Page 201 of House of Cards

There’s a beat of silence between Elonzo and Luis’s wild gunshots, just enough to hear Smith shoving his dislocated thumb back into place.

That soundtrack’s going to feature prominently in my future nightmares.

A single shot rings out from down the hallway, catching Elonzo in the shoulder. He claps a hand over the wound and staggers into the bedroom, cursing in Spanish as even more blood soaks through his white vest.

The door slams shut, and in the silence that follows, I hear the lock turn.

Luis wraps his arm around my throat and turns to rattle the door handle with the same hand holding his gun.

“¡Pinche cabrón!”?6 he huffs out.

I struggle furiously, but with my hands bound, there’s nothing I can do.

Luis points his gun down the hall again. “Come out!” he yells, using me as a human shield as he backs down the hallway. His grip is so tight, he’s cutting off my air. My vision swims with little black dots, like someone throwing confetti at a funeral.

Smith doesn’t seem to care that I’m being hauled off. He turns to Miguel, who’s still writhing on the floor clutching his what’s left of his manhood, and points a gun he must have taken off the dead guy leaning crookedly against the wall. He points it straight at Miguel’s face and squeezes off three ear-splitting rounds. Miguel’s skull only bounces once against the marble with a sickeningthud. After the first shot, it’s lost all structural integrity, and instead goessplat.

My stomach clenches. Bile rushes up my throat and somehow makes its way past Luis’s chokehold. But wrenched back against him as I am, when it comes spluttering out of my mouth, most of it hits his arm.

“Fuck!” he grates out in disgust. “You’re gonna pay for that,puta.”

Smith turns to me like he suddenly remembered I exist. He aims, and I feel my soul catapult straight out of my body as the muzzle of his gun gapes at my face.

Luis jerks me backward, his arm crushing my windpipe, his gun’s muzzle digging into my temple.

“I’ll fucking kill her! Stay back!” he screams, his voice cracking with fear.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think. The edges of my vision are going dark, and all I can see is Smith’s face. And as soon as his gaze locks with mine, those cold eyes come alive with something primal and protective.

“Let. Her. Go.” My heart stutters at the danger in his voice.

“Fuck you,” Luis spits.

Smith moves his gun, trying to line up a shot, but Luis keeps shifting, using me as cover.

There’s a flicker of frustration on Smith’s face. It’s obvious how badly he wants to end the creep behind me, but hard as it is to believe, I think he’d rather not injure me.

It’s up to you, Zoey.

“Let her go, and you walk out of here alive.”

Luis laughs, and I don’t even blame him. I don’t believe Smith either.

“Iamwalking out of here, andratoncitais coming with m?—“

I slam my head backward hard as I can. There’s a stab of pain, and I feel more than hear how the cartilage in his nose crunches. Warm blood soaks into my hair, instantly cooling.

Luis’s grip loosens just a hair, but before I have time to think, the butt of his gun slams into my temple.

Lights pop and flash behind my eyes as I swoon like my corset’s too tight. My already shaky legs collapse, my full weight pulling me out of Luis’s already slippery grip. I’d love to think I’m a bad-ass, but it’s less of a calculated move and more just a series of fortunate events.

As I hit the marble and roll onto my side, I see a figure uncurl from what’s left of the palm’s large pot.

Troy straightens, aiming a matte black gun with a long silencer attached to the muzzle. He says nothing, he just fires. The bullet hits Luis square in the chest, throwing him onto his back.

I love how confident these men are in their aim.

Smith surges forward and drops to his knees on the floor beside me, dragging me against him.

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