Page 53 of House of Cards

He’s one of only two employees taller than me, and the only person I know of who benches more than Troy at the gym.

My knuckles creak as I clench my hand into a fist.

I clear my throat.

Tweak my glasses.

Rub my bandage through my shirt. I’d forgotten about it until it just started aching again.

“Been good?” I ask.

Eddie’s frown deepens. “Sure, boss.”

When he focuses on me instead of Zoey, something traitorous inside me finally relaxes.

I turn to leave, herding Zoey along by her elbow.

“Boss?”

My jaw clenches as I spin back around.

Eddie’s smile has disappeared. He nods toward Zoey. Guess my master escape plan has a few flaws in it. Like how Eddie’s not stupid enough to let me just walk away with The Den’s property without an explanation.

An explanation I can neither produce, nor invent. Not now. Not after what just happened in that play room.

I stare at him, then cut my eyes to the door. “I’ll do it.”

He obeys, head ducking down as he carefully takes his keycard out of his pocket and swipes it methodically against the panel. The door swings open and, out of sheer habit, he reaches for Zoey again.

Again, I pull her away from his hand.

There’s a naked woman lying on her stomach on a day bed, facing a flat screen television playing an animated Disney movie, volume down, subtitles on. She’s eating popcorn, lying on her stomach because her shoulders, ass, and thighs are laced with bright red splotches greasy with ointment.

She glances over at us with a panicked look.

“It’s a drop off, not a collection,” Eddie says from the doorway.

She puffs out a relieved breath and goes back to her movie, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth, half of which lands on the day bed.

“Room three,” Eddie says.

He’s keeping his distance, which should please me, but it’s only making me more agitated. I hardly ever set foot in here. Eddie usually has the girls waiting outside in the hallway when me or Richmond to collect them.

Zoey doesn’t bother lifting her head to take in her new surroundings. Not in the small living area, nor when I guide her into her tiny room.

My eyes immediately go to the surveillance camera in the top corner. I turn my back, but it doesn’t help. I still feel invisible eyes on me, and I know it’s not just my imagination.

There’s a control room with a handful of men trained to keep watch over every inch of the Devil’s Den. It’s how we’ve managed to keep this operation under the radar for so long.

And to think, before I came onboard, they made do with armed guards and walkie-talkies.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” I tell Zoey, releasing her reluctantly.

I rub my palm over the back of my neck as I wait for her reaction.

Which never arrives.

“There’s, uh—“ My voice sticks until I clear my throat. Why the fuck is it so hard to speak? “There’s ointment, in the drawer. Put it on soon as you can. It’ll help with the inflammation.”

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