Page 39 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

The door slams. Myles’s voice comes through on the intercom. “Stay where you are, Smith.”

I turn, staring at Zoey where she hangs from the X-Cross.

She yelps when I bring my hand down on her ass.

Drama queen. I’m nowhere near the red splotch Chad made on her skin.

She starts making urgent noises through the gag. I rip it off her, then the blindfold, and we stare at each other from less than a foot away as I try to catch my breath.

“That guy was a dick,” she says. “Hope you charged him an extra douchebag fee.”

I blink at her, and then laugh.

Laugh.

Jesus, I must be losing my mind.

By the time Myles arrives, I’ve released Zoey and put her in a dressing gown. I’m busy applying a lick of salve to her ass when the door opens and Balmont walks in.

“Smith.”

“Myles.” I turn, capping the ointment and setting it down on the coffee table.

“Can you give us a minute, Cherry Pie?” Myles asks Zoey, his eyes fixed on mine.

“Uh…yeah…sure.”

I glance at her. “Go wait with Troy.”

She nods uneasily, her eyes downcast as she hurries past Myles. He still ogles her as though she was naked, despite her silk gown, but that look of rapacious lust disappears the moment the door closes behind her.

“Mind telling me what the fuck just happened?”

“He was a goddamn tool, and you know it.”

“I’m not talking about the client,” Myles says dryly as he drops into the couch and grabs a bottle from the reed basket beside it. He grimaces when he realizes it’s lube and takes out a bottle of mineral water instead.

I tug my sleeve straight, doing up the button at my wrist. Avoiding eye contact as I try to figure out what to say. Meanwhile, Myles stares at me like he has all day for me to reach the conclusion he’s already arrived at.

But I can’t even scrape together two words to defend my actions.

I pride myself on the way I teach those clients of ours that wish to learn.

Before I met Myles, before he introduced me to BDSM, I spent my days breaking the law, my evenings playing Russian Roulette with my life.

Gambling.

Fighting.

Fucking.

Self-destructing, one bad decision at a time.

Word of my skills had gotten out. The way I could launder money so subtly, so seamlessly, that even the organizations I worked for didn’t have a fucking clue what magic I’d conjured.

And thank fuck, Myles thought that kind of expertise was valuable enough to the Balmont Boys that he’d be willing to negotiate my early release from prison.

The structure and control of The Den rebuilt me. It gave me permission to give in to the darkness I’d always fought, tooth and nail. But with boundaries and safe guards. With purpose.

Finding Angels, training them, training clients…it isn’t just what I do.

It’s who I am.

And it’s the only version of myself I can bear to live with.

The only version that doesn’t want to burn everything to the ground, starting with me.

Yet I’m willing to let this woman slip past my defenses and tear my perfect life to shreds.

I should quit lying to myself about what’s happening here.

This isn’t the first time, after all.

And Myles—goddamn Myles—reads my mind like I emailed him a fucking PDF of my thoughts.

“You know what this looks like, don’t you?” He leans his head to one side, wagging a finger at me. “This looks like Michelle all over again.”

“This is nothing like that.”

“Isn’t it? You’re getting possessive over merchandise, Smith. That’s exactly what happened last time. You, losing your shit over some girl and?—“

“Some girl ?”

Myles cocks an eyebrow at me as he takes a few swallows of water before capping the bottle again.

“I’m not being an asshole for shits and giggles. Michelle destroyed you.” He laughs dryly. “Fuck it, she nearly destroyed everything!”

“I don’t—“ I cut off, ripping my glasses off, pinching the bridge of my nose.

I don’t care?

But I do. Of course I do. The Balmont Boys mean everything to me. They gave me a second chance at life and, after Michelle, a third.

Do I even deserve a fourth if Zoey turns out to be just as destructive?

“Christ,” I mutter as I reluctantly lower myself onto the edge of the chaise lounge, my knees wide, fingers meshed and dangling between them as I lean forward.

“She’s more trouble than she’s worth,” Myles says quietly. “You know if this was any other girl, you’d already have Troy take her for one of those road trips of his, where he’s the only one who comes back.”

My knuckles turn white.

I rise to my full height, breathing deep. “No. No one touches her but me.”

Myles’s eyebrows twitch. “You’re awful fond of that word lately, Smith.”

I lick my lips, step closer, and let my hands curl into fists like they’ve so badly wanted to this whole time.

I’ve never stood up to Myles like this before.

What Balmont wants, Balmont always gets, and everyone else be damned.

I’ve been fine with it our entire relationship, usually because our wants are aligned, but this?

I can’t let this happen.

“Zoey is mine .”

“I’m sure as fuck not fighting for custody.” Myles stands and heads for the door. “As long as you keep doing your job, you can run your dick ragged in your new toy’s magical golden pussy for all I care. But under no circumstance does that hellraiser set foot back in my club.”

Relief, warm and heavy, pins me where I stand.

He glances back at me, the only smile those faint lines around the corners of his blue eyes.

“Just remember to dispose properly of your toy this time when you’re done playing with her. We wouldn’t want another surprise visit from our friends at the DEA.”