Page 72 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

Zoey

This balcony is much prettier than the one at Smith’s casino.

No aluminum and glass, just beautifully carved stone with ivy creeping up one side.

Flagstones where there should be sidewalk.

The suggestion of a sharply trimmed hedge.

If I jumped, I’m thinking the worst I’ll walk— limp —away with is a broken leg.

Maybe a broken arm, too, if I miss the hedge.

I would attempt another sheet-rope, but it was laughable how quickly my knots unraveled on the last one.

God, I wish I wasn’t such a coward.

Elonzo probably just dropped and rolled, escaping without so much as a sprained ankle.

Now he’s out there, waiting to creep into my bedroom one night so he can?—

I don’t hear a noise, but something makes me turn around. Maybe I’ve developed some kind of sixth sense after all the time I’ve spent around Mr. Unpredictable.

Elonzo is standing between me and the bedroom door like I thought him into existence.

Fuck, maybe I did.

Amazing how, despite all the gore I’ve seen tonight, him standing there so casually is honestly the most terrifying thing I’ve witnessed yet.

It’s the almost indifferent malice gleaming in his black eyes. The way his mouth twitches, then relaxes, like he’s thinking up a hundred awful things to do to me, each worse than the last.

Blood soaks the left side of his white vest where Troy’s bullet caught him, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

Adrenaline’s a hell of a drug.

So is pure, unfiltered psychopathy, I guess.

“Alone at last,” he chuckles, spreading his arms.

His gun’s tucked behind his belt. So cocky, he thinks it’ll just get in the way.

My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. I back up slowly, throwing a quick glance over my shoulder, wondering if I should risk broken bones in lieu of the rape and torture Elonzo most certainly has planned for me.

Those flagstones are looking more appealing by the second.

“Hell no, mamacita ,” Elonzo drawls when he catches me contemplating suicide. “That’s not how our story ends.”

“Our story?” I spit out, my voice a hell of a lot steadier than my legs. “Don’t you mean this delusion where you’re convinced I owe you money?”

He glances away, his laugh almost sounding genuine as he takes his lighter out of his pocket and flips open the lid.

Snick

“Nah, our story goes way back.”

He thumbs the flint wheel, a flame hissing into existence before he snuffs it out, a flick of hand snapping closed the lid.

Hiss, click.

He’s absolutely fucking insane. How the hell are you supposed to negotiate with a madman?

“Yes,” I say carefully. “Ricky owed you money, and he disappeared. So you?—”

“Ricky?” Elonzo groans up at the ceiling, his Adam’s apple stark against his tattooed neck. “Fuck Ricky.”

He flicks the lighter, killing the fresh flame in the same quick gesture as before.

Snick.

Hiss, click.

“La familia es eterna, ”? 1 he says, fucking cryptically. “You two are new generation.”

“Huh?”

I’m not trying to aggravate him. My brain is just failing me completely. Also, I don’t know any Spanish.

All I can do is stare at the raving lunatic taking slow, measured steps closer to me like I’m waiting for subtitles to appear so I can understand what the fuck he’s saying.

“What, you think I’d let you off the hook because mami ? 2 got dicked to death? First Franco, then his bitch. Both spat in our faces. That debt will be settled when the last Marconi goes up in flames.”

Snick.

Hiss.

This time, he doesn’t extinguish it, just raises the Zippo until it’s level with my eyes. Until I have no choice but to stare at the dancing flame.

White noise spills into my ears.

He’s not the crazy one.

It’s me.

I’m hallucinating him. The awful fucking words coming out of his mouth.

Everything.

Fuck…what if this is all just some ridiculously long nightmare, and I’m about to wake up in my crappy apartment, groggy from too little sleep, eyes scratchy from the mascara I never washed out, hair still reeking of fryer oil?

“What…? I don’t under—“ I croak.

Elonzo narrows his eyes, tapping at his chin as he steps closer. He’s almost in arm’s reach, and I’m still rooted to the spot, concrete dread encasing my entire lower half.

“What was her name…?”

Audrey. That was my mother’s name. Audrey Dennen.

She never took my step-father’s name, because they never married, and thank fuck because he just up and abandoned us all one day, didn’t even tell us where he was going, and Elonzo doesn’t know any of this, because Elonzo’s just some cartel thug that Ricky owes money.

Elonzo closes the gap.

He has a few inches on me. Not as much as Smith, but enough that my head tilts back to maintain eye contact.

His fingers brush against my hoodie, barely two inches above my nipple. I can feel the heat from the lighter when he brings it closer, like he’s trying to see deep into my eyes with the flame.

“Wore a little badge just like yours,” he says. “Smelled like you too.”

He sniffs the air. “Not anymore.”

His bark of a laugh makes my entire body jerk with shock. “What the fuck was her name?”

I blink up at him, entranced. But my lizard brain is still active. It’s still trying to keep me alive. It has control of my arm, and it’s moving it ever so slowly, inching my hand into my hoodie’s pouch. I feel the warmth of the fabric, the slightly tacky knife handle, the weight of the blade.

Elonzo clicks his fingers, making my eyelashes tremble at the unexpected sound.

“Audrey.” He walks his fingers up my hoodie, running his thumb over the column of my throat as he waves the lighter left and right in front of my face. “Stubborn bitch. We made sure no one bothered her, and she goes and calls the cops on us.”

Elonzo bops my nose. “What’s the golden rule, Zoey?”

“No cops,” I mumble through numb lips.

“See? Not that hard, is it?”

My hand slides out of the pouch. I can see the blade in my peripheral vision, but it still feels like someone else is controlling my arm. Keeping my fingers wrapped tight around the hilt, my arm dangling innocently at my side.

“You know what makes me sad?” Elonzo tilts his head, giving me a dramatically sympathetic pout. “Your boyfriends are coming back soon. No time for fun.”

