Page 121 of House of Lies

Shit just got real.

My hands are suddenly clammy with sweat, and I’m wondering when my life will start flashing in front of my eyes.

Suddenly, heading to the Devil’s Den by myself to speak to Myles because Ethan was too busy doesn’t seem like a good idea. In fact, it’s probably right up there with the stupidest mistakes I’ve ever made.

“I, uh, Ethan should be here any minute, and?—”

“And he’ll just have to catch up,” Smith says in the same flat voice as before.

“Um, I guess, but maybe I should wait for—” I cut off with a squeak as Smith drags me down a dimly lit hall and into an elevator that has no buttons. He swipes a black keycard against the discrete panel beside the door and says nothing as the doors close us in.

He’s still holding onto my neck.

“Could use some elevator music in here,” I murmur.

Smith makes a sound that could have been a laugh, but was probably just him clearing his throat. Moments later, we step onto a lush white carpet. The hand on my neck guides me to the sleek glass-and-chrome doorway, frosted so I can’t see into the room beyond. A pair of guards stand on either side of the double doors, but they might as well have been statues for their response to us stepping out of the elevator. Smith opens the door and ushers me inside, finally releasing the back of my neck.

I rub at my skin, throwing a quick glance around the room. Two doorways lead off the large room where invisible air conditioners keep the air chilled and fresh.

Despite how large this room is, the clusters of furniture almost makes it look cozy. There’s a sitting area with plush leather couches to one side, a study with a large desk, computer, and office chair with two visitor’s chairs opposite, and a poker table near a dry bar.

Sweet smoke tickles my nose.

It’s coming from Myles, who’s seated on one of the leather sofas, his finger curled around the base of the fat cigar stuck in his mouth.

Richmond sits sprawled beside him, ankle over his knee, watching me and Smith enter with that same unsettling smile pasted on his mouth.

“I told you he’d talk her into it,” Richmond says to Myles.

“First time you’ve been right in years,” Myles quips without taking his blue eyes off me. They’re darker now than when he was at Ethan’s penthouse—but I’m putting it down to the dim lighting inside this place. He’s wearing an emerald-green suit with a pale houndstooth pattern, loud enough to make my eyeballs bleed, but somehow he pulls it off. Even without a tie and wearing brown loafers with white socks.

I guess some people are so good looking, they could wear a trash bag and it would look like haute couture.

Better, in fact.

Myles shoves Richmond away and pats the now empty cushion beside him. “Come, sit.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine over—” I begin, but Smith grabs my arm and drags me over the carpet, forcing me to sit with a hard push on my shoulder.

I bounce, grabbing the hem of my burgundy dress and trying to tug it down my thighs.

God, what was I thinking, wearing this? I might as well be naked.

Does it make me a coward if I’d like nothing more than to bolt out of here and wish I’d never met the Balmont Boys?

“We weren’t properly introduced,” the man with the scar says, sitting forward and holding out his hand for me to shake. “Richmond Colt, but you can call me Rich.”

“Or King of Coke, but he doesn’t like that as much,” Smith says under his breath.

He doesn’t sit—he seems perfectly content to loom over me. In case I decide to bolt for the door? Although the muscle—Ethan called him Troy—would stop me long before I even got close.

Richmond’s expression hardens when I don’t shake his hand. I decide I’ll have to choose my battles, and shaking someone’s hand isn’t the hill I’m dying on today.

“Nice to meet you,” I lie as I shake his hand.

He holds on for much too long, but quickly releases me with Smith clears his throat.

“So, uh, reason I’m here,” I begin, only to be interrupted by Myles.

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