Page 15 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

Smith

Zoey is silent as I herd her through The Den’s staff hallway. She isn’t gawking at the endless stretch of gray walls, or the cameras in every corner, as if none of it registers. This is the longest time she hasn’t shot off her mouth, and it’s making me wish she’d just fucking say something.

The sharp little barbs she threw my way in the car dig under my skin like splinters I can’t pluck. Angels come two flavors—the fearful ones who go docile and submit, and the terrified ones who claw back just to feel alive.

Zoey’s neither.

She submits just enough to trick you into thinking she’s harmless and compliant. But the moment you get close, she draws blood. Like a cornered animal.

Her shoulders are slumped, her head slightly bowed.

Whatever she’s mulling over has her in a glum mood.

I suppose I can’t expect her to be a ray of fucking sunshine.

Her life is falling apart. But there’s a wrongness to her quiet.

It feels like a trap. Like she’s trying to crawl under my skin, to make me scratch until I bleed.

Until I make her bleed.

Christ, I can’t wait to make her bleed.

But not like this, when she’s sullen and mute. I want her thrashing, spitting vitriol until her mouth’s too full of my tongue, my fingers, my cum.

Where’s the wild thing I chased through the slot machines? The one who slapped me before she even knew my name?

It’s her I want.

Maybe she’s finally accepting that there’s no way out.

No escape. No rescue.

Just me.

The past day feels like a fever dream compared to the habits I’ve stacked around myself. My calendar? My neat ledgers? My digital bullet journal? Replaced by mental post-it notes with her fucking name on them.

She has no fucking idea what’s waiting for her. And I can’t decide if I should be an asshole and warn her, or let this play out in real time so she can deal with it one step at a time.

We reach the staff-only entrance to the play rooms before I make a decision, so I’m as silent as her as we step onto the thick carpets and head for one of the doors.

I hesitate before taking my keycard out of my pants pocket. If she feels me staring at the top of her head, she doesn’t react. She stares straight ahead like there’s a firing squad waiting for her, and she’s already decided she won’t run.

Something sharp and unwelcome twists in my chest…and it has nothing to do with the dully throbbing wounds the fork tines left behind. I tell myself it’s anger because fuck knows what else it could be.

Compassion? Sympathy?

As much as I try to push it down, I still feel compelled to say something. That this will all be over soon. That my good girl is strong enough to handle what’s behind this door, but I bite them back.

I don’t coddle Angels.

I break them.

Myles is sprawled in a recliner inside the viewing room, Isabel on her knees in front of him, massaging his feet. He grins when he sees me, but his eyes immediately jump to Zoey. One thick eyebrows twitches up as he gives her a quick scan from his seat.

I’m shocked that he’s in something as sedate as a yellow-and-white checkered shirt and dark jeans. Maybe all his other garments are being laundered by the circus outfitters he hires them from.

Myles knocks Isabel’s hands away with an affectionate kick, chuckling as he pads over to us. He gives Zoey a second, much longer scan that makes her cross her arms over her chest.

His bright blue eyes narrow. “So this is the thief?”

She glares. “ Alleged thief.”

“Ooh. Pretty and sassy.” He boops her nose like she’s a goddamn poodle. “If you give good head, we’re looking at the devil’s trifecta.”

“Asshole!”

I barely catch her arm before she can slap Myles, but his only response is to summon Isabel with a snap of his fingers. Isabel hops to her feet and hurries over to the dry bar, glasses clinking as she pours us both a drink.

Even at this time in the morning, it’ll be hard liquor.

“She’s a little rough around the edges.” I give Myles a thin smile as I release Zoey and adjust my glasses.

“Lucky for you, Howler’s on his way,” Myles says. “He’ll have you buffed into a pretty little gem within the hour.”

Jesus Christ, Howler? The man is a beast, hence the fucking nickname.

This is bad. Angels need to be eased into things so they don’t end up in catatonic shock after their first session. Howler leaves scars—on their bodies and in their fucking minds.

“Her appointment is with Geller.”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you? Geller called,” Myles says breezily, tucking his hands behind his back and swaying a little as he studies Zoey with every ounce of audacity at his disposal. So a good metric ton or so. “Something about a stock crash.”

He grabs Zoey’s chin, twisting her head.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulls up her lip to check her teeth.

Zoey yanks her head away and tries to step back, but I’m right behind her.

On instinct, I grab her shoulders, holding her in place.

The moment my fingers touch her, she stiffens, but she doesn’t try to get away from me.

It’s fucking wild she thinks she’s safer with me than with Myles.

“Howler can always step in at a moment’s notice. He loves being on our waitlist.” He directs his words to Zoey, pairing them with a warm, almost grandfatherly smile.

“He’s on there for a reason.” I barely smooth the glare from my face before Myles looks up.

“That was a misunderstanding.”

“A misunder—? Lulu needed six stitch—” I hurriedly cut off when I feel Zoey flinch in my grip. My fingers tense instinctively in their grip on her, a reflex too fast for me to stop.

Somehow Myles sees it, because he widens his eyes like he’s waiting for me to finish. Hoping I will. He always knows when there’s blood in the water.

Fucking shark.

