Page 166 of House of Cards

Then again, I wasn’t exactly myself after I saw that finger.

Ricky’s finger.

Who am I to judge how a sex-trafficking psycho deals with trauma?

But it wasn’t like he was sickened, or shocked. Smith looked like he’d seen a ghost. And then he’d…changed.

I was terrified of the previous Smith. This one?

Nightmare fuel.

I sit prim and proper in the passenger seat, hands folded in my lap, gripping tight so he won’t see them tremble. On some instinctual level, I know I shouldn’t let him sense my fear.

But when I realize he’s heading back to the casino, my roiling stomach drops right through the car’s fucking chassis, and I have to say something, or die knowing I was a yellow-bellied coward.

“Um…”

His silence is deafening.

“Are we…?”

“Hush now.”

I suppress a shudder at the utter lack of emotion in his voice. It’s like he’s reading off a script, but there’s no way he’s getting the part.

He said we’re going to get there on time, but then why is he detouring to the casino? Does this have anything to do with the message he sent on his cellphone as we got into the car? I couldn’t make out what he was typing, and it was so quick it couldn’t have been more than a few words.

My imagination is going wild. I mean…he didn’t saywhyeverything was going to be fine. I just assumed it was because we were going to the drop, paying the cash, and getting Ricky back. Minus a finger, but hopefully otherwise intact.

Now? Now I can’t stop thinking about that text.

FRESH ORGANS EN-ROUTE. PREPARE THE ICE BATH.

Nope, too long. The message was shorter than that.

MEET ME AT MASS GRAVE #7.

Maybe…but it’s a little too short. What about…

BUYER LINED UP? FRESH PUSSY INCOMING.

Yup. That’s just right.

When we pass Smith’s casino and head into the basement parking of the Devil’s Den, I feel like I’m about to faint.

I knew it.

But instead of demanding I get out, or throwing a sack over my head, Smith switches off the car and just…sits there.

“Is this the part where I plead for my life?” My voice hitches a bit, but otherwise a solid delivery.

“What?” Smith turns stiffly to me, looking so confused that I feel a hysterical giggle coming on. I push it down with all my might.

“Just wondering if there’s anything I can do to change your mind?”

“About what?” The frown is fading, but he still doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

I hold up my hands, trying to look harmless. “Look, I didn’t want to get you involved in this. I was pretty clear about that.”

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