Page 214 of House of Cards

A third shot goes off.

I feel nothing, because I guess I’m already too numb.

No, wait.

A hole appears in Elonzo’s neck. First there’s a spray of blood, then a spurting fountain.

He drops the gun. Claps both hands over the hole. Staggers around.

Smith is standing in the doorway, pointing a gun.

He’s not smiling.

Guess he doesn’t get the joke yet.

Maybe he never will.

His mouth moves, eyes flickering briefly to me before settling back on Elonzo. But if he’s trying to tell me something, he’s going to have to yell, because I think I’ve gone deaf.

Elonzo crumples to his knees. Smith’s weapon follows him. Not a big rifle, but something smaller. Almost looks like the one Troy was using earlier.

I laugh.

Or maybe I never stopped.

Smith gives me a double take and then drops his arm. He detours around Elonzo, stomping out the fire with his bare foot before dropping to his knees beside me. Elonzo falls onto his side and lies on the carpet, gurgling like a noisy drain.

But Smith doesn’t look back. Doesn’t even seem interested. No rage in those dark eyes. No bloodlust. Just deep concern and a small wince of pain.

“Zoey. Zoey, look at me.”

I thought I was?

I widen my eyes, make a point of focusing on Smith’s face.

It doesn’t seem to please him. Instead, he just looks more troubled. Is it because I’m still giggling?

“Christ,” he mutters.

The bedroom pitches and slants like a fucking boat as I push onto hands and knees. One arm doesn’t work properly anymore, keeps buckling, but I crawl away from Smith.

“Zoey.”

No, not now. I’m on a fucking mission.

I reach Elonzo’s body as Smith slips an arm around my waist. It stinks of burnt carpet, blood, and sweat here.

“Zoey!”

I grab the pearls still twisted around Elonzo’s fingers, barely latching on before I’m flying.

The ceiling spins, the floor twirls. My face presses against a warm, sticky chest, and I can’t help but let my eyes flutter closed.

Sweet baby Jesus, I feel so snug as Smith’s strong arms wrap around me.

I smush the pearls against my face, massaging my cheek, my chin, my lips. Slowly noticing a new sensation, more vibration than a sound.

Lub-dub.

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