Page 23 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

I set my can down so hard, soda foams out the top. I peel my robe away from my body, giving myself a hasty scan.

“What did they do to me, huh?” I mutter.

Anita watches me with round eyes.

“How many of them fucked me while I was out?” I spin around like a dog trying to catch its own tail.

If I’d bothered to look at the marks on my ass, I’d have known something was up.

They’ve faded to pale yellow bruises, barely a bump of skin remaining on the worst welt.

And since I’ve gotten up and started moving around, they’ve barely been hurting at all.

“No one.”

“You’re lying!” I run my hands over my skin, trying to feel for some kind of residue. Sweat, cum, I don’t fucking know. But they probably scrubbed me clean.

“Shut. The. Fuck . Up!” Door Number Two yells.

Anita grabs my wrist, trapping my hands between hers. “No one else was here!” she whispers furtively. “Only Smith. You have to believe me!”

“Oh, I believe you,” I mutter sourly. “That sick fuck loves having me all to himself.” My vision blurs, but it’s only when I yank out of Anita’s grip, shaking loose a tear, that I realize I’m crying. “How many times did he fuck me, Anita, huh? Once a day? Twice? Fucking sick fuck.”

“No,” she groans. “It wasn’t like that. He?—“

“Liar!” I rip my hand free as she bends closer, and my hand slams into her jaw. She spins away, falling against the fridge, going down with a soft yell.

“Jesus!” I spring forward to help her up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to?—“

Down the hall, a door crashes open. “Holy mother of God, if you two don’t shut the hell up, I’m gonna bash both your skulls in!” a woman roars.

Anita claps a hand over her mouth, staring at me with round, frightened eyes. “She’ll do it,” she whispers. “She will.”

My chest suddenly feels two sizes too small. Someone as sweet as Anita shouldn’t be stuck in a place like this.

But maybe she didn’t have a choice either.

Just like me.

Anita was right. The Rainbow Cookie shake is tasty as hell. I’m on my third one.

“So this is why you’re all so skinny?” I ask, rattling the last bit of shake around in the plastic bottle before bending my head back to drain it.

“They give us real food,” Anita says, sounding defensive until she reluctantly adds, “Sometimes.”

“Would you say more or less often than Smith came to check on me while I was drugged up?”

“The door was open the whole time. He’d just come in and look at you. I’d have known if he tried anything.” Anita frowns when my face remains impassive. “I’m not lying.”

“Never said that. But it’s been almost two hours since I’ve woken up, and…” I lift my hands up, scanning the room for Smith.

“Maybe he’s busy.” Anita scrunches up her face as she turns back to the movie, munching on a handful of popcorn. “Don’t know why you’re complaining. You should be glad they’re leaving you alone.”

“You finally gonna stop trying to convince me this is a fairytale?” I mutter sourly.

“Compared to what I went through, you might as well be a princess,” she mutters right back.

The three protein shakes in my stomach congeal into concrete. I sit up, wrapping myself a little tighter in my silk robe, identical to the one Anita’s wearing.

I’d been so wrapped up in my shit show, I’d totally forgotten that Anita’s been through all of this. And for much longer than me.

“How long have you been here?” I’m whispering, not because of the woman down the hall, but because I’m almost too scared of what Anita will say.

“Not sure.” She chugs back some cherry soda, stifles a burp with the back of her hand, and rolls onto her side, studying me as she props her head up with one hand. “Liiiike…six months? Maybe seven?”

“Jesus.”

Her eyes flick briefly to the screen before settling on me again. “You get used to it.”

“Being fucked against your will by some randos?”

She rolls her eyes, sighing loud enough to risk us being yelled at again. “You know when it got easier, Z? When I stopped fighting.”

“Wow. You keep the blue Kool-Aid in the fridge next to the protein shakes?”

“Living here is better than pulling tricks, hoping my next John wasn’t the kind who’d leave me dead in the gutter with a broken bottle up my snatch.”

I’m stunned into silence.

I thought nothing could be worse than this hell, but I’ve obviously lived a privileged life.

“So you’re here by…choice?” I manage in a thick voice.

Anita shakes her head, ramming some more popcorn into her mouth before tugging up the sleeve of her red silk robe. Despite the dim glow of the screen, the track marks inside her elbow are visible.

