Page 8 of Wild Card

I raise an eyebrow and smirk at her.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “They’re big, but very dexterous.”

A flush creeps up her delicate throat that goes right to my cock. I’ve got to be careful here.

“Passcode’s her birthday,” Lorenzo says. “Zero Five Zero One.”

“May day,” I say, tapping in the code. “Appropriate. What’s your favorite app, Beauty?”

I shouldn’t be so familiar with her, using endearments, but she is easily one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Besides, I’m Italian and we’re well known for our passion and love of beauty.

She presses her lips together but tells me which one to use. I point the camera at her, ready to start the filming.

“Your angle is all wrong. Higher. And the light here is terrible.”

“It’s not a fucking Hollywood stage, princess.” Lorenzo’s had it with her.

But I’ve fucking had it with him, so I angle the phone to her instructions.

“Ask for the money, give them the burner number,” he yells.

The realization of how deeply complicit I am in this now triggers a shiver of disgust, but I start the recording anyway.

“Hi kittens,” she says. Her voice wavers, but she pulls herself up as straight as possible. “I’m sure you saw what happened last night. I’m uh…well. As you can see,” she runs a delicate finger over the laceration on her cheek. “I haven’t been hurt. At all.”

She cuts her eyes to Lorenzo whose face is turning red. “My hosts have been extremely generous. In fact, I kicked out their brake light and...”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. Lorenzo storms over and slaps her brutally. She lets out a small shriek and curls into a ball.

Fuck. He’s always had a temper, but this is unusual, even for him. The desperation of the situation is making him stupid.

“Don’t be cute,” he growls. “Do what I said or else.” He moves out of the camera range without showing his face.

Rage builds at the base of my spine. Why can’t he fucking get a hold of himself? He brought this on himself and now on the rest of us for being sloppy. It’s hard not to just drop the phone and deal with my uncle for hitting her right now, but I don’t want to create a situation where she has to record this twice. She’s obviously a strong, proud woman, and having to humiliate herself in front of God knows how many people for my uncle’s greed is probably worse than physical pain.

She raises a trembling hand to her face, but then stops and presses it to the mattress. Her control is impressive. She’s stronger than my uncle by far.

“Dad. They want four million dollars. They want you to text them when you have it.” She gives the burner number, and holds her chin up, but tears start rolling down her cheeks, leaving streaks of salt tinged with black from her makeup. It’s agonizing to watch.

I know I’m doing this to save Nonna and hopefully to keep Catriona safe, but my stomach clenches with revulsion at myself for participating in brutalizing this woman, even indirectly. It’s despicable. I’ve always wanted to be a good person, to protect the people I care about, to make a life my parents would be proud of. How could they be proud of me right now as I film the worst moment of this woman’s life? I clench my fingers tighter on the phone. I can’t let my self-loathing break my control and push me into doing what my heart wants: decking my uncle and taking Catriona home, Carney or no. It would be the right thing to do, but also the wrong thing.

Freddie would find her. He’d come for all of us. I need to be strategic, even if I’m never able to look at myself in the mirror again.

“Dad, I know you don’t…” She continues, her voice close to a sob. She closes her eyes and opens them again, trying to center herself “I’m sorry.”

I turn off the recording and Lorenzo takes the phone from me, mumbling something about uploading via VPN before popping her phone’s battery out.

But I don’t care about any of his machinations. I can’t get over how fucking awful that was.

I never would have believed I could feel so much sympathy for James Carney’s kid, but the raw pain in those green eyes strikes an uncomfortable chord in me. And like I said, even if she is his kid, she’s still a woman, and women deserve to be protected and cared for.

I doubt that’s something a man like James Carney is capable of. Lorenzo hands me her phone in pieces, and what must be the burner phone.

“That’s right.” Catriona laughs bitterly. “Better let an adult hang onto those.”

Lorenzo storms toward her, and I step in front of him, easily barring his path.

“Enough.” I growl. “Don’t you fucking touch her again. Ever. She’s our guest, and I won’t have you hurting her more than you already have.”

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