Page 89 of House of Cards

His words shoot through me like a fucking poisoned arrow. But there’s no way he can know. Even if he had heard what Elonzo’s thug had said to me in the maze, Smith wouldn’t be able to connect the dots.

And why the fuck aren’t I helping him to do just that? If anyone can protect me against Elonzo’s wrath, it’s Smith…right?

Except…he’s the one that let those two monsters into the maze with me. And he definitely strikes me as the kind of guy who’d do background checks on everyone, just for shits and giggles.

…which means he probably knows all about me and Ricky by now. About the diner.

Does he know about Elonzo, too?

Did he let those men hunt me, fully knowing how we were connected?

“Enough about me,” I say airily, toying with a heap of bubbles. “Tell me about this debt of yours. What are we talking here…student loans? Medical bills? The government official you’re bribing to keep all of this quiet?”

My quip doth not amuse.

“Who do you owe, Zoey?”

He’s asked me this before. Not sure why he’s expecting a different answer to the one I gave him. Does he think I trust himmorenow that he’s found new and ingenious ways of humiliating me?

“Can’t a woman have a lucky streak at a casino these days without being subjected to twenty questions and years of sexual slavery?”

He reaches over to turn on the faucet. Hot water pours into the tub, and I shift to the side to avoid it, bumping into his hand. Smith is so focused on adjusting the temperature that he barely seems to notice as he grabs my thigh.

Fuck, but he’s strong.

He turns off the faucet, his eyes flickering to me.

“So this has nothing to do with your diner burning to the ground?”

I open my mouth, but I’m speechless.

Hedoesknow. And why the hell is it a surprise. That newspaper on the breakfast tray had been for him. I might have intercepted it, but it’s not like it was the only copy on earth.

But he’d said nothing.

Nothing.

Until now. UntilafterElonzo’s men had almost killed me.

“Must have been pretty desperate. Did you really think your insurance company would pay out for such an obvious case of arson?”

I let out a croak that might have been a protest, but feels more like a death rattle. “I didn’t—I would never?—”

“Insurance fraud. Cheating. Debt. Do you have a gambling problem, Zoey?”

I snort-laugh out a quick, “Not me.”

“Then who?”

My jaw clenches as I sink a little lower in the tub, until my chin is dipping into the bubbles. There’s a tiny tremor in my stomach, a sickening hope.

“You’ll let me go if I tell you?”

“No.”

“Will you help me if I tell you?”

“Probably not.”

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