Page 43 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)

STEPHANIE

T here’s no way in hell I could ever step foot in the club again. Not after what Poppy told me. It’s weighed on me all day.

I don’t like hurting Finn.

That little white business card sits in the center of my desk like a taunt. I already have the details for my next victim without even needing to go back to the club. He’s an idiot threatening me and still ramming his personal details at me.

Mr. John Avery

Avery & Co. Law Firm

The longer I stare at it, the more pathetic it sounds, talk of acquisitions and mergers, all wrapped in a neat font and false prestige. It’s almost laughable.

I open my laptop, fingers flying across the keys as I start digging. My skin prickles as I remember the way his hand dragged across my breasts… how tightly he grabbed my wrist.

Finn beating the shit out of him wasn’t enough.

Not for the way he looked at me. Not for the way he tried to coerce me into giving up something that was never his to take.

It wasn’t his first time. It won’t be his last.

I check the time: 4:30 p.m.

He’ll be leaving his office soon.

I could follow him. Sneak into his home. Wait until he’s alone.

But if it was his bachelor party that night, there might be a fiancée. Maybe even kids.

Too risky.

I can’t afford to get caught. Not now. Not when I’ve come this far.

I need a release. A distraction. Something to drown out the endless reel of Finn that’s been looping in my head like a punishment.

I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s driving me insane.

I reach for the burner in my drawer, flipping it open and dialing the law firm.

A soft, overly polite voice answers. “Hello, you’ve reached Avery & Co., how can I help you?”

I hesitate, a breath caught in my chest. Should I stop?

No. I won’t.

I clear my throat and slip on the accent like a mask.

“Hey, I was wondering if I could book an appointment with Mr. Avery. I have a multimillion-dollar company interested in a merger, and, honestly, I inherited it. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing here. It’s kind of an emergency.”

I layer in the panic, just enough.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t you worry,” the woman croons. “James will be able to handle everything for you.”

I sniffle lightly, playing my part.

“Thank you. I feel like I’m drowning. The board members don’t trust me. But it’s my daddy’s name on the line here.”

“James is actually on calls until five-thirty, but he has a client meeting at the club in town at seven. Would you be able to meet him around six-thirty there? It’s informal. He likes to get to know potential clients over drinks.”

Of course he does.

“Sure. What’s the address?” I ask, already writing it down.

She gives it without hesitation.

“So, six-thirty. Do I need to bring anything? ID? A deposit?”

She giggles.

“No, his first meetings are always casual. If it’s a good fit, we’ll schedule something more formal later.”

I swallow back the sour taste in my throat.

I wonder if his seven o’clock “client” is also a woman.

“Great. Thank you so much.”

I hang up, hand trembling as I toss the burner back into the drawer.

I grab the keys to the safe.

I don’t have long to disappear into the skin of someone else—long enough to become her. The kind of woman James Avery would lean into without realizing he’d just kissed death.

Inside the safe, I run my fingers along the neat rows of vials and bottles. My collection.

“Something I can hide in a drink,” I murmur.

My fingers stop on the small glass ampoule labeled Digoxin.

A naturally occurring poison. A few drops mixed into alcohol, it’ll take its time, meddling with the rhythm of his heart, giving him the illusion of illness. By the time he crawls into bed, it may already be too late. Or maybe he won’t make it home. Maybe he collapses on the steps.

I don’t care how it ends.

Only that it does.

The thought curls through me, warm and sharp, and I smile.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

But then again, there’s a lot in this life I shouldn’t be doing.

I slip on the rings Finn gave me, letting the weight of them settle around my fingers. They complete the look. A panicked Southern trophy wife, desperate for legal help before her husband finds out she nearly destroyed the family business.

But as the metal touches my skin, the heat in my chest changes.

That ache flares.

I haven’t seen him in two days.

Not since I pushed him so far he punched a wall.

I don’t like his silence.

It feels like the world is tilting without him in it.

Like I’m back to being alone.

I drop into the chair and slide open the bottom drawer of my desk, the hidden one.

Inside are pieces of the past I’ve carved into dust.

Little trophies. Memories. Remnants of abusers.

Rings. Watches. Buttons.

And next to them, my journal.

Not a place for worries or tears. Not some healing ritual.

No. This is my ledger.

Every name. Every method. Every justification.

If anyone ever found it, it would put me away for life.

But until then, it’s my own kind of therapy.

No one comes to this house.

No one sees this room.

And this drawer? Locked tight.

I open to a fresh page.

James Avery.

I begin to write.

The how.

The when.

And most importantly, the why.

Because someone has to protect the women in this world.

And if the system won’t do it…

I fucking will.