“Got hooked on H, then fent. Wracked up a huge debt with my dealer.” She pauses, looking down, and I’m not sure if it’s just the play of light on her face, but I swear I see wetness glittering on her lashes. “Long story short, I’m still paying off that debt.”

Jesus. So Smith isn’t just involved in sex trafficking, he’s got a finger in the drug pie too?

Anita rolls off the daybed she’d been lounging on. “I’m going to bed.”

“Wait, Anita, please. I have so many questions.” I stick out a hand to reassure her. “Not about…your past.”

She quirks her lips.

“About your future.” It’s not a question.

She sniffs, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares at the screen for a minute.

The vivid colors of the rom-com play over her features, painting her pale skin in too-harsh shades of red and orange.

The on-screen couple are busy jet skiing away from the thugs chasing them, the sun setting on the horizon.

“Rich told me Howler was your first client.” She tightens her arms a little, still staring at the movie.

A shiver chases through me at the mention of the mysterious man I never saw, just heard, and felt .

“They’re not all like him. Some want really weird shit, like having us dress up and stick to scripts. But most of them want us to pretend that we don’t want it.”

“Pretend?” I murmur, more to myself than Anita, but she hears me anyway.

“You’ll get used to it. I even have a few clients I…” She sniffs, chews on her lip a second, then shrugs. “I’m relieved when I hear it’s them and not one of the old, fat creeps.”

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get into that mindset. Then again…if I had a choice, I’d definitely choose Smith over Howler.

Or anyone else, really.

Better the devil you know.

Jesus, I hope that’s why I’d choose him.

“Look, I won’t lie and tell you it’ll get better.

” Her voice is a little stronger now. “Staying here’s like riding a roller coaster, blindfolded.

You don’t know if you’re going up or down.

And sometimes you get spun around so fast you think you’re gonna puke.

” She finally turns to me, a sympathetic pull to her mouth.

“Luckily, we spend more time waiting in line than on the actual ride.”

There’s a beat of silence where I try my best to shut my mouth, but curiosity is burning me up.

“How long have you still got?” I whisper.

“Deal was for a year. So five, six months? I’d know if they’d let us keep a calendar or something down here. All kinda blurs together, you know?” She laughs weakly.

“A year? Jesus, how much did you owe them?”

She looks away, inches toward the hallway. “Everything.” She tugs up the sleeve of her robe again, trails her fingers over the marks on her skin. “They got me clean, Z. I’d already OD’d twice before I—“ She throws me a quick glance, changing what she’d been going to say. “—before I came here.”

“Jesus.”

Anita gives me a grim smile. “Oh,” she huffs through a laugh, “he can’t help you anymore.”

I don’t bother finishing the rom-com we’d been watching. I’ve missed half of it, and I don’t need the reminder that my life is headed in the complete opposite direction of a happily ever after.

I’m still hungry, but after hunting through the kitchen cabinets and deciding against the empty carbs in the lone box of cereal I discover, I go back to my room and try to sleep.

I have it on good authority that it makes the time go by faster.

As soon as I lay eyes on the narrow bed and the IV stand beside it, my face scrunches up. I turn my back on the camera as I feel the onslaught of tears crash into me, but it’s a futile, childish gesture.

I’m already heaving with sobs by the time I crawl onto the mattress and try to cocoon myself in the warm, soft blanket. It’s so out of place in this nursing-home of a room.

When I suck in a huge breath to replenish my aching lungs and I catch a hint of Smith’s cologne, I realize why.

This came from his room.

Was I wrapped in it when he brought me down? Was he even the one who brought me here, or was it one of his lackeys?

I stifle my misery in my pillow, but I guess it’s normal for the new girl to cry herself to sleep.

Sucks being a stereotype. What I wouldn’t give to be brave and fierce—my usual devil-may-care self.

But I can’t stop thinking about what Anita said.

That I’ve gotten myself trapped in a fucked up version of Disney Land. That I’m waiting in line, blindfolded, no fucking clue what ride I’m going to be shoved on next.

I force my eyes open, turning to peek over my shoulder at the red, blinking eye of the camera, before turning away and huddling deeper inside Smith’s soft, warm blanket.

All I can hope is that my next ride doesn’t leave me even more traumatized.

Or dead.