Page 12 of House of Cards

So long, I’ve forgotten how fucking good it feels.

And the chase isn’t even the best part.

It’s how she’ll twist and claw for freedom when she realizes there’s no escape—that’s what has my heart pounding in anticipation.

I follow her through the crowd, gaze locked on her retreating figure.

Look at her, hurrying away like she stands a chance.

She has no idea she’s already been caught.

Zoey

Shit, shit, shit!

My heart pounds inside my chest as I rush toward the casino’s exit as fast as I can without flat-out running. Turns out the Devil’s Luck is the unluckiest place I could have chosen.

Why am I not surprised?

…two hundred. Two weeks…

Buzzcut’s words echo in my head with every step. The hundred and something thousand in my purse isn’t enough. Buzzcut won’t accept partial payment, and he sure as hell won’t extend my deadline. Negotiating with him would probably involve zip ties and whatever pliers they remove fingernails with.

If I don’t make it out of here with this money, I might as well hand him the Zippo myself.

Damn it, I should have cashed out the instant I saw that man in the designer suit looking at me. But those stern, dark eyes behind his expensive-looking glasses caught me completely off guard.

As soon as I realized he was the floor manager, I began sweating.

No way he was just doing his normal rounds. The dealer at my table must have sent for him, like a minion of hell summoning the Devil.

I hurry down the staircase and slip into the chaos of the casino’s ground floor. The clatter of coins cascading into the metal trays of the slot machines is already deafening, but on top of that, people are laughing, yelling, begging as they win, lose, or try to talk themselves out of divorce.

Damn it, I was so careful!

I’ve been here for hours. Started off slow, small bets to start, waiting until the cards turned in my favor. If it hadn’t been for that mouth breather sitting next to me, I’d have gotten away with it.

No, Zoey, if it hadn’t been foryou,you’d be scot-free right now.

I’ve only been able to scare up seventy thousand in loans in the few days since Buzzcut came looking for Ricky. When my bank manager told me it could take up to eight weeks to get a second mortgage on the diner, I was out of options.

Except one.

I could double, even triple, my seventy at a casino…playing blackjack.

Counting cards isn’t difficult.

Honestly, when Ricky first taught me, I thought I’d have to be some kind of prodigy. But if you can handle basic addition and subtraction, then you’ve got it. The hardest part is not losing concentration.

And when some Colombian gangster tells you to pay up or he’ll set you on fire…well, it’s motivating as fuck.

I glance over my shoulder and nearly have a heart attack when I see the floor manager walking down the stairs. There isn’t a single black hair out of place on his neatly styled head.

“Shit!”

This feels like a Terminator sequel.

I dart between a row of slot machines, the bright lights and loud sounds making my head spin.

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