Page 111 of House of Cards

I glance at her. “Go wait with Troy.”

She nods uneasily, her eyes downcast as she hurries past Myles. He still ogles her as though she was naked, despite her silk gown, but that look of rapacious lust disappears the moment the door closes behind her.

“Mind telling me what the fuck just happened?”

“He was a goddamn tool, and you know it.”

“I’m not talking about the client,” Myles says dryly as he drops into the couch and grabs a bottle from the reed basket beside it. He grimaces when he realizes it’s lube and takes out a bottle of mineral water instead.

I tug my sleeve straight, doing up the button at my wrist. Avoiding eye contact as I try to figure out what to say. Meanwhile, Myles stares at me like he has all day for me to reach the conclusion he’s already arrived at.

But I can’t even scrape together two words to defend my actions.

I pride myself on the way I teach those clients of ours that wish to learn.

Before I met Myles, before he introduced me to BDSM, I spent my days breaking the law, my evenings playing Russian Roulette with my life.

Gambling.

Fighting.

Fucking.

Self-destructing, one bad decision at a time.

Word of my skills had gotten out. The way I could launder money so subtly, so seamlessly, that even the organizations I worked for didn’t have a fucking clue what magic I’d conjured.

And thank fuck, Myles thought that kind of expertise was valuable enough to the Balmont Boys that he’d be willing to negotiate my early release from prison.

The structure and control of The Den rebuilt me. It gave me permission to give in to the darkness I’d always fought, tooth and nail. But with boundaries and safe guards. With purpose.

Finding Angels, training them, training clients…it isn’t just what I do.

It’s who I am.

And it’s the only version of myself I can bear to live with.

The only version that doesn’t want to burn everything to the ground, starting with me.

Yet I’m willing to let this woman slip past my defenses and tear my perfect life to shreds.

I should quit lying to myself about what’s happening here.

This isn’t the first time, after all.

And Myles—goddamn Myles—reads my mind like I emailed him a fucking PDF of my thoughts.

“You know what this looks like, don’t you?” He leans his head to one side, wagging a finger at me. “This looks like Michelle all over again.”

“This is nothing like that.”

“Isn’t it? You’re getting possessive over merchandise, Smith. That’s exactly what happened last time. You, losing your shit over some girl and?—“

“Somegirl?”

Myles cocks an eyebrow at me as he takes a few swallows of water before capping the bottle again.

“I’m not being an asshole for shits and giggles. Michelledestroyedyou.” He laughs dryly. “Fuck it, she nearly destroyed everything!”