Page 176 of House of Cards

Smith’s chest rises as he takes a slow breath. He tips his head back to drain the last of his drink, grimacing. Spends a few seconds touching his cheek where I scratched him.

My mind reaches its own awful conclusion.

“Say it,” I rasp, my entire body trembling. “Just fucking say it.”

When he looks over at me, I wish he hadn’t. His eyes are pools of night, the only light a tiny flicker of firelight. He’s never looked harder, fiercer, more dangerous than right now.

Something inside me whimpers in panic, making me draw my legs up and crush them against my chest.

“I shot her, Zoey.” He touches his index and ring finger to the middle of his forehead in a slow, reverential gesture that makes me swallow down suddenly bitter saliva.

“Right fucking here.”

Smith

Zoey stares into the fire like she’s watching her world burn all over again. I know exactly what it feels like.

I’ve been burning for five fucking years.

I can see her mind working as she processes the fact that I put a bullet in my lover’s brain. The way she grips her legs to her chest, bundling in on herself, tells me she’s finally grasping the full scope of this monster she’s trapped with.

What it’s capable of.

The smart thing would be to run. Lock herself in her room and pray I don’t follow. But Zoey’s brand of self preservation aligns closer with that of a honey badger than a deer.

“So you killed her because she betrayed you,” Zoey says, turning to look at me with blank, shell-shocked eyes, like she’s trying to make sense of an airplane crash that killed everyone on board.

“I ended it.” The memory of that night flashes through my mind—Michelle, bound and tied to a chair in the middle of that cold, dusty warehouse. Tears streaming down her face as she begged for forgiveness that would never come.

“Youmurderedher.”

“One bullet. Clean, quick, merciful.” My voice grows thick. “More than she fucking deserved.”

“Merciful?” Zoey scoffs.

“What should I have done different, Zoey? Refused, and let Elonzo gun down her and everyone else?”

“Yes,” she hisses. “He’d have done it anyway, right?”

Christ, and if that doesn’t feel like a fucking backhand right across my soul.

“You’re right.” I look down at my glass, surprised to see it empty. “I should just have let it play out. She’d have gotten what she deserved, and so would I.” When I look up, there’s a sadness in Zoey’s eyes, but I doubt it has anything to do with my sob story. “So would Ricky.”

She flinches at his name, looking down at her knees. Then she frowns, chin slowly rising so she can glare at me.

“Ex-cuse me?” she says.

“You’re trying to build a puzzle, but you don’t have all the pieces,” I tell her, pouring myself another a measure of Macallan. I pause, tapping the bottom of the decanter against a second, empty glass. “Drink?”

“No.”

“Hard truths go down a lot easier with a stiff drink, but suit yourself.” I sigh as I sit back down, and she scowls at me like she’s imagining how good it will feel to stab me to death.

I’m at the point where I’d hand her the fucking knife myself, but only if she promised to see it through to the end.

“Elonzo Hernández.” I turn in my seat, watching her face for a reaction. Purely for my own curiosity, because it’s not like it fucking matters at this point.

“He’s an enforcer for the Bogota cartel. Runs several money laundering operations in the area. Same as us.”

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