“No,” I finish lamely. “I won’t allow it.”

I was reluctant to announce that Zoey would be our new Angel, but it was the reason I kept her in the first place. She’d have to start seeing clients eventually. Procrastinating any longer would just draw the wrong kind of attention.

“Well someone in this room needs to entertain Howler when he gets here, and it sure as shit ain’t gonna be me. Are you volunteering? I’d love to see you on the receiving end of?—“

Isabel comes up silently beside us, balancing a tray with two glasses. Myles cuts off and takes his glass, giving her another one of those warm smiles he likes to hand out to the girls.

I ignore my glass. Judging from the acid churning in my stomach, I’m pretty sure I’m starting to develop a fucking ulcer. Last thing I need is cognac on an empty?—

Zoey doesn’t even move her head. She just reaches out, grabs my glass, and downs it in three quick gulps.

She half-hisses, half-sighs as she slowly puts the glass back on the table, using the back of her other hand to wipe her mouth.

“Everyone in this place is a depraved psycho, and you’re all gonna burn in hell,” she says, matter-of-factly—if a bit hoarsely.

I groan inwardly, releasing her shoulders so I can rub the skin between my brows.

Myles was busy taking a sip, but chokes it out again with a reverential, “Jaysus.” His smile is anything but warm now. It’s downright lecherous. “Love a girl who can handle her liquor.”

His eyes drop to the front of her robe.

“Especially one with such great tits.” His eyes dart up to me. “Put her in that strappy thingy so we can get a good shot of her rack while Howler’s busy with her. We need some new videos for the website.”

I feel Zoey staring daggers at the back of my head as I use the grip on her arm to herd her out of the viewing room. But at least she holds her tongue.

Briefly.

“Your website needs new videos?” she asks in a tight voice as I swipe my keycard on the panel beside the door to the playroom.

As if I’d take the bait. “Should I take you back to Myles?” I give her a sidelong look. “He’s into some freaky shit. And that’s coming from me.”

“Freakier than a guy called Howler who gave some woman six stitches?”

I turn to face her, putting my palm on the wall beside her head before leaning in. This close, the scent of her damp hair fills my nose with the faded notes of whatever perfume she was wearing last night.

Ah. There it is.

Fear.

It gleams in her hazel eyes, brings out a soft tremble on the lush curves of her lips. I drink it in like a fine cognac, my body shifting until it’s flush with hers.

It’s been years since I’ve last been this intoxicated by a woman. If I had any doubts, her reaction to the slaps I laid on her ass this morning clarified that the kinkiest thing she’s ever done between the sheets was doggy style.

The thought that her first session is going to be with Howler makes my balls tighten…as well as my chest.

Which makes no sense.

Zoey means nothing to me.

I don’t give a fuck who gets to pop this Angel’s kink cherry.

But something about the way she threw me that quick, worried glance, like I was her last lifeline, makes my lungs feel like they’re shrinking.

Fucking rookie mistake, letting her fear crawl under my skin like this.

I press it down hard, suffocating the ugly feeling until it’s just one more dead thing inside me.

I’m better than this.

“Have you forgotten about your debt to me, kitten?” I wrap a chunk of Zoey’s wavy brown hair around my finger, using it to draw her head a little closer. “One session with Howler will go a long way to repaying it.”

Her hazel eyes are the widest I’ve seen them yet, but she still finds a tiny sliver of stubbornness to lash out with. She leans in until our mouths are almost touching. When she speaks, I can smell the cognac on her breath. I fight the urge to suck the taste off her tongue.

“Let me go, and I promise I won’t say anything to the cops,” she whispers. “All this sex slave bullshit will just be our little secret.”

I scoff, and she rears back like I slapped her. “Maybe I will pull your teeth before I saw you in half.” I draw a line across her stomach, feeling it flutter as she contracts from my touch.

She pushes my glasses up the bridge of my nose with more force than they need, especially since they didn’t need adjusting in the first place. “It’s hot in hell, m’lord. Better pack extra sunscreen.”

The gesture bothers me more than it should. It’s the first time she’s touched me without trying to inflict damage. Maybe that’s why I grab her throat and ram her against the wall. She pushes against me when I lean in, but she doesn’t have the strength to shove me off her.

“You’re going to go in there, and you’re going to let my client do whatever he wants to you.”

“And if I don’t?”

Her nails dig into my chest, but barely hard enough to leave a crease in my shirt. No fight. Just trembling fingers and fluttering lashes.

I bring my mouth to her ear. “You’ll annoy the shit out of him, and trust me, you don’t want that.”

“And if I fight?” she whispers, sounding flustered, desperate.

“You want to fight? Then fight. He’ll hate it, but, Christ, kitten—” I lick the side of her ear before I realize what I’m doing, before I can even think of stopping myself. “—I’ll fucking love you for it.”

She lets out a tiny, broken sound deep in her throat, one I can feel through my grip, and then grabs my hand and rips my fingers away. Her face is flushed, eyes bright and shining with something I would have mistaken for panic…if she hadn’t pulled her lip between her teeth.

We’ve only just met, but I know Zoey better than she thinks.

She’s just like all the other women down here.

A plaything made for breaking.

They all hate it, until they love it.