Page 183 of House of Cards

But maybe I don’t want to be that man anymore, someone who sees people as nothing more than assets or liabilities.

Maybe, for the first time in my fucking life, I want to command someone’strust…not their fear.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. No bandages anymore. My knuckles have scabbed over. Zoey’s bite mark on my palm is still inflamed, but after a tetanus shot and some antiseptic cream, I don’t feel the need to wear a bandage anymore.

This way, I can see the mark she left on me. Physical proof that she’s gotten under my skin.

In more ways than one.

Is that why I’m risking everything just to see her again one last time, because she dug in deeper than I thought?

I try to shake the feeling, but paranoia makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

Could be nothing. Just another late-night traveler heading in the same direction.

But in my line of work, coincidences are usually anything but.

I slow down as I approach the villa’s turnoff, watching the mirror carefully. The car speeds past without slowing, taillights disappearing around the next bend like they were never there at all.

I sit at the turnoff for ten minutes, engine idling, second-guessing myself.

Maybe twelve hours of guilt and self-loathing have finally driven me over the edge.

Or maybe I’m right to be suspicious, and someone just got a very good look at exactly where I’m keeping Zoey hidden.

Either way, I need to get inside and make sure she’s safe.

I turn through the gates, gravel crunching under my tires as I pull up to the villa’s entrance.

Something’s wrong.

The villa looks exactly the same as when I left this morning, but every instinct I’ve honed over years of violence is screaming danger.

I drove back here like a man on fire. Pushed the Bentley past every speed limit, took corners that should have sent me into the guardrail, all because I couldn’t stand being away from her for another second.

Should have been more careful.

Should have taken the long way, checked for tails, made sure I wasn’t bringing hell with me. The only thing worse than abandoning Zoey is leading my enemies straight to her door.

I’m the threat people run from.

Now I’m trying to be the shield that keeps her safe.

This need to protect rather than possess should be foreign territory to me.

Instead, it feels like coming home.

Now, sitting in this too-quiet driveway, I’m fervently hoping my desperation hasn’t just cost me everything.

Costuseverything.

Smith

I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but driving back to the villa like a lovesick teenager might be the worst.

It might be the one that gets Zoey killed.

The villa looms silently in the darkness, exactly as I left it this morning at dawn, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just sent Elonzo a fucking map pin to her location.