Page 49 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

Zoey

Kate’s pants tangle around my thighs, the wet fabric grazing painfully over my skin as I wrench them back up. Every movement causes a splash from the puddle I’m lying in. Dirty rain water soaks every inch of my body.

Troy just stands there, rain pounding down on his massive shoulders, expression unreadable. He doesn’t even seem to notice the water streaming down his face.

“Going somewhere?” he asks, gruff but deadpan, like it’s an everyday thing for him to witness someone being assaulted by the dumpsters.

My heart hammers in my chest, adrenaline still flooding my system. I try to stand but my knees keep buckling.

“Please,” I gasp, my voice breaking. “Please let me go.”

I don’t know what else to do but beg. It hasn’t gotten me anywhere with Smith, but maybe Troy isn’t an all-out psychopath with zero empathy or feelings of remorse.

Here’s hoping.

Troy steps closer. “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t even be here.”

Hope flares inside me, desperate and wild. “So you’ll let me go?”

I guess he’s getting sick of watching me try to stand. He lurches forward, his hand clamping around my arm as he pulls me to my feet.

“Just said it’s not up to me.”

My jaw throbs where Dylan hit me. I gingerly brush my fingers over the bruise as Troy hauls me around the dumpster.

What was he doing out here? Is this just some weird coincidence? I don’t believe in that.

I try to look behind me, to see which direction Dylan disappeared to. “Shouldn’t you be going after that guy?”

“He’s being handled.”

Being handled? I shudder, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m cold and wet and traumatized, or because I’m pretty sure Dylan won’t be seeing another sunrise. I should feel relieved, but I just feel sick.

What kind of world is this where justice is so fucking twisted?

I allegedly steal from a casino and my punishment is an undecided amount of time spent being sex trafficked to the highest bidder?

Dylan assaults me and he goes to sleep with the fishes?

But Smith wakes up every morning feeling like a million bucks?

Troy heads for the laundry ramp. Maybe someone spotted me leaving, and he just happened to be in the area. Seems like the employees know each other, even in a massive casino like this.

Warm, perfumed air hits me. I’m almost glad to be back inside, out of the rain and the stink. Until I remember what I’m on my way back to.

A possibly fatal date with Smith.

“Any chance we can keep this between us?” I mutter, trying to sound brave instead of terrified.

Troy lets out a bark of laughter that makes me flinch. “The mood Hutchinson’s in? Might as well slit your throat myself.”

My heart nearly fails. “No, no, no! I’m sorry, okay!” I plead, trying to dig in my heels. “Please, Troy!”

He just keeps walking, pulling me along like I weigh nothing. Fighting is useless, so I give up. But my mind keeps churning. It’s like when I’m watching a movie, always trying to figure out how it will end.

…the mood Hutchinson’s in…

I assume he’s talking about Smith. About the mood I put him in.

Realization hits me like a knock to the head. Smith was already on edge…and that was before I tried to escape. What will he do when he finds out I stole from him? When he discovers I knocked out one of his employees and fled?

My mind does Olympic-level gymnastics as I try to reason myself out of hysteria.

He won’t kill me. He needs me alive for…whatever the fuck our deal is now.

But there are worse things than death.

Like having every hole fucked until I’m raw and bleeding, perhaps. And all the other ways he’ll figure out to make me scream, patent pending.

A violent shudder chases through me.

This is insane.

Smith is a fucking accountant. Calculating, controlled. It wouldn’t make sense for him to damage his merchandise, right?

He gave me a bath. Bought me clothes. And lest we forget the chocolate cake?

Except…that’s just what captors do, don’t they? They show kindness, so you’ll be more pliable. Messing with your head so you can’t tell the difference between manipulation and basic decency anymore.

But Smith isn’t just any captor. Despite everything he’s done to me—or perhaps, because of it—something has changed. There’s this toxic, volatile chemistry building up between us.

I’ve seen the way he looks at me. The way his nostrils flare when I push back. That ghost of a smile that touches his mouth.

He likes when I fight back almost as much as when I submit.

So why would he break me?

The memory of his fingers tracing my skin as he applied ointment to my bruised skin, so gently tending to me after Howler’s punishment. After his own spanking in the classroom, days later.

I force out a nervous laugh. “He won’t hurt me. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he gave me a bubble bath. What’s the worst?—“

Troy stops walking, and the hand clamped around my arm forces me to stop. He pulls me around to face him, voice dropping to a low growl.

“You think those pretty red lines he left on you are all he’s capable of?”

My stomach twists violently as I jerk back. “What the fuck?”

Troy stares at me, his expression cooling as his eyes search mine. Finally, he exhales through his nose.

“You don’t know.”

My breath catches in my throat. Something cold slithers down my spine, and it’s got nothing to do with the rain water still leaking out of my hair.

“Smith was the one holding that cane.”

