Page 31 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

Zoey

Someone’s watching me. And that’s a creepy feeling to have any time, but especially when you’ve just woken up. I lie still, waiting for my eyes to adjust in the dark until I can make out vague shapes.

One of those shapes is Smith sitting in a chair.

In the dark.

Watching me.

I should feel violated. Freaked out. Maybe even terrified enough to scream.

But in some fucked up way, it’s comforting. There could have been much worse things waiting in the dark, watching me sleep.

“What the hell are you doing?” I grumble as I push into a sit, hiss, and immediately roll onto my side. “Ow.”

Suddenly I’m wishing I’d woken up with an IV needle pumping drugs into my system again. At least then I wouldn’t be in pain.

“I drew you a bath.”

I drag my fingers through my mussed up hair. I usually keep it tied up in a ponytail during the day, a loose, messy bun at night. This is the longest it’s been free range in months .

“Um…thanks?”

I’ve never been one of those bright-eyed and bushy-tailed morning people. The ones colorful woodland creatures visited at the break of dawn so they could all sing a merry song about how each day was a fucking gift.

You know what’s a gift?

Coffee.

Really strong coffee.

Smith unfolds from the armchair and comes over to the side of the bed to help me up. How kind, seeing as he was the one who assaulted my backside in the first place.

I hobble along with him to the bathroom, mind racing.

That’s not all he did in that creepy room deep inside the maze. Something happened to me in there. Something I’d thought impossible since the day Smith had dragged me off the casino floor and laid out his ‘deal’.

I’d given in.

Given up.

Failed.

And, Jesus, it had felt so good.

So fucking good, I’d almost managed to forget that the man who’d burned down my diner had found me.

Had gotten close enough to touch me. Maybe not with his own hands, but did it matter?

A Colombian necktie is a Colombian necktie.

Might as well have been Elonzo with his hands around my throat, about to fuck his debt out of me before he made sure I could never run away from him again.

Smith opens the bathroom door. A cloud of lavender-scented steam hits my nose, ripping away the nasty thoughts flooding my mind, and making my toes curl against the cool black marble tiles.

What the fuck?

I feel like I’ve stepped through Alice’s looking glass.

This isn’t the same world I was in a second ago. That world didn’t have a fluffy towel placed just-so on the table beside the egg-shaped tub, mountains of bubbles inside said tub.

Smith has transformed his exquisite black-and-gold bathroom into a day spa, and I can’t help but think it’s some kind of trap.

I’m still standing there in shocked silence when I hear him turn to leave.

Something inside me freezes up, and I don’t understand any more than the sudden horror of realizing he’s leaving me alone.

Only my thoughts to keep me company.

I stare at his retreating figure in the mirror’s reflection.

“Wait. Don’t go.”

He glances over his shoulder, pausing halfway out the door. “You’ve earned your privacy.”

I clear my throat, dropping my gaze for a second to find the knot in my silk gown. After he’d marched me out of the maze and into a small dressing room, Smith had barely looked at me long enough to toss this red robe in my direction.

I’d cleaned up as best I could, wiping blood and cum from my face, neck, chest.

Then I’d stared at my haggard reflection in the wide mirror, reading the letters on the collar around my neck over and over like a fucking mantra as I’d fingered that thin strip of leather with its gaudy pendant.

PROPERTY OF THE DEVIL’S DEN

Then Smith had brought me back to his room, and now, here we are, him giving me privacy to enjoy a nice soak in his tub. To say I’m feeling thrown is an understatement.

I turn my back to him, letting the robe slide to the floor.

“You expect me to wash my own back, m’lord?” I ask as I step into the warm water, making a point of not looking at him as I sink into the bubbles.

“Thought we came to an agreement yesterday,” he murmurs from the doorway, voice neutral as always.

I ignore his comment.

A sigh slips out of me as the warm water starts relaxing my muscles in ways I didn’t think possible.

Fabric whisks as he moves closer. He dips his fingers into the water and stirs it, making warm currents swirl against my thighs.

I pop open an eye. He’s watching me, face expressionless.

“You know just what your victims need when you’re done with them. You must have been doing this a while,” I let my hands drift on the surface of the water. Our fingers are only a few inches away from each other, warm currents stirring against my skin whenever he swirls the water.

“A few years.”

“Did you always want to be a sex trafficker when you grew up?”

Not even a hint of a smile. Why is he always so serious?

“You have your debts, I have mine.”

