Page 3 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)

STEPHANIE

I ’m rushing toward the exit, yanking the stethoscope from around my neck, when I slam into something solid.

My hands fly out to brace myself.

I freeze.

“Dr. Miller. Somewhere important you need to be?”

That Irish drawl makes my heart thud like it’s trying to escape.

“Sorry,” I murmur, stepping back as fast as I can.

He brushes my touch from his pristine white shirt like I’ve contaminated him.

“Well? Normally you only run toward the O.R., not the exit.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing, reading me like he always does—too well.

“I have somewhere I need to be. If you’ll excuse me.”

I throw in a fake sweet smile for good measure. Dr. Quinn is still my boss, even if he’s a walking migraine.

He checks his watch, then flicks those cold grey eyes back to me.

“Your shift doesn’t finish for another thirty seconds.”

I hiss out a breath.

“Are you being serious?”

His eyebrow arches and his eyes darken.

“Deadly.”

He’s cruel. Always has been. Gorgeous, brilliant, and emotionally bankrupt. Dead behind the eyes. It would almost be fascinating if he didn’t anger me so much.

I plant my hands on my hips, tapping my foot like I’m not moments from snapping.

“No small talk today?” he presses.

With him? No. Never.

I count the seconds in my head like I’m in surgery.

He smirks. “Looking forward to the award ceremony?”

My scowl deepens.

Three years in a row. Same painful circus. Where cardiology departments across the state gather just to bow down to the almighty Dr. Quinn.

Because no one ever wins that award except him.

He paid his way to the top. Of course he wins. That’s why I call him rich boy.

We’re just there to applaud him.

“I can’t go,” I lie flatly.

“It’s not an invitation you simply reject, Dr. Miller. It’s classed as a working day. No excuses.”

I roll my eyes so hard they might detach.

“Don’t you think the patients need us more than you need to hold that damn trophy?”

His jaw twitches.

“Our shifts are covered. Adequately. It’s two nights. You are expected to be there.”

Translation: he wants to watch me lose. Again. He wants to see the disappointment crawl across my face when his name gets called.

Again.

“Fine. My thirty seconds are up. Please move.”

I say it as sweetly as I can muster.

He steps aside. Barely.

“Have a lovely evening, Stephanie. I’ll see you bright and early.”

“Yeah… bye.”

I race to my car and whip out my phone. My second life is calling.

Ever since my last club burned to the fucking ground, I’ve had to move to a new one. The manager there, Paulie, is a dick, but he’s strict, and that works for me. One night a week. Just enough to do what I need.

It’s how I scope out my next victims.

Because the men who preyed on girls when I was eighteen? They still haunt these places.

And now, I haunt them back.

It’s my favorite game.

It’s also the only time I get to stop being Dr. Miller.

When I’m on that stage, I’m Angel.

Bright red hair. Brown contacts. Heels like weapons. There, I have power, and my rage is disguised in rhythm.

And every dollar they throw? I send straight to the women’s shelter downtown.

Heaven and hell. I like to strike the balance.

I rid the world of monsters. And help the girls clawing their way out of the dark.

My Mercedes hums beneath me as I fly through the streets.

Paulie’s name flashes on the dash.

“Fuck.”

I press the answer button on my dash.

“Angel, where the fuck are you?” he barks.

“I’m on my way. Got caught up at work.”

He sighs hard, like I’m the bane of his existence.

“You wanna keep this gig? Stop being late. I’m already doing you a favor letting you work one night a week. This isn’t a fucking part-time hobby. Women would kill for this slot.”

“I know. I’m trying. Okay?”

I try to keep him sweet. The same as I did with my last boss, Ben. It seems to be the trick of being a woman in this society: pretend to be nice to men. And it’s a damn sight harder than it should be.

But there’s only one other place I’ve heard about I could move to.

Inferno.

Elite. Hush hush. Invite-only.

A playground for the worst of the worst.

A fucking paradise for someone like me. But how you get in, or where the hell it even is, is still unknown to me.

I pull into the parking lot, cut the engine, and grab my duffel. Head down, fast steps, no eye contact, I quickly make my way to the dressing room.

I can’t let anyone here see me as Dr. Stephanie Miller.

She doesn’t exist in here.

Only Angel does.

And tonight?

Angel’s got work to do. It’s been a while since I’ve had some fun and let some revenge out of my system, and that needs to change.