Page 28 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

Smith

I’ve imagined catching Zoey a hundred different ways since she first ran from my blackjack table. In my fantasies, she scratches, bites, curses my name, before finally submitting.

Reality is even better.

The blood painting her lips. The fear and defiance in her eyes.

She’s everything I hoped she would be.

A worthy adversary.

The perfect conquest.

The Colombians complicate things, of course. Their presence is an unwelcome intrusion in what could have been a private game between Zoey and me. But they’ve given me something so precious in return.

The chance to be her savior…before becoming her tormentor.

Pushing through the pain my little kitten’s knee caused, I track her through the labyrinth like a wolf after blinded prey. No night vision goggles needed—I’m familiar with every inch of this maze. Tracking her is easy, cutting her off, herding her in the direction I need her to go.

Exhausted, she forces herself to run on tottering ankles, one hand trailing against the wall, the remnants of her costume clinging to a body trembling with fear and exertion.

Gorgeous.

Terrified.

Mine .

I quicken my pace, savoring the burn of my muscles, the blood pounding in my veins. A predator in my element, doing what I was born to do.

Hunt.

Capture.

Claim .

She glances over her shoulder and throws me a panicked double-take when she sees how close I am.

That moment’s inattention causes her to stumble over her own tired feet.

She falls, her pained yell making my entire body come alive with need.

Not just my dick, already trying to punch a hole through my pants, but my skin, my mouth, my fingertips.

“When I catch you,” I call out, my voice echoing through the Labyrinth’s corridors. “I’m going to make you crawl to me on those bloody knees.”

The only answer is the sound of her frantic footsteps running faster than before. Desperation makes people do stupid things. Like trying a doorway, hoping it’s an exit, instead of running by.

The door swings closed behind her, and I pause for a moment before following.

I enter silently, taking in the scene with a quick scan. A massive desk dominates one end of the room, and a single chair with restraints bolted to the floor in front of it. Chalkboards line the wall behind the desk, tally marks covering their dusty surfaces.

Records of punishments administered, and lessons taught.

Zoey stands in the center of the room, chest heaving, eyes wild as she searches for an escape that doesn’t exist.

She barely glances at me before darting forward. She pushes against a doorway inside the room, trying to force it to open. I’m surprised she even spotted it. It’s designed to blend seamlessly with the wall, and has no handle on this side.

It’s an entrance, not an exit.

She’s trapped.

I slow my steps, letting her panic build as she tries the other entrance-only door.

When she realizes she’s trapped, she presses her back to the wall, hands curling into fists at her sides as she faces me with a grim scowl. I slip out of my suit jacket, folding it neatly and laying it on the corner of the desk. Twist open the top button on my shirt, tug my tie loose an inch.

She watches me warily, nostrils flaring.

The light in here is stronger than in the corridors outside, courtesy of a pair of boxed fluorescent tubes, but the colored filters glued over their glass screens turn the room into a monochromatic nightmare.

The blood on Zoey’s chin looks like tar.

Her eyes are pinpricks of darkness. I can’t imagine how I must look as I unclip my suspenders and fold them just as neatly.

Her eyes dart to where they dangle at my side, clenched in a fist, but the moment I speak, her eyes are on me again.

“Crawl to me, and I’ll let you go.”

“I’d rather crawl through broken glass than pretend I believe you.”

I lift my hand. “Scout’s honor.”

Confusion flickers over her face. “Free, as in I can leave? You’ll let me go…home?” Her voice catches on the last.

“You’ve already cost me one client. After today, probably another two.”

“Aw,” she throws me a sarcastic pout. “Thought they liked their girls with a little spirit. ”

I smile, slow and deliberate. “Last chance, kitten.”

“Fuck. You,” she spits, blood and saliva flying from her lips.

Christ. My cock swells painfully at her defiance. At the thought of her inevitable surrender.

She lunges, trying to dart past me to the exit. I’m faster, cutting her off, herding her toward the desk. She circles away, trying to keep her distance, trying not to let me box her in against the wall.

“I was just doing what you told me to.”

“I said fight , not dismember,” I tell her, matching her movements step by step.

“What’s the big deal? He’s still got the other ear.” She backs into the desk, momentarily trapped between the solid wood and my advancing form. I close in, hands reaching for her, but she’s quicker than I expected. She grabs a heavy wooden ruler from the desk and swings it at my head.

