Page 43 of House of Cards

It’s her I want.

Maybe she’s finally accepting that there’s no way out.

No escape. No rescue.

Just me.

The past day feels like a fever dream compared to the habits I’ve stacked around myself. My calendar? My neat ledgers? My digital bullet journal? Replaced by mental post-it notes with her fucking name on them.

She has no fucking idea what’s waiting for her. And I can’t decide if I should be an asshole and warn her, or let this play out in real time so she can deal with it one step at a time.

We reach the staff-only entrance to the play rooms before I make a decision, so I’m as silent as her as we step onto the thick carpets and head for one of the doors.

I hesitate before taking my keycard out of my pants pocket. If she feels me staring at the top of her head, she doesn’t react. She stares straight ahead like there’s a firing squad waiting for her, and she’s already decided she won’t run.

Something sharp and unwelcome twists in my chest…and it has nothing to do with the dully throbbing wounds the fork tines left behind. I tell myself it’s anger because fuck knows what else it could be.

Compassion? Sympathy?

As much as I try to push it down, I still feel compelled to say something. That this will all be over soon. That my good girl is strong enough to handle what’s behind this door, but I bite them back.

I don’t coddle Angels.

I break them.

Myles is sprawled in a recliner inside the viewing room, Isabel on her knees in front of him, massaging his feet. He grins when he sees me, but his eyes immediately jump to Zoey. One thick eyebrows twitches up as he gives her a quick scan from his seat.

I’m shocked that he’s in something as sedate as a yellow-and-white checkered shirt and dark jeans. Maybe all his other garments are being laundered by the circus outfitters he hires them from.

Myles knocks Isabel’s hands away with an affectionate kick, chuckling as he pads over to us. He gives Zoey a second, much longer scan that makes her cross her arms over her chest.

His bright blue eyes narrow. “So this is the thief?”

She glares. “Allegedthief.”

“Ooh. Prettyandsassy.” He boops her nose like she’s a goddamn poodle. “If you give good head, we’re looking at the devil’s trifecta.”

“Asshole!”

I barely catch her arm before she can slap Myles, but his only response is to summon Isabel with a snap of his fingers. Isabel hops to her feet and hurries over to the dry bar, glasses clinking as she pours us both a drink.

Even at this time in the morning, it’ll be hard liquor.

“She’s a little rough around the edges.” I give Myles a thin smile as I release Zoey and adjust my glasses.

“Lucky for you, Howler’s on his way,” Myles says. “He’ll have you buffed into a pretty little gem within the hour.”

Jesus Christ, Howler? The man is a beast, hence the fucking nickname.

This is bad. Angels need to be eased into things so they don’t end up in catatonic shock after their first session. Howler leaves scars—on their bodies and in their fucking minds.

“Her appointment is with Geller.”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you? Geller called,” Myles says breezily, tucking his hands behind his back and swaying a little as he studies Zoey with every ounce of audacity at his disposal. So a good metric ton or so. “Something about a stock crash.”

He grabs Zoey’s chin, twisting her head. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulls up her lip to check her teeth. Zoey yanks her head away and tries to step back, but I’m right behind her. On instinct, I grab her shoulders, holding her in place. The moment my fingers touch her, she stiffens, but she doesn’t try to get away from me.

It’s fucking wild she thinks she’s safer with me than with Myles.

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