Page 130 of House of Cards

Despite Smith’s words echoing in my ears, my voice doesn’t stammer when I order a pizza. And my hands don’t shake when I lift a lamp with a sturdy base from Smith’s night stand.

I try not to chew off all my cuticles as I wait for the order to arrive. My eyes keeping darting to the clock, watching everysecond count down. I nearly jump out of my skin when someone knocks on the door and drones, “Room service.”

I hurry over to the door, hefting the lamp like I knock people over the head with blunt objects all the time.

“Come in!”

Goosebumps break out on my skin when the door opens. I flatten myself against the wall, trying to become invisible as a food cart appears.

Thank God she turns slightly away from me to scan the room, because I wouldn’t have been able to charge her if she’d been staring at me.

I expected more of a ruckus. But as soon as the lamp crashes into her head, she crumples to the ground and doesn’t move.

“Fuck,” I mutter, dropping to my knees beside her.

Did I kill her?

I roll her onto her back, and press my fingers to her neck like I know where the fuck her veins or arteries even are. I can feel something thrumming in my fingertips, but I’m pretty sure that’s my racing heart, not hers.

Precious seconds are slipping away, but I guess everything happens for a reason, because while I’m on the carpet, frantic at the thought I might have just murdered someone in cold blood, I take the time to examine my alleged victim.

She’s wearing pleated black slacks in red trim, and a black button-up shirt with red buttons and piping. Black trainers. Her keycard is attached to the end of an elastic lanyard clasped to her belt. A shiny name badge on her breast pocket.

Cute uniform, Kate.

My head snaps up, and I stare at nothing for a second before grabbing Kate’s arms and dragging her clear of the door.

I don’t close it all the way, worried that her keycard will suddenly stop working and leave me trapped in Smith’s hotel room with a possibly dead body.

Dragging my hands through my hair, I try to gather myself.

“Sorry, Kate,” I murmur as I bend down beside the woman again. “But we all know what happens when you back a rat into a corner.”

Smith

Walking into the kitchen feels like an assault on the senses after the quiet, dead air of the staff corridor. People yelling, pots and pans clanging, and the hot, stuffy, food-scented air wage war against my mind. The fervor here is almost identical to the one I feel whenever I walk into The Den, but for entirely different reasons.

Kitchen staff step aside as soon as they see me, but I’m still forced to weave my way around stationary carts and trolleys.

I push past the last cart, looking for Troy’s bulky, black-clad figure among the bustling kitchen staff in their red and black uniforms. My eyes find him near the back exit, close to the employee break area.

“The fuck is going on?” I have to yell for my voice to cut through the kitchen noise.

He turns, face grim. “Cameras picked up someone throwing bottles against the wall in the alley. They stopped a few minutes ago when it started raining, but they weren’t seen leaving the area.”

I frown, flicking my wrist to check my watch. “Where’s security?”

“En route.”

“Anyone seen coming in or out of that door?” I point to the kitchen’s exit.

“A room service attendant on her smoke break, but the rain chased her back inside a minute ago.”

“She seem disgruntled at all?”

Troy gives me one of his deadpan looks.

He’s right. We treat our employees well, so the likelihood of one of them out there smashing bottles is a little farfetched. The alleyway isn’t closed off or restricted, but no one in their right mind would dare loiter this close to the casino. Especially with ill intent.