Page 71 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

I let out a humorless laugh as I check one of the soldiers for a pulse. Me and Troy both stand at the same time to give the dead bodies one last scan.

“Someone else is missing too,” I muse as I pick my way through the bloody corpses. “Elonzo’s second in command. Might have taken Ricky out of the room before they started shooting hostages.”

Speaking of…

I head over to the villa’s staff, coaxing them up off the floor, gently but quickly. A woman with white hair who’s obviously seen her fair share of violence in the past seems the most lucid.

I draw her aside, motioning to the traumatized staff. “This everyone?”

She glances at the other staff, eyes flickering as she does a mental head count, then she nods. “ Sí, senor ,? 3 but Thomas and Manny, they—” she cuts off, mouth pursing, “—they killed them outside.”

Those following our conversation either look confused, or just as unsure. Guess most of them were in their beds in the staff quarters when the raid began.

“Can you drive?”

She hesitates, then nods. “ Sí, senor. ”

“You know the way back to town?”

Another nod, this one firmer than the last. “ Sí, senor. ”

“Take one of the vans in the garage and drive the others to the urgent care in town. Ask for Dr. Edgar. Tell him I’ll be along later to settle their bills.”

“Dr. Edgar,” she repeats carefully, then glances over at the huddled staff and beckons them with an imperious, “ ?ándenle síganme! ”? 4

She leads them out of the entertainment room, waving her hands like she’s herding sheep, not victims of a cartel hostage situation. But judging from the shock on their faces, a hard hand might work better than gentle cajoling.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

I scan the dead bodies, but none of them look like Zoey’s brother.

“I need to find Ricky,” I tell Troy.

“ We need to find him,” Troy says, falling in line behind me.

“You need to bring Zoey downstairs.”

Troy gives my half-naked body a disparaging glance. “It’s been a busy morning, so I’m guessing you’ve forgotten you’re mortal.”

I grit my teeth, but it’s useless arguing.

We rush silently through the lower half of the villa, searching for any trace of the two missing men.

“It’s not enough, you know,” Troy murmurs.

“What is?” I frown as I glance at him, trying to read his unreadable face.

“Really think she’s gonna care if you saved one guy?” His eyes flick to the ceiling, in the direction where Zoey waits.

“Didn’t do it for her.”

Troy goes on like I didn’t even speak. “We all tried to warn you.”

“Yet here we are. You done lecturing me?”

He isn’t.

“You’ve got to send her away. Give her a fighting chance at a normal life. The kind of woman that would stick around after what she saw. Is that really the kind of woman you want at your side?”

The words hit harder than they should.

Not just because he’s right, but because I’ve known it all along.

We stop at the junction of a hallway.

I press my back to the wall, trying to concentrate on the matter at hand, and failing dismally. Troy is pissing me off with his unerring pragmatism. But I wouldn’t consider him a friend if he just told me what I wanted to hear, either.

“So I can never be happy?” I hiss.

Troy was about to peek around the corner, but he flattens against the wall again, his face softening slightly. For all his coldness, all his efficiency, he’s still more human than I am. Always has been.

“Sure, but it’ll cost you. You willing to trade her happiness for yours?”

I think about Zoey. Stubborn, kind, beautiful Zoey. The way she risked her life to save me, even after the deal I tried to make with Elonzo.

She deserves better than any life I could ever provide.

She doesn’t deserve to love a monster.

“No,” I mutter.

Troy nods like he knew it all along. “There’s your answer. Now, we done here?”

I give him a grim nod.

We peek out to check if the hallway is clear in both directions—him checking the left, me the right. The villa’s library is down there. Where I told Zoey all about Michelle, and then basically told her to fuck off out of my life. I spot the doorway, then the body sprawled outside.

“Fuck,” I grate out, flattening against the wall again. “We’ve got a casualty.”

“Friendly?” Troy asks, frowning.

I shake my head.

We rush quietly up to the closed door, Troy keeping watch as I crouch beside the figure. Definitely cartel. Definitely dead.

I push him onto his side, searching for an entry or exit wound.

But there isn’t one.

No blood, either.

His face is bruised, and his shoulder shifts unnaturally in its socket when I release him and he slumps down to the ground again.

I stand and press my back to the wall beside the door. Troy takes position on the other side of the door, each centering ourselves before we rush inside.

Another man dead, and all I feel is relief that it’s not one of our own.

How fucked is that?

My teeth squeak against each other how my jaw clenches, the AK weighing a ton in my hands. No longer an extension of myself, but a burden.

I’ve spent most of my life evading death...then becoming it. And I’ve never wanted anything else.

Until now.

I want—need—to change. To become someone worthy of the woman who stole my heart.