I catch her wrist before it connects, twisting until she drops the makeshift weapon with a cry of pain. She kicks out, aiming for my groin again, but I’m ready this time. I sidestep, using her momentum to spin her around, slamming her face-down onto the desk.

“Feel that?” I murmur in her ear, my body pinning hers to the cool surface as I grind my dick against her ass. “That’s what you do to me. Every fucking time you run, every fucking time you fight, I just get harder.”

She bucks beneath me, writhing and twisting with surprising strength. And true enough, my cock is ready to rip through the seams as I struggle to subdue her.

Every buck of her hips sends her excuse for a skirt flipping up, teasing me with those grubby, ruffled panties.

They used to be white.

Were his hands dirty when he touched her?

The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. In fact, the moment Luis pinned her down in the mannequin room, the only thing going through my mind was that if he got his dick inside her by the time I reached them, I’d kill him.

Rich had grabbed my arm and yelled something about our clients knowing the rules, that she wasn’t in any real danger. That Molina would only rough her up a little before he fucked her.

I had to shut him up, just like I had to get out of that control room and rescue Zoey.

Except Zoey didn’t need rescuing. Luis didn’t put up much of a fight once she’d ripped off his ear with her teeth. But I didn’t hang around to watch the rest play out. Those cunts were hunting my girl.

Mine.

I tug down her frilly panties, my breath hitching when I see the faint bruises left on her skin.

“Fast healer. I love that for you.” I land my folded suspenders on her ass with a loud crack, dragging a shocked gasp from her. She throws her head back to glare at me, and I nearly come in my fucking pants at the flash of pain scrunching up her face as I land another blow.

This won’t feel anything like a cane. Leather is supple. It bends, curving to meet the skin. I can’t decide which sound I prefer—leather meeting flesh, or Zoey’s agonized whimpers as I lay another three strikes to her reddening ass.

I use one hand to press her wrists into the small of her back, keeping her pinned, the other to administer another five lashes that have her howling in pain. Or outrage, judging from the murderous glares she throws over her shoulder at me.

She flinches when I toss my suspenders to the table, well out of her reach.

“If this is your idea of foreplay, what’s next? Chloroform and duct tape?”

Christ, I’ve never wanted to fuck the brat out of someone this desperately in my life. I can feel her body quivering, and while the lighting doesn’t really bring out the fresh bruises on her skin, I can see I’ve left marks.

I rip my glove off with my teeth, landing a searing slap on her ass with my palm.

She yells, eyes throwing daggers at me. If she’s wondering why that hurt more than the suspenders, it’s because I’ve been doing this for years.

It only takes ten-thousand hours of honing a craft to become a master at it.

“Drunk frat boys give me harder spanks than you. And I get a four-dollar tip out of them.”

I chuckle, glancing down at her ass as I trail my hand over her cheek. Her flesh is warm from the spanking, but not as hot as her already slick pussy. The gasp she lets out when I slip my hand between her legs to cup her has me biting back a groan.

“I’m going to fuck that spirit out of you, load by load. Let’s see how tough that mouth of yours is after I’ve?—“

As I lean in to whisper more depravity in her ear, she elbows me in the sternum.

“Christ!” I’ve never heard myself wheeze like that before.

Seems I underestimated her desperation.

Zoey slips from my grasp, ducking under my arm and scrambling away with a victorious, “Fuck you, psycho!”

I’m behind her a second later, catching up in two long strides, reaching her as her fingers close on the door handle. I grab her, spin her around. She drops, her flimsy costume ripping through my fingers, and fuck it if she doesn’t finally start crawling.

Away from me.

I grab her hair and wrench her to her feet. Fear flashes in her eyes, but the defiance doesn’t waver. She swings at me, nails aimed at my face. We shuffle over the floor in a frantic, violent dance that ends a foot away from the chair.

When she spots it, her eyes go wide.

“No! Fuck!”

It’s already too late.

I’ve worn her down. She barely puts up a fight when I catch her wrist, forcing it down and into one of the chair’s restraints.

The metal cuff clicks shut with satisfying finality.

“One down,” I murmur as I slide my hand down her free arm.

But she was just biding her time, rallying.

She jerks her arm free with a hoarse, “I’ve still got another one!”

Her free hand claws at my face, my neck, anywhere she can reach. I dodge most of her furious attacks, but her nails catch my cheek, drawing blood.