Page 181 of House of Cards

I lasted twelve hours at the Devil’s Luck before I cracked.

Twelve miserable, soul-crushing hours of pretending I give a shit about the large cash deposit Archie needed cleaned, while every fiber of my being screamed to get back to Zoey.

Myles insisted on brunch and then kept shooting me looks across the restaurant table like he was waiting for me to snap. Fair enough. I was barely holding onto my sanity by then, and it only got worse with every passing hour.

I keep telling myself she’s safer without me. Not just because the chance of her being strangled drops significantly if I’m not around, but because Elonzo made it his life’s work to fuck me over.

It started with Michelle.

Looks like it’ll end with Zoey.

I’m supposed to be doing the right thing for once in my miserable life.

Letting her go.

Keeping her safe. From me.

But Christ, it feels like torture.

A message comes through on the console, the Bentley’s built in assistant asking if she can read it to me.

“Yes.”

TROY

She’s pissed. Asked why you left.

I nearly swerve into oncoming traffic.

Sheaskedwhy I left?

I pull over, hands shaking as I take out my phone to make sure the voice assistant read Troy’s message right.

Why would she even care? After everything I’ve done to her—kidnapping her, lying to her, letting her brother die, nearly strangling her in a goddamn driveway—why would she give a single fuck if I left?

The whole reason I took off at dawn was because I knew she wouldn’t. That she’d probably feel safer knowing I wasn’t around. That moving on to her new life would be easier if I wasn’t there, bossing her around the whole time.

Unless...

Fuck, no. I’m not going there.

Zoey is many things, but a simp is not one of them. She wasn’t asking after me because she cared. She was probably pissed that I left before she could give me a piece of her mind.

But a poisonous thought lodges inside my mind like a splinter, working its way deeper with every repetition.

What if she wanted me to stay?

What if she fucking wanted me to stay?

I call Troy before I can stop myself.

“Yeah?”

“How pissed?”

“Scale of one to ten? Fifteen.” Troy deadpans. “She told me you could go fuck yourself. Told me I could go fuck myself, too, for what it’s worth.”

Despite everything, I smile. That’s my good girl.

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