Page 167 of House of Cards

Smith is frowning at me like I’ve grown a second head, but I just keep blathering on.

“So, fine, if this is too much effort, just let me out. I told you I wouldn’t tell a soul about any of this. No cops, etcetera. But if you kill me, Ricky will die too, and I can’t?—“

There’s a rap on Smith’s window. We both flinch like it’s a fucking gunshot.

Smith presses the button to roll down his window, slowly revealing Troy’s bulky midsection behind the heavily tinted glass. He bends down, giving me a dead-eyed glance I feel right in my soul.

“Business or pleasure?” he grumbles to Smith.

“I’ll explain later.” Smith pushes a button on his door’s side panel, and I hear the locks disengage. “Get in.”

Troy slides into the back of the car with a duffel bag, taking the seat behind Smith. I suppose it’s tactical, because now hehas a clear view of me. Without looking, Smith holds his hand behind him, palm raised.

“The fuck happened to your hand?” Troy asks.

“You know what happened.”

“Not that one, this one.”

“She did.” Smith flicks his fingers, signaling the end of Troy’s interrogation.

Troy glances at me with a frown as digs around in the duffel bag, that frown deepening as he hands Smith a brown Tom Ford eyeglass case.

I watch, morbidly fascinated, as Smith takes off his glasses and swaps them for the contact lenses inside the case. In moments, the lenses are in his eyes, and he’s slipping his eyeglasses into the glove box.

Guess hostage negotiations need twenty-twenty vision and not glasses that can get smashed by stray bullets.

Smith puts the Bentley into drive and pulls off fast enough to push me back in my seat, the SUV’s tires squealing over the smooth concrete floor as he races for the exit.

At a metallic click from the back seat, I glance over my shoulder…and instantly wish I hadn’t. An icy chill pours over me as I watch Troy check his handgun with a few quick, practiced motions.

He looks up, locking eyes with me. “Knew she was trouble.”

“You and everyone else in this goddamn place,” Smith replies whip-crack quick.

“I’m sittingrighthere,” I mutter.

Troy ignores me. “Time to fill me in, Smith.”

Smith glances at me, then into the rearview mirror, somehow while guiding the SUV effortlessly at high speed down the road. The note mentioned some warehouse district I’ve never heard of, but I don’t know how to get there. Smith seems to know where he’s going, so I guess that’s all that matters.

“Zoey’s brother skipped town, left her with his debt. But they caught up to him, now they’re demanding ransom.”

“Stellar guy, leaving you to deal with his shit,” Troy says.

“It’s not like th—“ I cut off with a huff. “I was going to handle this myself, but Smith bullied me into letting him come with.”

“What were you going to pay him with?” Troy asks.

“Chips,” Smith replies. Now he really sounds smug, the fucking prick.

“It’s untraceable currency,” I say. “I’m sure he’d have been thrilled.”

Troy lets out a breathy, “Jesus,” from the backseat, turning to look out the window with a shake of his head.

“Exactly,” Smith says.

“Fuck both of you.” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to merge my shoulder blades together. I was nervous before, sure, but after seeing Troy’s gun, it feels like my organs are shivering.