Page 168 of House of Cards

“Myles is gonna—” Troy begins, but Smith cuts him off.

“—be thrilled I’m finally taking a vacation.”

“A vacation?” I pipe up. “Is that code for something?”

Smith throws me a hard look. “I told you to hush.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Troy makes a sound that could have been anything from a suppressed chuckle to him just clearing his throat, and he’s still looking out the window, so he doesn’t even see the daggers I’m glaring at him.

“Sure we shouldn’t pick up a few more guys?” Troy asks a few minutes later.

“If we’re not enough, twenty won’t be enough either.”

“Jesus, tell me what the fuck’s going on, Smith.”

Smith’s quiet for a moment, and I sit just as silent, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He’s warmed up a little since Troy got in the car, like he shook off whatever weird mood cameover him at the diner. But he’s still not back to normal—or, at least, as normal as Smith could ever be.

“No fucking clue,” he finally says, making a left turn onto the freeway.

Troy sighs like he’s so over this shit, but that’s it. He doesn’t demand Smith turn the car around, doesn’t press him for more info. Like he knows he’s hit rock bottom, and he’s been here enough times that it’s almost familiar enough to feel comforting.

I don’t share his fucked up sentiments.

I’m crapping myself as the SUV tears down the road, speedometer glued on seventy-miles an hour. Why the hell did Smith think he needed Troy as backup? And that comment about twenty men not being enough?

What is Smith expecting to happen?

But that’s not even the most pressing thing on my mind right now. My eyes are on that dashboard clock again, watching the minutes count down. Smith wasted valuable time detouring to pick up Troy. And God knows how long it will take us to reach Ricky.

I have to clear my throat before I can speak. “What if we’re too late?”

“Which part of ‘hush’ don’t you understand?”

I turn to the windshield, staring straight ahead. He’s right. I shouldn’t ask questions I don’t want the answers to.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Before, when he’d said that to me, I’d get all fluttery in my stomach and hot in my cheeks. Now all I feel is a heavy, swelling dread deep inside my body. Like I’m slowly filling up with concrete…and Smith’s the one pouring it down my throat.

Something’s wrong, but I don’t know what.

Maybe this all just got too real, too fast.

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.

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