Page 9 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

But lately, they’ve been obsessed with our Angels. Guess their buyers prefer our girls to their heroin-addicted sex-trafficking victims.

Movement catches my eye, and I turn to look through the viewing window.

The door to the sparsely furnished adjoining room opens. One of our bouncers enters, holding a much smaller woman by the elbow. She’s dressed in the same slinky red robe Isabel’s wearing. Her robe and the bouncer’s black uniform are the only points of the color in the otherwise white room.

The bouncer leaves, the door locking audibly behind him.

She stares around with big, dazed eyes, seeming simultaneously fascinated and horrified by the spare furnishings.

A white leather chaise lounge.

A brushed steel X-cross bolted to the floor.

A glossy white utility cabinet.

Then there’s the bed, covered in more white leather and a headboard studded with metal D-rings. She stares at it like she’s gone into a trance.

The play room shouldn’t come as a shock to Lulu. She’s spent a lot of time in there with me. All our Angels do. It’s how we prepare them for our clients. Maybe they woke her up from a nap. She’s a heavy sleeper.

As if summoned by my thoughts, a man in black suit pants and a dark button-down shirt steps into the room.

“I toss back the next shot of cognac. “If that’s everything…?”

“What’s the rush?” Myles asks, sniffing at his tumbler before taking a small sip. “Haven’t seen you in days. Thought we could catch up. I’d like to hear more about this girl you?—“

“Got work to do.”

“You always have work to do. If you don’t want to stay for me, stay for the girl. Layla, isn’t it?”

“Lulu doesn’t need babysitting.” I don’t have to pretend to sound annoyed.

Myles swirls his glass, glancing past me at the viewing window. “You eager to get back to your card counter?”

Frowning, I set my empty glass down on the cocktail table. Isabel smiles at me, but I don’t smile back. “I’ve dealt with her.”

Myles is grinning at me when I turn back to him. “You mean you’re going to deal with her? Sources say she’s waiting in the principal’s office like the naughty girl she is.”

“She stole from me,” I remind him flatly.

“ Us .” Myles’s eyebrows quirk up. “Doesn’t seem fair that you’re the only one who gets to punish her, Dom. Here I am, barely surviving on two play sessions a week, and you won’t share your new toy?”

There’s a beat, so swift I could have ignored it, but it’s there. A pause where my body tightens, my jaw locks, and my instincts scream at me to shove him against the nearest wall.

A growl leaves my throat before I can stop it.

Myles didn’t mean shit by the comment. He’s always spouting crass remarks, trying to get a reaction out of everyone all the time. But a spark of anger shoots through me at the thought that Myles was picturing Zoey in any sexual context whatsoever.

I snatch my jacket up from the back of the couch, not bothering to put it on as I head for the door. The heat in the room, the heat in my chest, is making my blood boil.

Or it could be Myles.

I make sure my voice is low and even, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing he’s hit a nerve.

“Good night, Myles.”

“I need new Angels, Dom!” Myles calls out as I head out the door.

When I get back to the Devil’s Luck, it’s like nothing has changed. That’s the wonder of this place—it’s frozen in time.

Literally. No clocks, no windows.

No hint that the outside world even exists once you’ve walked through the tinted glass doors. It could be the middle of the day or the middle of the night and you’d be none the wiser.

The hotel rooms aren’t as ambiguous. With their floor-to-ceiling windows, they drag the outside in. During the day, light washes the suites. At night, every room has a panoramic view of the city’s sparkling lights.

I have a corner suite on the third floor, my door the only one down a long hallway to ensure maximum privacy. I give the Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the handle a rueful smirk before stepping inside.

Nice touch, Troy.

The city’s lights greet me as a sparkling tapestry through the open curtains.

When I step into the bedroom and see Zoey tucked in under the sheets, my body is suddenly begging me to join her. I tell myself it’s innocent—that all I want is sleep—but the closer I get to the bed, the harder my cock grows.

I don’t remember her being this stunning, with her mass of brown hair spilling onto the pillow, her creamy flesh blending with the white sheets. There’s a light dusting of freckles on her shoulders, and I’m obsessed with the thought of kissing them.

My hand reaches out before I know what I’m doing, gently easing the sheet down her arm.

I stop the moment I see what she’s wearing.

My eyes flicker up to my closet, one door ajar. Then back down to the t-shirt she must have rooted out of my things.

Why, just help yourself, kitten.

Fuck knows, I want to.

But the last woman who got this close left me with nothing but the bitter taste of betrayal, and a lesson I swore never to forget

That trust is a luxury I can’t afford.

And that my pleasure, when I allow it, will never be at the expense of my emotions.

I ease the sheets down a little lower, my jaw bunching when I spot a nipple through the thin white fabric. Grabbing my throbbing cock through my suit pants, I rub the pad of my thumb over her nipple.

The second that bud tightens under my touch, something unravels inside me. She’s asleep, her body splayed over my bed like she’s accepted she belongs to me.

But her body responds to my touch.

Christ.

My control, this fucking mask I’ve built for myself, slips just enough for the brutal thoughts always lurking beneath to claw their way free.

She’s so fast asleep, I could bend her legs open, push inside her, and she wouldn’t wake until it’s too late.

Will she struggle when she realizes what the fuck is happening?

I hope so.

I’m already toeing off my shoes and unbuttoning my shirt?—

My phone rings.

I flinch and hurriedly retreat into the hallway, shutting the door behind me with the flat of my hand pressed to the wood, grimacing at the lock engages with a loud click.

“Where’d you run off to?” Richmond demands.

I rip off my glasses, rubbing the base of my thumb against my forehead. “I’m at the Luck.”

“Thought we were having a drink.”

“I’m busy.”

“This about that girl of yours?”

“She’s not my—” I cut off with a growl, take one glance at my hotel room door, and stalking toward the elevator. “Christ.”

Richmond laughs. “Fuck, you really are riled up. Thought Myles was kidding when he said?—”

I don’t know what Myles said, because I end the call with a stab of my thumb, ramming my glasses back on my nose as I pivot inside the elevator.

I’m eager to go back inside my room and continue what I started, but Richmond’s call—as annoying as it was—snapped me back to reality.

The last thing I need right now is a distraction.

Now that we have a new Angel—trained or not—I need to line up one of our more trusted clients for her first session. Some of our clients are better at sticking to the rules than others.

My cock gives a sullen ache inside my pants.

Christ, what’s wrong with me?

If I need a quick fuck, there’s a handful of women in The Den to pick from, all desperate to let me do anything I want to them.

But none of them have ever made me this hard.

This angry.

This...obsessed.

I’ve trained dozens of Angels for The Den. Broken them, then reshaped them into exactly what our clients desire.

It’s different with Zoey.

I don’t want to break her for someone else. I want all that hatred, that fear, that reluctant pleasure for myself.

Which is exactly why I should stay the fuck away from her.