Page 116 of House of Cards

Smith’s presence precedes him. There’s a wave of turned heads as he walks through the tables, and the dealers’ smiles turn on like Christmas lights.

He comes to a halt a few feet away from one of the blackjack tables, and I hesitate before coming to stand beside him. This VIP table is nestled deep inside the mezzanine level, a screen of plants in big, elegant pots providing some semblance of privacy.

His dark eyes flicker over the table as he watches the players placing their bets.

This is one of those somber games, the players keenly focused, faces impassive.

Such a different energy compared to the tables with smaller bets. People betting thousands of dollars on a hand don’t seem fazed by their lossesortheir wins. All you can hear from the cheaper tables are eageryessesand angrynos.Guess winning or losing wouldn’t make much of a difference to their bank balance.

It’s all about the game for them.

The dealer gets blackjack, and three of the players at the five-seater table get up and step away. Only one of them looks remotely upset that they’ve lost their hand, but that’s probably a headache from keeping track of all his offshore accounts.

Judging from the small pile of chips left in front of the two remaining men, the house has been on a winning streak.

Smith grips me just above my elbow and steers me to the table. “Sit.”

Well, this is new.

My ass lands on the chair before I have time to question why. There’s an empty seat between us and the other two players, Smith taking the seat closest to them, with me at his side.

He’s wearing a black button-down shirt tonight instead of his usual white. It makes him look even more severe, like he’s just come back from a funeral. The only spot of color is his tie, but even that’s dark red.

The color of dried blood.

He takes a black chip out of his pocket and sets it down on the green felt. The casino’s logo is engraved on the surface, and nothing else.

God, it feels like centuries have passed since I made the fatal mistake of walking into the Devil’s Luck to try my non-existentluck. My heart jolts in my chest when the dealer transfers those chips into ten piles of the highest domination chips in the casino.

That’s what…two hundred grand?

She slides over the chips, and Smith splits them evenly between us.

I think I’m having a heart attack.

“You’re going to play without counting,” he says.

I’d laugh if I wasn’t still in shock. As if I could muster enough concentration to count cards right now.

“Bet,” Smith says, tapping the empty spot on the felt where my wager should be. There’s already a stack of chips in his wager box.

More than I’ve ever bet on a single hand in my life.

I force a swallow, try to ignore my racing pulse, and slide over one chip.

He lets out a bemused huff as the dealer draws the first cards. “You’re not even playing with your own money.”

“You’re stupid for betting so much out of the gate.” I flinch when he glides his hand over my thigh and gives me a squeeze.

“It’s called gambling for a reason.”

I stare at the nine of hearts and ten of spades I’m dealt, before running my gaze over the other players’ cards. “Gambling is stupid.”

“Testing my patience isn’t smart either.”

“Control freak,” I mutter, but under my breath so he can’t hear me.

The dealer has a ten of diamonds.

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