m able to make it out alive, Lorenzo won’t. Gio also promised to make him pay. It’s not that I don’t want that, but more than anything I want to be free, to be safe, to be home. My throat tightens with the knowledge that that may not happen.

“Tell everyone I love them. I’m sorry I’ve caused so much trouble. And if anything happens, Callan, will you take care of my loft? You and Siobhan? You’ll know who should get what.” I want to keep the tears from my voice, but I can’t. I don’t want to make this harder for my brother, who carries a lot of weight in our family.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. And don’t talk like that. We’ll find you,” Callan says. Orders, really. I almost think his force of will is enough to bring me home.

Gio’s still staring ahead, but the tense line in his jaw lets me know he’s far from relaxed.

“Give Birdie my amethyst ring. She always liked it. Okay, Callan. I have to go.”

I end the call before he can protest. I can’t let him hear me break down. And I will break down if I keep talking to him. It hurts too much. I hand the phone to Gio.

“He’s not getting the money, is he?” Gio asks quietly.

“No.”

It’s why I told Callan what I did. I’m not giving up, but there’s a good chance I’m not getting out of this alive.

“We won’t let Lorenzo know,” he says.

Not at the top of my to do list.

He fixes me with his dark brown eyes, his expression unreadable, and I’m suddenly seized with a bout of nausea from the stress. I cling desperately to his bicep. “I’m going to be sick.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it. Gio takes me to the bathroom where I violently vomit the small amount I was able to eat into the toilet.

He swears, holding my hair back. He waits till I’m done, and then hands me a toothbrush. His, probably, but I use it anyway. When my mouth is clean, I turn back to him and have to hold his shirt to keep from falling. How long can a person go without food?

He picks me up like I’m a child, one arm under my ass, the other behind my back. I close my eyes, trying not to cry again.

He brings me back to his bedroom and puts me on the bed, carefully sweeping the hair out of my face.

“I have to take care of some business. I’m going to bring some water for you, but when I leave, I want you to lock the bedroom door and not open it. My uncle knows you’re in here with me. And he’ll know when you’re alone. This place isn’t secure, not like upstairs.”

Terror curls through me, and I murmur my agreement. I’d rather take my chances here than have to go back into that attic. When he leaves, I throw the bolt on his bedroom door, and climb back into bed. I want to stay awake, to keep thinking through possible solutions, but I’m just too tired, and sleep finds me first.

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