Page 159 of House of Cards

“He’ll…” Fuck, saying it out loud is harder than I thought it would be. Probably because I never thought I’dhaveto say it out loud. “He’ll kill Ricky. After torturing him, I’m guessing.”

“Christ, Zoey.” Smith speeds up, shaking his head. “I’m not your fucking enemy.”

“Sure about that?” I say under my breath.

“Is he expecting you to show up with the money?”

I pause, but at Smith’s bombastic side-eye, blurt out, “Yes. Andalone.” I point at the curb, my fingers already on the door’s handle. “So if you’d be so kind as to?—“

He ignores that, of course. No way Smith Control-Freak Hutchinson is letting me go to a ransom drop alone.

“How much?” he asks, like he has every right to be nosing around in my private life.

“Two hundred.” I clear my throat. “Thousand.”

He shakes his head, eyes narrowed. “None of this adds up.”

“Says the sadistic accountant,” I mutter under my breath.

“Two hundred grand is a lot of money, but it’s not kidnapping money. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing!”

“Then there’s more to this story than you know.”

I open my mouth, but what the hell am I supposed to say? That I got avibethat Elonzo was more to Ricky than a loan shark?

But I guess Smith realizes I’m in the dark as much as he is, because he goes on without waiting for me to speak.

“You didn’t think showing up empty-handed was going to be a problem?”

“Showing up with you’s gonna be a bigger problem,” I mutter.

“Zoey,” Smith practically growls.

I huff out a breath, heat touching my cheeks as I lift my ass off the car seat just enough to get at the chips in my pocket. I keep them in my fist for a second before holding them out over the console on the palm of my hand.

Smith glances over, looks away. He chuckles. Then he laughs.

The sound cuts off a second later.

“JesusfuckingChrist, Zoey,” he mutters. “How’d you survive in the wild for so long?”

I bite the inside of my lip so I don’t say something catty in reply. Because he’s not wrong. I’m not a trusting person. I’d rather do everything myself than ask for help…not because I’m super independent, but because I’ve been burned so many times in the past.

We reach the diner with three minutes to spare. My hand’s already on the car door, waiting for Smith to slow enough so that I can push it open and jump out.

Smith rolls up to the curb, ducking his head to take in the full structure ahead—from the gutted remains of the diner to the scorched walls of the apartments above. From our vantage point, it almost looks like the corner apartment is floating in the air.

Icy prickles shoot through my fingertips, spreading a chilling numbness through my body.

What’s left of the diner looks like a carcass. The white spray painted message on the one wall glows in the light of a nearby street lamp.

Move, Zoey!

Elonzo’s probably inside already, waiting. If his watch is a little faster than yours, then it’s already too late.

“I’m coming with you.”