Page 174 of House of Cards

“What I’ve done?” His voice drops to a dangerous whisper.

I flick a hand to the sky. “Bringing me here. He said he’d kill Ricky if we didn’t go to that drop. You might as well have pulled the trigger yourself.”

“He was going to kill him, anyway.”

“You don’t know that!” I hear myself yelling, but I can’t stop.

“I do.” His jaw clenches so hard, his words come out strained. “I saved your fucking life, Zoey, so how about you show me a little gratitude?”

“Gratitude?” I step closer, close enough that our chests almost touch. “Fuck you!”

His eyes bore into mine, dark and unrelenting. “You want to know why I didn’t take you to the warehouse last night? Why I didn’t allow Elonzo to play his sick game with you?”

I want to hit him. Want to claw his face again, make him bleed. But something in his tone stops me. Something that sounds almost like... pain.

How did he know it was Elonzo holding Ricky?

The note.

Smith must recognize something about it. Which means he’s probably dealt with Elonzo before. Makes sense. Elonzo sounded as if he was intimately familiar with the Devil’s Den.

“Because you’re a coward,” I spit instead.

His lip quirks up, but it’s not a smile. “Because I’ve played his game before. And I know exactly how it ends when you tryto save someone you—“ He stops, jaw clenching. “Someone who matters.”

“Nothing matters to you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He reaches up, fingers ghosting along my cheek where tears I didn’t realize were falling have left tracks.

“Now sit down, Zoey.”

He’s using his Commander Hutchinson voice, the one that would make my brain go all fuzzy. Now it just makes my heart pound like I’m seconds away from bolting.

But I can’t run. Not from this.

Not from him.

I won’t.

“You don’t get to boss me around anymore, Smith.”

For a long moment, we just stare at each other. The firelight casts his face in stark relief. Half illuminated, half hidden in shadow.

Just like the man himself.

He turns and picks up his glass, stares at it, then takes a long swallow. When he finally speaks, his voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear it.

“She was an Angel, like you.”

I blink, thrown by the sudden change of subject. “What? Who?”

He’s staring into the fire again, like he can’t bear to meet my eyes. “Her name’s Michelle.”

I fold down into the nearest wingback chair.

Notbecause I’m obeying his command, but because whatever brief flare of energy I’d found is all burned up.

Smith seems mesmerized by the fire, eyes locked to the flames as he speaks. “She joined the Devil’s Den a few years back. Thought she had potential, so I took an interest in her. Personally trained her.”