Page 158 of House of Cards

My eyes flick to the console.

11:46 PM

We’re at least ten minutes from the diner. I don’t trust Smith as far as I can fucking throw him, but since Elonzo already thinks I ran to ‘the mob’, would it really make a difference if I told Smith?

Like it would even matter. What’s Smith going to do? I have the money. Well, I have enough chipsto exchange for the money. That’s all Elonzo wants. Smith would only complicate things.

But wouldn’t it be so fucking great if Ihadsomeone on my side? At least one person in this world who knew the fucked up shit I’d gotten involved in?

Someone who, if this went badly, would still be around afterward to write my obituary for the newspaper?

“I want to be cremated, not buried,” I blurt out.

“Noted,” he says. “Flowers?”

“Peonies. I like peonies.”

“Peonies. Noted. Now, are you going to tell me why we’re discussing funeral arrangements, or should we move on to the guest list?”

We could have been talking about a trending meme.

I take a deep breath, let it out in an explosive sigh. “My brother got into debt with a shady character. I guess he couldn’t pay, so he left town. He ghosted me, too.”

Smith, surprisingly, is silent. I glance over at him, locking eyes.

“Somehow, Ricky’s debt became my problem. The loan shark threatened to burn down the diner if I didn’t bring him his money…and then went ahead with the threat.”

This time, when the light turns green, Smith pulls off. “Why didn’t you tell me? I asked?—“

I cut in with a snort. “Like you’d have helped me.”

Smith’s silence is incriminating. He knows I’m right. I could have told him I was being hunted by Ted Bundy the night we met, and he wouldn’t have given a shit.

Ever since we pulled away from the traffic light, Smith’s been driving slower and slower. Like he’s buying time. Any other time, any other guy, I might have been flattered.

The clock on the dash flips over to 11:53.

“Can’t you go any faster?” I mutter. “I can literally feel myself aging.”

Smith’s hands tighten again. “You’re meeting them tonight, aren’t you?”

I take another long inhale. A slower, more relaxed sigh this time. “You’re like a dog with a fucking Kong toy.”

Smith slows his SUV to a crawl.

I glance out the window. “I could drop and roll and probably survive.” My hands are knotted in my lap, my jaw clenching.

Smith slams on the brakes so hard my head whips forward and my seat belt locks tight across my chest. Not that I needed the seat belt, because Smith throws out an arm to keep me pressed back in my seat.

Protectiveandpsychotic. The green flag cancels out the red, I guess.

I rub the back of my neck. “Ow.”

“Talk, kitten,” comes his growl.

My eyes stay fixed ahead. “Yes, I’m meeting him tonight, okay? The diner. Midnight. Which I’m not going to make if you keep stopping the car.”

“And what happens if you don’t get there in time?”

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