His words shoot through me like a fucking poisoned arrow. But there’s no way he can know. Even if he had heard what Elonzo’s thug had said to me in the maze, Smith wouldn’t be able to connect the dots.

And why the fuck aren’t I helping him to do just that? If anyone can protect me against Elonzo’s wrath, it’s Smith…right?

Except…he’s the one that let those two monsters into the maze with me. And he definitely strikes me as the kind of guy who’d do background checks on everyone, just for shits and giggles.

…which means he probably knows all about me and Ricky by now. About the diner.

Does he know about Elonzo, too?

Did he let those men hunt me, fully knowing how we were connected?

“Enough about me,” I say airily, toying with a heap of bubbles. “Tell me about this debt of yours. What are we talking here…student loans? Medical bills? The government official you’re bribing to keep all of this quiet?”

My quip doth not amuse.

“Who do you owe, Zoey?”

He’s asked me this before. Not sure why he’s expecting a different answer to the one I gave him. Does he think I trust him more now that he’s found new and ingenious ways of humiliating me?

“Can’t a woman have a lucky streak at a casino these days without being subjected to twenty questions and years of sexual slavery?”

He reaches over to turn on the faucet. Hot water pours into the tub, and I shift to the side to avoid it, bumping into his hand. Smith is so focused on adjusting the temperature that he barely seems to notice as he grabs my thigh.

Fuck, but he’s strong.

He turns off the faucet, his eyes flickering to me.

“So this has nothing to do with your diner burning to the ground?”

I open my mouth, but I’m speechless.

He does know. And why the hell is it a surprise. That newspaper on the breakfast tray had been for him. I might have intercepted it, but it’s not like it was the only copy on earth.

But he’d said nothing.

Nothing.

Until now. Until after Elonzo’s men had almost killed me.

“Must have been pretty desperate. Did you really think your insurance company would pay out for such an obvious case of arson?”

I let out a croak that might have been a protest, but feels more like a death rattle. “I didn’t—I would never?—”

“Insurance fraud. Cheating. Debt. Do you have a gambling problem, Zoey?”

I snort-laugh out a quick, “Not me.”

“Then who?”

My jaw clenches as I sink a little lower in the tub, until my chin is dipping into the bubbles. There’s a tiny tremor in my stomach, a sickening hope.

“You’ll let me go if I tell you?”

“No.”

“Will you help me if I tell you?”

“Probably not.”

I laugh, sobering up instantly. “Then what the fuck does it matter? You’ve obviously done your research on me, shitty as it was. Figure it out yourself.”

He stands, staring down at me with an unreadable expression.

“Angels rarely get a chance to relax. You should be grateful for the reprieve.” Smith’s voice is as flat and cold as an autopsy table.

He turns to leave. And I should let him go.

“Grateful?” I sit up, sloshing water and suds over the side of the tub. “You kidnap me, assault me, sell me , and now I’m supposed to thank you for pouring me a fucking bath?”

“Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

“So I’m just supposed to ignore that one minute you’re a monster, the next you’re…” I wave my hands helplessly at the mountains of bubbles. “Whatever the fuck this is.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I’m still a monster, Zoey. Don’t ever forget that.”

“A monster that likes bubble baths,” I mutter. “What will they think of next?”

Smith flinches and throws me a frustrated look, his voice dropping dangerously low.

“Things could be much worse for you right now.”

“Then why aren’t they, huh? What changed?”

“Nothing’s changed.” He rakes his gaze over my body like he’s calculating the net worth of my organs. “Nothing ever changes.”

His fingers start unbuttoning his shirt.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “What are you?—”

“Move.” His eyes flicker to the edge of the bath.

“What?” I blurt out, hesitating just long enough for him to snap his fingers.

Water rushes off me as I stand, splashing around my calves as I shuffle back and perch on the tub’s wide rim.

The pressure makes my ass ache, but I’d still rather sit than stand. I did a lot of running in that maze yesterday. My thighs and calves are stiff as hell.

I try not to stare as Smith undresses. Try not to ogle his strong, veiny hands and toned arms. His firm, defined torso. The hint of abs under his skin. The thick cock hanging so heavy between his legs.

But try as I might to ignore the effect he has on me, by the time Smith is stripped bare, every cell in my body is fired up. He climbs over the side, his eyes locked on mine as he grabs the rim on either side and slowly lowers himself into the water.

No wonder he told me to climb out. There isn’t a lot of space left once he’s sunk beneath the surface up to his neck.

All business, all the time.

Because what the fuck else should I expect?