Page 170 of House of Cards

“You fucking liar!” She launches herself at me with the fury of a woman who has nothing left to lose. “I fuckingtrustedyou!”

I catch her wrists as she swings a punch, surprised when the impact jars me.

“Zoey, listen to me. It was a trap?—”

“I don’t care!” She wrenches a hand free, clawing for my face. She’s fighting like a wildcat, all fangs and claws and desperate rage. I dodge, fumbling with her wrist, but she pulls free again.

“Zoey! Calm down!”

Her reply is to snarl at me as she rakes her nails down my cheek. “He’s my brother! He’s all I have!”

A sharp sting.

A trickle of warm blood that slips into the corner of my mouth, its taste flooding my senses.

Metallic. Intoxicating.

My vision sharpens, pupils dilating as something primal awakens in my chest. The sting from her claws crackles like electricity, and I feel myself getting hard despite everything.

Christ.

Not now.

Not like this.

Even with her heart breaking in front of me, my body responds to Zoey’s violence like it’s foreplay. The pain, the blood, the struggle. She’s pushing every button I have.

“Zoey, please—” I try to grab her again, but she ducks under my reach like a seasoned football pro.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” She backs toward the villa entrance, tears streaming down her face. “You’re a monster! A fucking monster!”

She spins to run, and the predator inside me breaks free again.

I sprint after her.

She’s almost at the villa’s steps when I catch up to her. There’s no conscious thought that tells me tackling her is a good idea—I only realize I’ve done it when the impact sends the air from my lungs.

Zoey yelps in pain, then goes absolutely still.

I push up onto my hands, then my knees, grabbing her shoulders, flipping her over.

She’s dead.

…you killed her…

But her eyes pop open as soon as her back hits the gravel, her fist connecting with my jaw in a solid right hook that sends stars exploding across my vision.

The pain only feeds the hunger.

I grab her throat in one hand, a fistful of her hair in the other.

I’m losing control, and she knows it.

“You fucking monster,” she hisses up at me, eyes luminous in the spotlight, lashes studded with tears. “You get off knowing my brother’s being tortured somewhere, don’t you? Bet you wish it was you, cutting off his fingers.”

The light is getting brighter. Whiter. Washing out her features, until all I can see are those incriminating eyes, vivid green from her tears, from the fear, from the pain.

“I’m doing this for you,” I whisper. “I’m trying to save you.”

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