Page 69 of Wild Card

Freddie’s mouth drops open, his hand falling limp to the side as I push up, not wanting any of his filthy blood on me.

He’s dead by his own hand, his face forever frozen in shock. There’s some poetic justice there, but I can’t dwell on it. I need to get the hell out of here.

I grab Bridget’s shirt from the mattress, not wanting to leave any evidence that she was here. I promised Catriona I’d look out for Bridget too, and I don’t want the cops having any need to interrogate her.

I spare my uncle a quick glance as I run out of the basement. An eye for an eye. Maybe I’m sorry his life ended so brutally. I can’t say right now, but the evil he perpetrated was bound to catch up with him. Maybe he’s lucky that his death was quick.

I just hope we got Catriona out in time.

If she lives, she’ll be safe now that Freddie’s dead, and some other family will fill the vacuum he’s left in the mob world, just like he did.

Maybe former associates of my grandfather.

A hollow ache replaces the adrenaline draining from my blood as I drive to the nearest hospital. Will I find Catriona there? I have to see her again—I need to see this all the way through. Rushing into the emergency room, my heart pounds until I see Callan talking calmly to a police officer.

“Lorenzo DeLuca abducted her to a house on Federal Hill,” he says. “My brother and I went to negotiate her release, but sadly when we got there, Mr. DeLuca and the crime boss he apparently owed money to had already killed each other in a shoot-out. We didn’t want to wait for an ambulance with Catriona being in such bad shape.”

“I’m glad you have her back, Mr. Carney,” the police officer says. “Your father will be so relieved.”

“Of course,” Callan replies. He exchanges a glance with Patrick, who drapes his arm around Bridget. The poor girl looks terrified, eyes wet with tears, lips quivering, as she holds fast to her brother.

The police officer leaves, I assume to head to Freddie’s house, walking past me without a second glance. I feel bad for Freddie’s young children. They’re in for a difficult transition if my experience is any kind of baseline.

I’m out of place here with Catriona’s family, but I need to know if she’s okay.

Callan sees me before I’ve taken two steps and intercepts me.

“I’m glad you made it out. I assume you took care of things?”

“Yeah.” In a way, I suppose. “Is Catriona alright?” My voice nearly breaks. I wasn’t scared at all facing down Freddie, but the thought of Catriona dying because of what my uncle did? And because I couldn’t save her? That’s terrifying.

“She’s in surgery. We don’t know yet.” He pauses and folds his arms over his chest. “Thank you for your help in getting her out of there.”

“My life in exchange for Catriona’s? And Bridget’s? Easiest decision I’ve ever made. It was the least I could do.” I run my hand over my chin, exhaustion finally beginning to pull at me. “Callan, how can he not love her? Why didn’t he want to help her?” It rips out of me before I can stop it.

He knows who I’m talking about.

“My father sees people as tools. He didn’t know how to use Catriona.”

There’s not much to say to that.

“I think this is Bridget’s,” I say, handing the balled-up shirt I’d grabbed to Callan. It’d feel perverse, somehow, handing the bloody garment to Bridget. “I think she used it to stop Catriona’s bleeding.” My voice catches again. “Do you mind if I wait with you? Just to make sure she’s okay?”

Callan takes the shirt from me in what feels like slow motion. He unballs it and folds it into a small, neat square, sticking it into his coat pocket.

“Thank you,” Callan says. “I’d rather Bridget not be connected to this incident in any way. We told the police she’d been visiting a friend nearby and met us here. Can I count on your discretion?”

I nod. “Of course. She’s been through enough.”

And it’s like I’ve passed a test. He gestures for me to follow him, and I do.

Patrick’s draped his jacket around his sister, who now dozes quietly next to him. I hope he’s enough to keep any nightmares at bay, but she’s been traumatized too, thanks to Lorenzo and Freddie. It’s shameful. Patrick nods at me as I sit.

“Is he dead?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Motherfucker didn’t deserve a quick death,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “He’s lucky. If Catriona doesn’t make it through this…Fuck…We always treated her like she’s nothing more than a nuisance.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “From the very beginning, when we were kids, until now. All she ever wanted was to feel like a part of this Goddamn shit-ass family, and she may never know how much she matters to us. How fucking hard we fought to get her back. Seeing her beat up, broken, and half dead on those videos…” He takes a deep breath, seemingly unable to finish his thought.

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