Page 58 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

Smith

“This it?” Zoey ducks her head, trying to get a clearer view of our destination as we turn off the main road.

“This is it,” Troy says, locking eyes with me in the rearview mirror and thinning his mouth like he’s doing me a fucking favor.

The taste of Zoey’s fear has been seasoning the air for the last hour, making my mouth water. She keeps glancing at the clock like it’s a countdown to her brother’s execution, unaware that I’ve already signed his death warrant.

The villa’s wrought-iron gates swing open ahead of us, iron teeth parting to swallow us whole. The grounds are dark, the driveway thickly lined with trees.

Ever since Troy got in the car, I’ve been lying to Zoey by omission. Watching her fidget and frown as I head further and further away from the warehouse where Elonzo fucking Hernández waits with his recycled theatrics.

I know it’s him behind this.

Same envelope.

Same handwriting.

Same Saran-Wrapped finger.

I’m betting he thinks I haven’t changed. He’s wrong. I chose Zoey’s life over her brother’s without consulting her. Some might call it mercy. She’ll probably call it selfishness.

I call it evolution.

Elonzo isn’t calling the shots tonight, and Christ, that makes me smug. But cold realization suffocates the satisfaction settling in my chest.

Zoey is about to shatter.

And instead of Elonzo, I’m the one holding the hammer.

I’ve spent years perfecting the art of breaking women. But this? This is different. This is survival masquerading as betrayal, and I already know Zoey won’t accept the distinction.

I pull up to the villa’s entrance, the Bentley’s purring engine dropping to a whisper. In the sudden quiet, I hear Zoey’s breathing grow harder, faster, like she’s struggling to keep herself together through sheer force of will.

“What the fuck?” she whispers, her voice shaking. “What the actual fuck?”

The car doors unlock with a soft click as I turn off the engine. Zoey gets out before I can say a word, slamming the door so hard the Bentley rocks on its suspension.

“You’ve really got to work on your communication skills, Smith,” Troy says.

“Nothing I could have said would’ve made this easier.”

“Not her I was talking about.”

I briefly catch Troy’s eye in the rearview mirror, but I force myself to look away.

Instead of answering, I draw Elonzo’s note from my pocket and hand it to Troy over my shoulder.

I see recognition flicker on his face as he takes it from me.

He was there when I found Michelle’s envelope.

Her finger. Thank God he didn’t go to the drop.

Myles needed him some place else that night.

He might not have survived.

Many of our men didn’t.

“Jesus fucking Christ. How did he?—?”

“I don’t know.”

Troy lets out a heavy sigh. “I mean…I get it…but, fuck, Smith, you gotta talk to her.”

“Planning on it,” I mutter, reluctantly getting out of the car.

Zoey stands in the circular driveway, staring up at the villa’s imposing facade like a tourist in front of a landmark to a historical genocide. She doesn’t turn to me when I approach, despite the loud crunch of my shoes over the gravel drive.

“Zoey.”

The security lights paint her face in harsh white, spotlighting the exact moment understanding crashes over her like an icy wave.

Her shoulders sag. Her arms fall to her sides.

“You were never planning to take me to him, were you?”

I get out slowly, Troy following suit. The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of jasmine from the gardens. It should have been idyllic. Instead, it feels like I’m standing in a minefield.

“No,” I tell her. “I wasn’t.”

She turns her head, staring at me. Expressionless.

“You fucking liar!” She launches herself at me with the fury of a woman who has nothing left to lose. “I fucking trusted you!”

I catch her wrists as she swings a punch, surprised when the impact jars me.

“Zoey, listen to me. It was a trap?—”

“I don’t care!” She wrenches a hand free, clawing for my face. She’s fighting like a wildcat, all fangs and claws and desperate rage. I dodge, fumbling with her wrist, but she pulls free again.

“Zoey! Calm down!”

Her reply is to snarl at me as she rakes her nails down my cheek. “He’s my brother! He’s all I have!”

A sharp sting.

A trickle of warm blood that slips into the corner of my mouth, its taste flooding my senses.

Metallic. Intoxicating.

My vision sharpens, pupils dilating as something primal awakens in my chest. The sting from her claws crackles like electricity, and I feel myself getting hard despite everything.

Christ.

Not now.

Not like this.

Even with her heart breaking in front of me, my body responds to Zoey’s violence like it’s foreplay. The pain, the blood, the struggle. She’s pushing every button I have.

“Zoey, please—” I try to grab her again, but she ducks under my reach like a seasoned football pro.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” She backs toward the villa entrance, tears streaming down her face. “You’re a monster! A fucking monster!”

She spins to run, and the predator inside me breaks free again.

I sprint after her.

She’s almost at the villa’s steps when I catch up to her. There’s no conscious thought that tells me tackling her is a good idea—I only realize I’ve done it when the impact sends the air from my lungs.

Zoey yelps in pain, then goes absolutely still.

I push up onto my hands, then my knees, grabbing her shoulders, flipping her over.

She’s dead.

…you killed her…

But her eyes pop open as soon as her back hits the gravel, her fist connecting with my jaw in a solid right hook that sends stars exploding across my vision.

The pain only feeds the hunger.

I grab her throat in one hand, a fistful of her hair in the other.

I’m losing control, and she knows it.

“You fucking monster,” she hisses up at me, eyes luminous in the spotlight, lashes studded with tears. “You get off knowing my brother’s being tortured somewhere, don’t you? Bet you wish it was you, cutting off his fingers.”