I shake my head. “But…Howler…”

“Smith threw him out. Took over,” Troy says flatly. “Not sure who pissed him off more, you or Howler.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I’m still shaking my head, trying to process what he’s telling me.

Those twelve brutal lashes I received…they came from Smith?

The man who poured me a lavender-scented bubble bath? Who so gently applied ointment to the wounds he inflicted?

Yes, Zoey.

The monster who watched me flinch and whimper with each touch, knowing exactly how much pain he’d caused.

My stomach clenches, heart rate spiking. All the desperate reasons I came up with to convince myself he wouldn’t really hurt me crumble to dust.

Still, I try to gaslight myself.

“No. No, that’s not—you’re lying!”

But even as I deny it, the pieces fall into place. The blindfold. The silence. Even the air had felt different when Smith was in the room.

I thought it was my imagination.

Should have realized what had happened, especially after the way Smith had inspected the marks he’d made with such clinical precision.

Ha. It was more than that, wasn’t it?

It was pride .

There’s no denying it anymore.

Smith is an animal.

My mind splinters, fragmented thoughts colliding as I try to make sense of this new mind fuck.

Troy watches my face as I struggle to process, and whatever he sees there makes his grip on my arm loosen slightly.

“He’s a sadist, Zoey,” Troy says, his voice oddly gentle now. “He gets off on causing pain. Especially to someone who has no choice but to let him.”

“Stop.” I can’t hear more. My whole body is shaking. “I get it.”

Troy’s eyes narrow as he shoves me into the elevator. He studies me as the doors close. “Do you?”

“Please, Troy.” I look up at him, not bothering to hide my desperation. “If I don’t get out of here…”

Do I risk it? Troy seems to give even less of a shit about me than Smith does. Would it even make a difference if I told him about Elonzo and the diner, those awful sounds Ricky made over the phone?

“Something bad is going to happen to someone I love.”

There’s a shift in Troy’s expression. For a moment, I think I see a flash of understanding, maybe even sympathy.

He reaches down to my waist, tearing free the bag of chips. The lanyard with Kate’s keycard is next. “That what you need this for?” he asks, squishing the bag in his hand until the chips grate against each other.

“No,” I lie automatically.

Troy’s eyes harden again. “Try again.”

I throw my hands in the air. “Fine, okay! Yes. I need those. That’s why I’m here.” I pause, chasing air into my lungs with a hard inhale. “I just need?—”

“Save it.” He pockets the chips, face hardening again. “I’ve heard every sob story under the sun.”

The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding. Troy grabs my arm again, forcing me to keep pace as he heads for Smith’s room.

My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear anything else.

“…The fuck?” Troy mutters when we get close enough for him to see Smith’s room door ajar. He pushes me inside, glaring down at Kate’s motionless body, then up at me.

“I didn’t have a choice,” I whisper, then bite down hard on my lip when his eyes narrow even more.

He drops to his knees, pressing his fingers to the woman’s neck. There was no time to dress her, but I put a blanket over her half-naked body.

“Poor girl,” he murmurs. He’s not talking to me, but God, how I wish he was. It’s been a while since someone’s shown me even a shred of sympathy. “Should have gone home when I told to you too.”

He scoops her up in his arms, cradling her to his barrel of a chest. “She was already having such a shitty day.”

“She didn’t almost get raped!”

Troy’s eyebrow cocks up. “She did, actually. By that same cunt.” He glances at the food cart, then dismisses it without a word. “Small world, isn’t it?”

He shuts the door, leaving me alone in Smith’s room. I stand there for a few seconds until a violent shudder tears through me.

Must get out of these wet clothes.

Must prepare myself for Smith’s return.

Must figure out how the hell I’m going to deal with the guilt of failing Ricky. Therapy’s on the list, obviously. But not before I pick up an eating disorder. Maybe I’ll try prostitution to support my inevitable drug habit. I’ve got experience now.

I walk on wooden legs to the bathroom, trying—and failing—not to look at my reflection.

The woman staring back at me looks absolutely mental. Rain plastering her hair to her scalp. Clothes soaked and filthy. A bruise forming on her jaw.

And she’s still trapped.

I stagger out of the bathroom, ripping open Smith’s closets like they’ll somehow have different contents than when I was in here such a short while ago. I stare at his neatly arranged suspenders, shivering when I remember how they stung my skin the night he interrogated me in that small room.

A rough, manic laugh slips out of me.

I’m such an idiot. Worried about Ricky this whole time.

What about me?

I’m not just trapped in a hotel suite in some mob casino.

This is a monster’s lair. And it might as well be at the top of a mountain surrounded by cliffs.

My eyes flick to the balcony.

Rapunzel, let down your hair!

My shoulders sag. As choices go, this might be the shittiest I’ve considered this month. But I don’t have a choice, do I?

Either way, I’m dead.