Page 65 of House of Cards

“Thought you said he was going to fetch us some shakes,” I snap at Anita.

“Someone will bring them,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, Eddie never leaves,” Zoey says, sliding a bony hand around my arm and trying to pull me away from the door. “Come on, Z. Let’s grab some pop from the fridge or something.”

“Don’t wantpop,” I mutter, staring down Eddie like we’re a couple of boxers in a ring. “I want toleave.”

Eddie shakes his head, brown eyes narrowing as he tucks his thumbs into his belt loops. There’s a gun clipped to a holster on one side, something that might be a walkie talkie balancing it out on the other side.

“’Fraid that’s not happening.”

He and Troy probably go to the gym together. Lift weights, inject themselves with steroids, that kind of thing. No wonder he’s Anita’s go-to for protein shakes. Probably buys them in bulk.

“This is illegal,” I whisper. “When I get out?—”

“Ifyou get out,” Anita cuts in, for once not sounding as cheery.

My mouth works, but those quiet words just knocked the fucking wind out of me. Eddie’s jaw tics, an almost sympathetic look flashing in his eyes. If someone who looks like he eats a dozen raw eggs a day could even be capable of sympathy.

“Go back inside with Anita and watch a movie.” And, as if he’son my side, adds, “I won’t tell Smith you tried to leave.”

I slink back when Anita tugs on my arm, and I let her lead me into the kitchen. The door closes quietly behind us, and there’s the unmistakable beep of the lock.

“So we have cherry, cola…” Anita’s voice fades, replaced by an urgent buzzing in my ears as my gaze flicks around my prison. The kitchen is as sterile as the rest of the place. High end appliances and furnishings, all in gray or brushed steel.

And, Jesus, someone thought creating a fake window with cute little lace curtains was an appropriate design choice, and not at all a slap in the face for the women locked up in here.

Anita grabs my wrist, manipulating my hand around an icy can of soda. “Drink it. It’ll make you feel better.”

I want to yell at her. To shake her by her bony shoulders until her eyes roll around in their roomy sockets.

But this isn’t her fault.

So I pop open the can and drink, shivering as the cold, sweet liquid foams its way down my throat. And Anita’s right—it makes me feel better. When the sugar hits my brain, the rusted cogwheels finally start turning.

“Why’d you say I was in a coma?”

Anita stares at me owlishly over the top of her can. “You took forever to wake up. And Smith kept coming to check in on you, like he was worried or something.”

I snort. “If he was so fucking worried, he’d have let me go.”

She shrugs. “I think it’s romantic.”

“Romantic,” I croak woodenly.

Anita’s cheeks turn pink. “Yeah. Like, you know, Sleeping Beauty or something.”

I snort again. “He’s not a prince, Anita. If anything, he’s the motherfucking villain.”

Another shrug. “I was always a Lex Luthor girl, myself.”

“Whatever. So how long was I pulling my Disney princess impression?” Must have been at least overnight, judging from how shitty I feel. I reach a hand under my robe, gingerly stroking a welt on my ass. It’s definitely had time to heal.

“A couple of days.”

I inhale soda, and nearly cough up a lung. “Days?”

Anita slurps noisily at her soda, patting me absently on the back. “You sure you don’t wanna watch a movie? It’s the only thing that makes the time go by. That, and sleeping.”

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