Page 27 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

Dragging me onto my back, he backhands me. The blow snaps my head to the side, splitting my lip and filling my mouth with warm copper. I’m so stunned by the pain, by his violence, that I just gape at him as he straddles me.

There’s a sharp tug at my throat as he slips a finger behind my collar.

“You don’t belong to them,” he says through a manic grin. “You belong to us. ”

His hand finds the hem of my skirt, ripping the fabric up with a violent jerk. There’s a loud clatter near my head as his goggles drop to the floor.

“Didn’t think we’d find you here in your little nest, did you?” he whispers, his accent thickening with rage, breath hot against my face as he leans in close. “These gringos can’t save you.”

He’s not wrong. Smith might be watching, but he sure as hell isn’t putting a stop to this. It’s that thought, more than anything else, that fills me with rage.

I punch his face, but he dodges easily, grinning.

“Yeah, that’s it. Make me work for it, baby.” He grabs my throat, pinning me to the floor almost casually as his other hand goes for his belt.

I scratch and claw at his fingers, trying to peel them away so I can breathe, but a second later he’s pushing a knee between my thighs and prodding at my underwear with his dick.

Wild panic bursts through me. I whimper as I try to thrash beneath him, bucking and rolling my hips to throw him off. He chuckles, easily riding out my struggles, then brings his mouth to my ear like we’re lovers.

“Your ass is mine , Zoey.”

Icy fear shocks me into momentary stillness.

I knew this wasn’t a coincidence. He isn’t here to get his rocks off.

He’s going to kill me.

After he gets his rocks off.

“How did you find?—”

He cuts off my frantic whisper with a low, “Thought you were safe here, hmm?” He chuckles. “If there’s one thing Elonzo’s good at, it’s finding rats.”

Elonzo. Unless he’s talking about himself in the third person, this guy just gave me Buzzcut’s name. Somehow, I don’t think that’s a good thing. Like how your kidnapper lets you see his face because you won’t live long enough to give his description to the cops.

Thank God for the ruffled panties, because this guy’s really struggling to find a way past all that lace. I pummel him with my hands, but that only ends up with my wrists crushed together above my head.

“Soon as Miguel’s up, he’s gonna join me. Think of all the fun things the two of us can do to you.”

A shudder of revulsion courses through me when a wet, slimy tongue drags over my ear.

…I’ll be watching…

I don’t know why I do it. Desperation, maybe. Fear, more likely.

“Smith! Smith !”

Elonzo’s friend stops trying to ram his dick through my panties, that hand wrapping around my throat instead.

“You shut the fuck up and take what’s coming to you,” he grates into my ear, squeezing my throat so hard that I choke for air.

I turn my head.

Find his ear.

And I bite down with every ounce of hatred and desperation in my body.

Hot blood floods my mouth as I tear through flesh. Cartilage gives way beneath my teeth with a wet crunch, like I got a little overzealous with a chicken wing.

His scream is deafening. He topples to the side, severing what’s left of his ear because I sure as fuck don’t let go, and lands in a lopsided slump beside me.

It’s his turn to gape at me as he cradles the side of his head where his ear used to be. Blood oozes between his fingers, dripping onto my face, my neck, the torn remnants of my costume.

I spit out the chunk of flesh left in my mouth, retching.

“This ass belongs to me, no one else,” I push through bloody, clenched teeth.

He’s still gaping, still clutching his head, when I shove his legs off me. I scramble to my feet, snatching up the fallen night vision goggles and a nearby mannequin arm.

Behind me, his friend groans, but I don’t wait to see if he gets up.

I bolt for the nearest exit, slipping the goggles over my eyes. The world transforms into eerie green clarity. The maze that had been so disorienting before is now laid bare before me.

As I sprint down the corridor, a haunting scream echoes out after me, followed by a hollow yell that sounds as if it came from his friend.

They’ll be coming for me soon as the shock wears off, and they won’t be playing games anymore.

But now that I can see, I can fight.

My bravado lasts all of a minute, evaporating when I hear the faint echo of footsteps. It’s possible it’s a guy from the mannequin room, but something about those insistent footfalls makes me think a third competitor has entered the ring.

Jesus, I never stood a chance.

Did Smith know it would be three against one? Is that why he looked so unhappy? Or was he just sour because someone had hit the jackpot at his casino and he had to pay out a fraction of his earnings for the night?

I press myself against the wall, trying to control my ragged breathing. Through the night vision goggles, the corridor stretches ahead in ghostly green. The footsteps are getting closer. They’re measured, confident. Not the stumble of a man with a head injury or a missing ear.

This is definitely a new hunter.

There’s a junction ahead. If I can reach it before he rounds the corner behind me, I could stand ready and attack him as he follows.

I hurry forward, every muscle tense as I force myself not to sprint.

I need him to follow me at a reasonable pace, because while I’m holding this plastic arm like a baseball bat, I’m the furthest thing from a trained athlete.

It was sheer luck I hit that other guy hard enough to send him to the ground.

Another stroke of luck is all I need to buy myself enough time to find an exit.

The footsteps pause. He’s listening, trying to locate me.

I hold my breath, frozen in place. After what feels like an eternity, the footsteps resume, closer now. He’s almost at the corner. Is he going to turn towards me, or away from me?

Doesn’t matter. Either way, I have to take a swing.

I grip the plastic arm tighter, my knuckles aching, my back flattened against the wall. Risking a quick peek, I instantly recoil when I see how close he is. All I saw was the edge of his silhouette. Broad shoulders, confident stance. He’s bigger than both other guys.

My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest.

The tall figure steps into the junction, his skin glowing in the night vision goggles. He’s craning his head away from me, hesitating as if trying to sense which corridor I chose.

I don’t hesitate.

“Ah!” I lunge forward, swinging the mannequin arm with every ounce of strength I have left, aiming for the back of his head.

The world blurs into slow motion as my makeshift weapon arcs through the air.

A large hand wraps around the plastic, halting its momentum so suddenly that I stagger forward, off-balance.

My attacker moves with inhuman speed, his free hand shooting out to grab my throat, fingers wrapping right around my collar.

He slams me against the wall, pinning me there as he wrenches the mannequin arm from my grasp and tosses it aside.

The goggles are next, clattering noisily to the floor by my feet.

My hands go reflexively to my throat, digging behind his fingers, trying to pull them away, just as I had with the other hunter. I choke and splutter for air, staring pleadingly into the shadowed face of my captor, willing him to let me breathe.

“P-P-please,” I whimper, scratching at him with my nails, only to realize he’s wearing leather gloves.

“I told you to fight.”

I’d recognize that cold, precise voice anywhere.

Rage bubbles up from the pit of fear in my stomach. I grit my teeth, driving my knee up fast and hard.

Smith’s hand falls away from my throat as he grunts in pain, but he’s already reaching for me as I push away from the wall.

Run. Fight. Escape.

Different player, same game.

I should be glad it’s Smith, but I’m not.

I’m even more terrified than before.