Whose heart I stole, too…and then crushed.

Someone better.

Someone human.

Someone she can love, and who she’d let love her in return.

But I’ll always have blood under my nails, no matter how hard I scrub. She deserves someone with hands as clean as hers.

End of fucking story.

“Smith? You ready?” Troy’s sharp voice cuts through the dismal fog clinging to my mind. Thoughts of Zoey reluctantly disperse as I force my critical mind back into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah,” I mutter, shifting my weight and wincing as pain shoots through my calf where a ricocheting bullet hit flesh. Warm blood seeps through my sweatpants, the fabric sticking to my skin with each movement.

A constant reminder of how close I came to joining the body count.

“Sure? Because if you’re too busy having an existential crisis, I could wait.”

“Christ, I said I’m fine.” I check the chamber of my AK-47, the familiar click-clack of the bolt carrier grounding me. I run my thumb over the safety selector, ensuring it’s set to semi-auto. No need to spray the room with bullets if there’s only one or two targets inside.

“Bullshit,” Troy snaps. “Get your head in the game before someone blows it off.”

I don’t think there’s anyone left who isn’t on our side, but Troy’s right—I can’t afford the distraction.

Troy waits until I nod, then we both push open the doors. There’s brief resistance, then a loud crash. Someone pushed one of the wingback chairs against the doors, but all it did was slow us down.

As soon as we’re clear, I realize our mistake.

And by then, it’s already too late.

A shot rings out. Troy grunts, half-collapsing, half-lunging behind the wingback we’d just shoved aside. I duck down beside him, teeth gritted as I see the bloom of red soaking through his fingers when he clutches his shoulder.

“You’re hit.”

“I’ll live.” Troy motions with his head. “Get the sonofabitch.”

“That sonofabitch is Zoey’s brother.”

Troy clenches his jaw. “You sure?”

“Ninety percent.”

He snorts. “Your fucking funeral.”

“Ricky?” I yell, slowly raising my rifle above the top of the wingback. “We’re not going to hurt you!”

“Like I haven’t heard that before,” comes a pained voice from deeper inside the library. “Eat shit, motherfucker!”

Bullets thump into the wingback, one of them penetrating the back and digging a hole into the doorjamb.

“Smith…” Troy grates.

“My name’s Smith,” I call out, hesitating before tossing my rifle onto the carpet where, hopefully, Ricky can see it.

My confidence is at ninety-five percent now after hearing the man’s voice. He sounds young, perhaps only two or three years older than Zoey.

“Zoey sent me to find you,” I say.

“Get the fuck out, or I’ll keep shooting!”

“Ricky, just listen! We’re not with Elonzo!”

I don’t know Ricky, have no fucking clue what will get him to calm down, to trust me. Every word out of my mouth feels like throwing spaghetti at a wall and hoping something will stick.

“I can take you to your sister, Ricky. She’s upstairs right now.”

There’s a catch in the guy’s voice when he yells out his reply. “Think I’ll fall for that one again?” As if to emphasize his point, two shots hit the wingback, jostling both me and Troy with the impact.

I glance at Troy. “Go fetch Zoey,” I whisper.

But he just shakes his head. “And let that kid put a bullet in you?”

“Christ.” I squeeze my eyes shut, scrape my hand through my hair. “Ricky? Ricky, listen, we’re going to fetch Zoey. We’ll close the door behind us, but I want you to stay right here so we can find you again, okay?”

“Sure, motherfucker,” Ricky says through a laugh.

“He’s not going to stay here,” Troy says.

“You think?” I snap. “Christ!”

“Get me out. I’ll stay in the hallway,” Troy says.

“And if he comes out?”

“I’ll try reasoning with him.” Troy lifts his rifle. “He might need a paramedic when I’m done, though.”

Now I’m wishing I hadn’t tossed away my rifle. Ricky could use it on Troy if he leaves the library. But I don’t see any other choice. Ricky’s not coming out, and we’re not getting further inside.

I sling an arm around Troy’s middle, both of us crouching as we silently retreat into the hallway.

“Hurry,” Troy says, grimacing as he leans against the wall and aims through the doorway with his non-dominant hand. “That kid sounds desperate. He’s probably going to come out shooting the moment he thinks we’ve left.”

I nod and retreat silently down the hallway.

As I reach the junction, I hear Ricky yelling something indistinct. Troy glances over at me, then focuses back on the doorway, weapon still raised.

He’ll try not to hit anything vital if Ricky comes storming out, but I’ve seen men die from a gunshot in the leg or arm or before.

Nothing’s certain in war. Or life.

All we can do is hedge our bets and hope the house doesn’t win.