Page 222 of House of Cards

“But you killed Elonzo. Surely?—”

“That changes nothing,” Smith says, his quiet words still cutting me off. “There’s a black mark on the Dennen family name, and nothing can erase it.”

I glare at him, but the expression fades as the reality of what he’s saying starts sinking in.

Frustration draws a furrow between his brows, clenches his jaw.

“I don’t like it either,” he murmurs, so quietly I think I must have misheard. “But you have to go back to your world, and I have to go back to mine.”

“What if I don’t want to go back to my world?”

Something flickers in his dark eyes. I can’t tell if it’s hope or fear.

“Zoey—”

“What if I want to stay in yours?” My voice is stronger now.

Smith’s jaw tightens, and he’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Then show me.”

With the shades drawn, the room is cast in gloom. Heavy shadows fall over Smith’s face, obscuring everything but the tiny gleam in his eyes that tells me he’s still alive. Still a man, even after everything I’ve seen.

“You sure about that, kitten?”

His words feel darkly ominous. Like they have the power to save us both, or destroy us completely.

My heart pounds so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t tear my stitches.

“Show me everything.”

He says nothing, just slowly shakes his head as he moves toward the door.

“I want to know, Smith.”

He pauses, hand hovering over the light switch, and I hear him laugh quietly to himself. But he cuts off with a sigh, glancing back at me over his shoulder for a long moment before flicking the switch.

When the light goes out, the shadows rush in to replace them.

Zoey

TWO WEEKS LATER

Why am I so fucking nervous? This is what I wanted, isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

I drag my fingers through my hair. It’s been a while since I’ve bothered to style it, and I can’t quite get used to how silky and good it feels. Wish I had a better outfit to go with the hair, but since I have no idea what I’m in for, I just wearing jeans and a tank top.

I swivel on my heels when I hear muffled voices echoing down the corridor, but the sound fades before whoever made it appears. I’m down the hall from Smith’s suite in the Devil’s Luck, standing outside one of the hotel rooms.

When I realize I’m fidgeting with my hair again, I shove my hands behind my back and stand to attention like a soldier waiting on orders. Maybe that’s exactly what I am. Except, soldiers have better training than me. Patience is probably one of them.

Waiting 101: Staying Sane While Standing Still.

I’ve been waiting for ten minutes, nothing to keep me company but my imagination. I can’t hear anything inside, even when I press my ear to the door.

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