Page 125 of House of Cards

My mind is screaming at me to tell him I’m not a rat, that I’m a fucking nobody. Wrong place, wrong time, that’s all this is. But I can’t find my voice. Can barely scrape together my thoughts.

“Come alone, and don’t be late, Zoey. I hate the smell of burning rat.”

Elonzo hangs up before I can reply.

I sit frozen on the floor, the receiver still clutched in my hand, my brother’s whimpers echoing in my ears.

Midnight. The diner. With money I don’t have, for a psychopath who’s going to kill my brother if I don’t show up.

And here I am, locked in a hotel room, waiting for a different monster to return.

…I’m going to fuck every hole you have until you’re raw and bleeding...

My stomach heaves, and I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m retching into the toilet. I stagger out on weak legs, slumping against the nearest wall.

There’s a clock opposite me.

8:37 PM.

Less than four hours until Ricky dies.

Possibly less until Smith returns to make good on his promises. Histhreat.

…pray I get bored quickly…

I lean my head back against the silky wallpaper, a hysterical laugh bubbling up my throat. Of the two men threatening to destroy me tonight, I don’t know which of them scares me more.

But I do know one thing.

Still shaking, but jaw clenched, I shove myself to my feet.

I’m sure as fuck not hanging around to find out.

Smith

The sound of black, glossy nails scraping over the table’s felt shouldn’t be so loud. Shouldn’t be so fuckingannoying. But in an effort to hone in on our poker game, I’m instead obsessing over my opponent’s tics.

This deep into the mezzanine level, the constant background noise of the casino is muted. We’re seated close to where Zoey and I played blackjack just a short while ago. Where I got her off and then got slapped for my efforts.

It’s been roughly thirty seconds since I last thought about her.

“Smith?”

Nathalie smiles when I look up at her, lipstick so sharp she could have drawn it on with a red sharpie. She owns a cosmetic company, so I guess it’s second nature for her makeup to be flawless, but that’s annoying me too, tonight. It feels as staged as my performance at this game.

“Smith!” Her voice is sharper this time, a waft of her musky, floral perfume hitting my nose when she leans in. “You’re so distracted tonight. I’m taking it personally.”

“Don’t.”

I made the mistake of indulging Nathalie with a few hands of poker some months ago, the first time she graced our casino. I was still a wreck after the whole thing with Michelle, and Nathalie was an easy distraction. Now, whenever Nathalie comes to town, she always asks for me. Somehow, Myles locked on to the fact, and always makes sure I’m available.

Keeping whales happy isn’t in my job description, but to deny her would mean less legitimate money flowing into the casino…and she can spend upwards of a hundred grand with us when the odds aren’t in her favor.

Even if she arrived penniless tonight, I should be eager for the distraction.

Yet here I am, seconds away from telling her to fuck off.

I glance down at my cards.

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