“Oh no,” I say woodenly.

“I wanted to take my time with you.” He shoves a hand in his pocket, brings out a string of pearls.

Audrey’s pearls.

My pearls.

“Remember these?”

I reach for them with my free hand like a child clawing for candy.

“Nuh-uh. These are mine . Trofeos .? 3 Mementos.” He smiles. Disgustingly. “I still have her panties.”

I blink at him, the white noise in my ears swelling.

“I keep them in a special drawer, with the others.” He dangles the pearls, grin widening. “That’s where I was keeping this. I’m gonna take out her panties later. Wrap them around my dick as I?—“

I don’t hear the rest.

Too much blood rushing through my ears. Heart pounding too hard. Thoughts flickering by too fast, blurring.

Everything’s blurring.

Audrey. That was her name. Audrey Dennen, because she didn’t take Franco’s last name, because we meant nothing to that selfish?—

Elonzo grunts, pain and confusion flickering over his face.

Something warm coats my fingers.

I swear I hear a sound through the white noise. A muffled thud. Then a wet squelch .

Thud.

Squelch.

Elonzo yells, “Fuck!” and staggers back, dropping the lighter to the carpet. It carries on burning, a tiny flame in a sea of beige.

I stay where I am, wondering what the hell he’s doing. He stumbles, one hand clapped to his stomach. I expect him to laugh, to say something vile and utterly bonkers.

But he just tugs out his gun and lifts it on a wobbly arm, gritted teeth stained red, and shoots.

Something nips at my ear, a cool trickle racing down my throat.

Now I really can’t hear anything.

His arm bobs, eyes widening until he’s staring at me like he sees the Devil instead of the daughter of the woman he brutally assaulted outside her diner. At his feet, the single flame has spread to a small, spitting patch of charred carpet fibers.

“ ?Hijueputa ? 4 ! ”

A flash erupts from the gun’s muzzle.

Something punches me in the arm, and the knife I forgot I was holding drops to the ground. I’m there a second later, on my ass, half leaning to one side with my legs stacked and stretched out, like how they always show mermaids when they’re on land.

Smoke is churning up from the carpet now. Elonzo ignores it, so maybe I’m hallucinating that too.

Someone’s laughing.

I think it’s me.

Elonzo points the gun down, and he’s grinning too, like he’s telling me a hilarious joke, and we’re both already laughing because we’ve figured out the punch line, but he hasn’t told it yet, and so we’re just laughing for nothing and we can’t stop.

A third shot goes off.

I feel nothing, because I guess I’m already too numb.

No, wait.

A hole appears in Elonzo’s neck. First there’s a spray of blood, then a spurting fountain.

He drops the gun. Claps both hands over the hole. Staggers around.

Smith is standing in the doorway, pointing a gun.

He’s not smiling.

Guess he doesn’t get the joke yet.

Maybe he never will.

His mouth moves, eyes flickering briefly to me before settling back on Elonzo. But if he’s trying to tell me something, he’s going to have to yell, because I think I’ve gone deaf.

Elonzo crumples to his knees. Smith’s weapon follows him. Not a big rifle, but something smaller. Almost looks like the one Troy was using earlier.

I laugh.

Or maybe I never stopped.

Smith gives me a double take and then drops his arm. He detours around Elonzo, stomping out the fire with his bare foot before dropping to his knees beside me. Elonzo falls onto his side and lies on the carpet, gurgling like a noisy drain.

But Smith doesn’t look back. Doesn’t even seem interested. No rage in those dark eyes. No bloodlust. Just deep concern and a small wince of pain.

“Zoey. Zoey, look at me.”

I thought I was?

I widen my eyes, make a point of focusing on Smith’s face.

It doesn’t seem to please him. Instead, he just looks more troubled. Is it because I’m still giggling?

“Christ,” he mutters.

The bedroom pitches and slants like a fucking boat as I push onto hands and knees. One arm doesn’t work properly anymore, keeps buckling, but I crawl away from Smith.

“Zoey.”

No, not now. I’m on a fucking mission.

I reach Elonzo’s body as Smith slips an arm around my waist. It stinks of burnt carpet, blood, and sweat here.

“Zoey!”

I grab the pearls still twisted around Elonzo’s fingers, barely latching on before I’m flying.

The ceiling spins, the floor twirls. My face presses against a warm, sticky chest, and I can’t help but let my eyes flutter closed.

Sweet baby Jesus, I feel so snug as Smith’s strong arms wrap around me.

I smush the pearls against my face, massaging my cheek, my chin, my lips. Slowly noticing a new sensation, more vibration than a sound.

Lub-dub.

Lub-dub.

I nestle closer, letting Smith’s incomprehensible voice drone around me as I listen to his heart.

Huh.

Guess this monster has a heart, after all.

Is it beating for me?

Smith’s lips brush the top of my head. I’m jostled up and down with every step, the villa blurring around me. Paintings, pot plants, statues, then a blue-gray sky on the cusp of dawn, barely a handful of stars still sparkling.

“Stay with me, Zoey,” he whispers. “Stay with me.”

I’m not sure if it’s a command or a plea, but as he says those words, I realize something that terrifies me more than anything ever could.

I do love him.

As incomprehensible, as ridiculous, as stupid as it is…I’ve fallen in love with this monster. And I only realized it now because a sinister voice inside me is whispering something I don’t want to hear.

…close your eyes, go to sleep…

…will all be over soon…

…going away now, away forever…

I don’t want to leave him, but?—

Warm wetness spreads down my arm and chest, almost immediately cooling as it soaks through my hoodie. There’s a sharp, throbbing ache below my collarbone, like someone’s twisting a knife deeper and deeper and deeper.

—I might not have a choice.