Page 23 of House of Cards

Needlessly adjusts his glasses.

Tosses me my dress.

I try to catch it, but my body is still numb, my fingers fumbling as I pull the fabric over my head and shimmy it down my torso. I don’t trust my legs enough to risk standing.

This fucking asshole. Deranged lunatic.

Howdarehe—he…make me come like that?

Soon as I catch my breath, I’m going to rip him a new one.

His phone rings and he doesn’t break eye contact as he takes it from his pocket and puts it to his ear. “Smith.”

At least I know his name now. Might be useful for when I file a police report. My mouth quirks up in a mirthless smile.

I can see it now.

Well, Officer, he caught me counting cards in his casino, and then he finger-fucked me so hard I saw stars. Did I enjoy it? Of course I didn’t…notenjoy it. What do you mean, I was asking for it with a dress that short?

Smith’s face doesn’t change as he listens to whatever the other person says and he ends the call without so much as a goodbye.

Guess he’s not good with people. Then again, he just forced me to come on command.

And I did. Like an obedient slut puppy.

I stand, slowly, trying to make as if I’m just stretching my legs. “Thanks for the orgasm, but I’m still a little foggy on the details. I mean, do your sex slaves get dental?”

He doesn’t even blink. “If you’re worried about us pulling out your teeth, that only happens if you try to run.Afterwe’ve dismembered you, of?—“

He cuts off when I spin away.

I know it’s useless, but that doesn’t stop me.

Instinct is louder than logic, louder than the pathetic scrape of my shoes on the floor as I slam into the locked door with a desperate grunt.

Smith’s hand is on my wrist before I can even bounce back. His other clamps my second wrist like a cuff as he twists them both behind me without so much as a grunt of effort.

I jerk and slam my elbow into his stomach, but pain rings up my arm as I crash straight into solid muscle.

It’s like trying to dent steel. He doesn’t even grunt.

One flex of his arms is all it takes to pin both my wrists into the small of my back before he slams me against the door.

A strip of something hard and flexible snakes over my wrists, and my stomach plummets violently when I hear the rasp of a zip tie being drawn taut.

Gloves. Zip ties. Suspenders, when he’s feeling kinky.

An icy chill runs through my body. God, who is this man?

“People have seen me with you,” I blurt out. “Eye witnesses!”

“Amnesia’s cheap.”

“You can’t do this!” Despite trying to kick him or wrestle my arms free, he holds me easily.

“It’s already done, Zoey. You belong to me now.”

Smith grabs my shoulder and spins me around, shoving me against the metal. The corner of his mouth curls up, but it’s not a smile. He crowds against me, so close that our bodies touch.

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