Page 6 of House of Cards

Damn it. That’s exactly what I was going to do as soon as I’d locked the diner door behind him.

“That’s how sweetculitos?4like yours get sold to the highest bidder.”

“If I sell for more than a hundred, do I get to keep the change?”

He moves so fast, I barely have time to gasp before he’s gripping my jaw. Fingers dig brutally into my flesh as he forces my head back until I’m staring up at him.

“Pretty cunts like you get snapped up real fast. How’d you like to be cuffed in someone’s basement?”

I know when to cut my losses. “Not at all,” I whisper.

“Then get me my money.” His mouth twists into something halfway between a smirk and a snarl. “You’ve got one week.”

“Oneweek? There’s no way in hell I can—“ I cut off when Buzzcut’s fingers tighten around the envelopes hard enough to make them crumple. “Come on.” I point to the envelopes. “That’s everything we made this week.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Please, just…just give me more time.”

Buzzcut considers this for a long moment as he studies me in lurid detail. I can literally feel his eyes sliding up my legs.

“Two weeks. Two hundred.”

Two hundred grand? Jesus.

There’s no way the diner can generate that kind of cash, not even if I sell every slice of pie in the tri-state area. I could try the bank, but with Mom’s medical bills still hanging over my head, my credit score looks like a fucking golf handicap.

There’s always that casino on the edge of town. Ricky told me about their high-stakes tables. He even showed me how to count cards a few summers back.

But that’s crazy talk.

It’s desperate bullshit like that which probably got Ricky into this shit to begin with.

God, I hope he didn’t do something stupid like that. I’ve heard rumors about the people who run that place. They make this gangbanger look like a friendly neighborhood dog walker.

I’ll figure something out. I have two weeks to find Ricky. Who technicallyshouldhave at least a hundred grand on him.

Unless he never planned to pay back this guy.

Rage swells, so fast, so hard, it’s impossible to hold down.

Two hundred grand.

The number should terrify me into submission. Instead, it ignites something feral in my chest. This tattooed fuck thinks he can waltz intomydiner, stealmymother’s necklace, and then threaten to burn down the only thing I have left?

Ricky might owe him money, but I don’t owe him shit.

“Two weeks or what?” I snarl. “You’ll kill me?”

“Nah.” He lets out a soft chuckle as he tucks the envelopes in the back of his jeans, his gun in the front. “Where’s the fun in that?”

That flip-switch change in his demeanor sends alarm bells to every part of my body, locking it up again.

Leaving me helpless as he steps forward and twists his hand in my hair and wrenches up. Pain shoots through my scalp,followed by a sharp jolt down my neck as he yanks me to the side.

Instead of clawing out his eyes, I grab his wrist and go to my tiptoes, tears brimming in my eyes.

Buzzcut pulls a Zippo out of his pocket and flicks it open. I swear I can hear the hiss of gas as he strikes it.

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