The light is getting brighter. Whiter. Washing out her features, until all I can see are those incriminating eyes, vivid green from her tears, from the fear, from the pain.

“I’m doing this for you,” I whisper. “I’m trying to save you.”

I don’t know if she hears me. Her mouth moves, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. The whine in my ears is a hard buzz, a live wire snapping and whipping through my mind.

The world narrows to the space between her pulse and my palm as a symphony builds inside my skull.

Ragged breathing.

Thundering heartbeat.

And beneath it all, the malevolent whispers?—

…she deserves this for making me feel…

…making me weak…

…for looking at me like I’m something worth saving, when we both know I’m not…

—feeding a desperate hunger.

My fingers tighten around her throat as I remember how it felt to watch the light fade from another pair of eyes, how beautiful that fatal aria, when you’re the one conducting the orchestra.

Christ, she has no idea how right she is about me being a monster.

How close I am to proving it.

The beast I keep choke-chained inside is clawing its way up my throat, demanding blood, demanding silence. I’m balanced on a razor’s edge between salvation and damnation, and the only thing keeping me from falling is the dread knowledge that if I let go now, I’ll take her with me.

“Smith.” The plea puffs from her lips softer than a whisper.

But she’s right—I am a monster. And monsters don’t save people.

They devour them.

Bone by bone. Breath by breath. Drop by drop of blood.

Until there’s nothing left but the memory of what they used to be.

A hand lands on my shoulder, squeezes me.

“That’s enough, Smith,” Troy’s voice cuts through the haze.

When I don’t move, when I don’t release Zoey, he drags me away and tosses me onto my back in the gravel.

My vision clears.

The tightness around my chest dissipates.

Like I was drowning, but my head’s finally breached the surface.

By the time I’ve scrambled into a sit, Troy has put himself between me and Zoey, staring me down like he’s ready to attack if I make the wrong move.

Zoey rushes to her feet, hand on her throat like I was seconds away from strangling her. I suppose I was.

“You sick fuck. You sick, twisted fuck!”

“Please, just listen,” I say, but even I can hear how unconvincing it sounds. “It was a setup. He wasn’t going to let Ricky?—“

“You don’t get to say his name!” She’s shaking now, adrenaline and terror making her voice quaver. Compared to my flat, measured monotone, she sounds like the one who’s losing their mind, not me.

“You fucking killed him! He’s dead, and it’s all your fault!”

Troy turns to her, hands raised. “Calm down, Zoey. Come inside so we can explain.”

“I’m not going anywhere with either of you,” she says, still backing away. She turns to run again, but Troy is faster. He catches her around the waist, lifting her off her feet as she screams and thrashes.

That’s what I should have done.

Not tackle her, pin her, choke her.

“Let go !”

I stand, dusting my clothes, tugging them straight. Thank God I put in my contacts, because I’m pretty sure my glasses would have been ruined by now.

Troy throws me a glance over his shoulder, and I’m sure the frustration on his face is equal parts Zoey and me.

“Put her in one of the guest bedrooms for now,” I tell him, wiping blood from my cheek with the back of my hand.

“You can’t do this!” Zoey shrieks, still struggling in Troy’s grip. “This is kidnapping! This is?—”

“This is keeping you alive, Zoey!” I cut in, my voice so loud it’s almost a shout.

She stops fighting Troy, but the look she sends my way is pure fucking venom.

“I hate you,” she whispers, tears wobbling in her eyes before racing down her blotchy cheeks. “I hate you so fucking much.”

“I know, kitten,” I murmur.

She hangs from Troy’s arms like I had him pick up my dry cleaning. Her sobs reach me as they get to the entrance. Wild, forlorn sobs that sting more than the claw marks on my cheek.

I stand alone in the driveway, dabbing the already tacky blood on my skin, savoring the tingle of pain.

Copper coats my tongue when I lick my fingertips.

How quickly sweetness turns to violence.

I can still taste her from that kiss at the diner. Still feel the way she melted against me, the soft sound she made when I pulled her closer.

And Christ, the way she looked at me. Like I was the God who hung the fucking moon, instead of the monster who ate the stars.

I felt it too.

That insidious flutter in my chest, the way my walls started crumbling the moment her lips touched mine. For one perfect, terrifying moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to love her.

What it would be like to have her love me back.

Then I found Elonzo’s note, and reality came crashing down.

Love makes people stupid, reckless, vulnerable.

Love would have gotten her killed tonight.

Elonzo would have given her a choice, except it wouldn’t have been a choice at all. I saved her from that, and instead of thanking me, she looked at me like I was the Devil himself.

Something tells me, no matter how much I try to explain it to her, she won’t understand. That she’ll always hate me for this.

And I’m okay with that.

I can handle her hatred.

What I can’t handle is the alternative—that look in her eyes that promised everything in the world I’ve ever wanted…and more.

How dare I take something so precious from her when all I give her in return is pain?

Gravel crunches under my shoes as I follow Zoey and Troy into the villa. As I step inside, I bring my fingers to my mouth, tasting the blood coating my skin.

Christ. She clawed my face open and called me a monster, and all I can think about is how magnificent she looked doing it.

Maybe I do love her.

Too fucking bad.

Love is the one luxury even my money can’t buy me.

Not if I want to keep her alive.