Page 18 of House of Cards

Calm. Firm.

The same voice I use in The Den when training new Angels. A voice that promises consequences for disobedience.

Her legs tremble as if she’s expecting another slap. “I swear it! No one sent me. I just…I need the money, okay?”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

I suppose it’s possible her only intention was making a quick buck. But Zoey’s pretty hazel eyes won’t ingratiate her to me enough to let her off the hook for what she did.

She might as well have emptied my personal bank account. Not that her night of card counting could sink this casino, obviously. But if anyone else had noticed what she was doing, and saw her getting away with it…word would spread. Not only would the Devil’s Luck draw every Tom, Dick, and Sally who thought they could cheat their way into some winnings, but the Balmont Boys would be seen as too weak or ignorant to stop it.

This casino means everything to me. If it hadn’t been for Myles Balmont, I’d still be serving time for racketeering, the fall guy for a poorly run branch of the mob one state over. I owe him my freedom, a debt I repay every day by keeping this casino running like the well-oiled money-laundering operation it is.

I move a wave of brown hair away from Zoey’s cheek with the tip of my finger. She hurriedly leans back to avoid my touch, her lipstick even more vivid as she pales.

“Your mistake wasn’t stealing from me. It was thinking you’d get away with it.”

When she says nothing, I lash her again, this time on the other breast. She flinches, throwing me an angry look. “That wasn’t a question!”

“Careful, kitten. I’m still in a relatively good mood. You wouldn’t want to piss me off.”

I go over to my suit jacket, drawing my switchblade from one of its hidden pockets.

The moment she spots it, Zoey sits bolt upright on the chair. Her hands drop, clutching the seat on either side of her trembling thighs, her tits nearly spilling out of her strapless bra as her breath hitches.

She yelps when I lunge at her, her hands coming up instinctively to protect her face. But I knock away her arms with one of mine, grab her throat, and keep her in place as I bring the knife to her sternum.

Her eyes widen in disbelief as she looks down, watching dumbfounded as I unlatch her front-clasping bra with a flick of my knife.

“Fuck!” She grabs for the bra, but I snag it on the tip of the knife, stepping back and bringing it to my nose.

Her scent is stronger on the lacy fabric.

Cheap perfume and desperation.

I barely glimpse her nipples before Zoey claps both hands over her tits, glaring up at me with hatred simmering in her eyes. I pause, allowing the moment to stretch between us.

Her breath quickens, her lips part.

I push my glasses back up my nose the tiny fraction they’ve slipped before tossing her bra to the floor by her feet. Then I move closer, tucking her hair behind her ear with the tip of my knife despite how she tries to move away.

So many emotions war in her eyes. Anger, frustration, panic. And that ever-present determination.

“What’s the money for, kitten?”

Her jaw clenches, but her tone is breezy when she says, “I’ve had my eye on this really nice pair of shoes?—“

I grab her throat again and squeeze, relishing the feel of her muscles as they cord under my fingers.

“Stop wasting my time.”

When she wets her lips with her tongue, my knuckles squeeze tight around the knife.

“Fuck you,” she mutters.

Her defiance awakens something I’ve kept dormant for too long. Most women who cross my path either fear me instantly or try to seduce their way out of trouble. Zoey fights back with a fierceness that makes my blood heat in a way I haven’t felt since?—

No. This is business. Nothing more.

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