Page 37 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)

STEPHANIE

I somehow, by some miracle, managed to avoid Finn today. Or perhaps, he was doing the same to me. Things have been weird since I had his face between my legs and he walked out like it meant nothing. And damn it, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since.

And then he followed me home to make sure I was safe. For a few minutes, it felt like more than just a power play for a divorce. It felt comforting. It felt like I wasn’t fighting on my own anymore.

I’m now far too close to him, and with the weight of what I did still pressing down on my shoulders, I haven’t been remotely interested in killing again.

Which is probably a good thing. So as I knock on Paulie’s office door at the club, it feels like shedding a skin.

But I’m also dreading his wrath. Owners of places like this are known for their violent tendencies.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ve got one last kill in me before I give it up for good.

"In!" he barks.

He doesn’t look pleased. His beady eyes roam up and down my body as I shut the door behind me. It’s not my night to work, but I had to get this done.

"Yes? What now?" he says, already irritated.

"Paulie, I need to take some time off. Maybe quite a while."

He scratches his stubble, narrowing his eyes.

"So you're quitting?"

I chew on my bottom lip. "Not exactly. I was hoping you might keep my spot open until I’m ready to come back."

His gaze lingers too long on my chest before he leans back in his chair with a grunt. "You think you're good enough to just hold a space open for?"

I step forward and plant my hands firmly on his desk. "Yes. And you know damn well I am. I bring in a fuck-ton of cash and never cause any drama. So yeah, I think I’ve earned the right to keep a spot."

What I don’t say is that I need a safety net. A cover. A way back in if the itch starts crawling again. If I need to find another target. If my life collapses, which it tends to do with brutal accuracy.

Paulie grins, exposing yellowed gums and a missing tooth. "You owe me."

I cross my arms. "Owe you how?"

"Work tonight and give me all of your takings. Make me more than five grand, and it’s a deal."

I swallow the lump rising in my throat. It’s a Thursday. The money’s never great. Five grand is steep. And I’m exhausted.

"Fine. Done."

We shake hands, and I instantly regret the contact. I want to dunk my arm in bleach.

As I walk toward the changing room, I pass the back door to the bar and freeze. A familiar Irish accent cuts through the air like a blade.

Peering through the narrow gap, my stomach lurches.

There he is.

Finn. Laughing with his friends. Leaning against the bar with a whiskey in hand like he owns the place. I should’ve known today had gone too smoothly.

What is he doing here again? I know for a fact he’s not a regular. He’s here hoping to see me?

By the time I get changed, I decide to leave my snake tattoo on show. What’s the point in hiding now? He knows.

When I walk into the main room, his cold eyes are already on me. For some reason, they heat me up.

Another dancer is on stage, so I scan the booths, pretending I don’t notice his stare. But I do. I always do.

He's seated with three men, all big, inked, and basking in attention. But it’s Finn who makes my stomach twist. One of the girls runs her hand across his shoulder, and he flinches. Subtle. Barely there. But I see it.

And he quietly removes her touch without anyone else noticing.

She leans in, whispers something, and then he smirks. My jaw tightens in response.

A slow burn creeps beneath my skin as another girl drapes herself in front of him, her ass waving in his face. He doesn’t stop her. He bites his lip and winks, but right at me.

My vision blurs with rage. He wants a reaction.

Fine.

I scan the room and zero in on a bachelor party nearby. Loud, drunk, and ripe for tips. Perfect. I strut toward them and instantly draw their attention.

"Right, boys. Who’s first?" I purr.

They point to the guy at the end, who licks his lips. "Turn around, gorgeous. Let me see that ass."

I fake a sultry smile and do as he says, sliding my hands down my sides.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Finn watching. He’s not even pretending to enjoy the girl dancing on him. His hands are still on his thighs. He’s like a coiled snake ready to attack.

I step between the guy’s legs. "Well? Did I pass your test?"

He groans. "Fuck, yeah. Dance for me, whore."

I swallow the bile rising in my throat and push through it, swaying to the beat, hair whipping over my shoulder. There’s only one man who can call me that.

"How much for a private room?" he asks.

"I don’t do that."

"Everyone’s got a price."

"And mine’s not for sale."

"Then I’m not paying," he snaps.

"That dance was a hundred bucks, sir," I say politely.

"Take the bra off, then maybe."

I straighten up, forcing sweetness into my voice. "That’s not how it works. One hundred. Now."

He stands, like he’s reaching for his wallet, but then he grabs my wrist, yanking me forward. His nose almost touches mine, his voice venom-laced.

His fingers trail over my breasts as he shoves a white card in my bra.

"Private room. Now. Don’t make a scene. You’ll earn your money. Maybe even a tip. And there’s my card if you want a big payout later.”

I don’t hesitate. I lift my heel and slam it into his shin. "No means no, asshole."

Before I can spin away, I slam into something hard. Then a hand is on my waist. The touch doesn’t burn, no, it simmers. Like it’s meant to be there.

Finn.

"If you’ll excuse me for a second, love," he murmurs, his lips brushing the top of my head. "I need to speak to this stupid fucking man. Don’t leave this room."

He steps forward, and my heart stutters when I see the gun in his hand, discreetly pressed into the guy’s ribs.

"Doors behind you. Now," he says.

No one else in the club notices. No drama. No spectacle. Just Finn Quinn, cold as hell, and completely in control.

And I’ve never been more terrified or more turned on.

I discreetly trail behind them as Finn shoves the guy into the night, his silhouette sharp beneath the glow of the flickering streetlight.

This seems to be a pattern—me sneaking off to watch my husband beat men senseless. But this time, there’s no blade gleaming in his grip. His weapon of choice tonight is his gun, pressed dangerously under the guy’s chin.

I’m too far away to hear the words, but I don’t need to. The look on the guy’s face is all I need to see; he’s terrified. Utterly rattled. The kind of fear that seeps into your bones and makes you question every decision that led you to this moment.

I linger at the edge of the alley, watching Finn with a twisted sense of awe. The man isn’t some reckless brute. He’s calculated. Composed. He doesn’t just throw punches; he makes sure you never forget why they landed. Maybe this creep will think twice before threatening another woman again.

But just as I’m about to turn back, the guy does something truly stupid. He swings.

My breath catches in my throat.

Finn doesn’t even flinch. He ducks like he’s done it a hundred times before, because he probably has, and in that instant, everything shifts. The ice in his expression melts into fire.

His fist cracks against the man’s jaw with a sickening thud, and before the guy can even register what’s happened, Finn has him by the collar, slamming his skull against the brick wall. The sound echoes down the alley like a warning shot.

And then the man is on the ground choking, and Finn’s boot comes down hard on his throat.

“Cunts like you deserve to die.”

He spits in the guy’s face like it’s nothing. No hesitation. No remorse. Just raw, seething dominance.

The man claws at Finn’s leg in desperation, and it only earns him a cold laugh. A sound so devoid of humor, it sends shivers through me.

“Pathetic.”

Finn eases the pressure, his boot lifting just enough for the man to gasp for air, but the reprieve is fleeting. The gun returns, pressed to his temple this time, and Finn leans in, his voice low and lethal.

I can’t tear my eyes away. Do I want him to shoot him? Will that make me feel better about what I do to men like him?

Are me and Finn the same? That’s why I’m so drawn to him?

“If you step foot in any club, anywhere in this state, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”

My pulse pounds so hard I can feel it in my ears. My lungs don’t remember how to breathe.

And then Finn turns and walks straight toward me, calm as anything, like he didn’t just flirt with murder.