Page 44 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)

FINN

Song- Never Fight A Man With A Perm, IDLES.

A s we step into the dingy little pub on the outskirts of London, a thrill runs through me, like the opening crackle of static before a storm.

I pull my flat cap lower, shadowing my face, and make my way through the haze of sweat and spilled beer to the far corner of the bar. Reggie and Rowan fall into step behind me, their movements loose, but their eyes scanning. We’re armed. Alert. We trust no one.

Especially not in a place like this.

The bartender clears his throat, barely meeting my eye. “What can I get you?” he asks, tone flat.

I lift my chin just enough. When our gazes lock, he takes a step back.

“Dog and Duck,” I say quietly but deliberately.

His mouth twists into a smirk. Recognition flickers in his eyes.

“He’ll be right out. Drink while you wait?”

“Whatever you recommend.”

He pours three pints of some dark, bitter beer and slides them over. As I reach for my wallet, he lifts a hand.

“On the house.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

Behind me, I feel the twins shift, tension tightening between their shoulders just before glass shatters against the wall. Raised voices follow. A scuffle is brewing. But I don’t turn around. It’s not our fight. Not yet.

I feel him before I see him, Theo King. His presence settles next to me like smoke. He takes the stool at my side without a word.

“Mr. King,” I greet, finally turning toward him.

His two brothers, Kane and Ryder, take position behind him, mirroring Reggie and Rowan at my back. A perfect standoff without a single weapon drawn.

“Dr. Quinn.” Theo grins, extending his tattooed hand. I shake it.

The shouting behind us gets louder. A man crashes into a table, another bottle smashes, but neither of us so much as blink.

“Thanks for flying over on such short notice,” he says, all calm confidence.

“Of course. We want this done as fast as you do.”

He nods slowly, glancing past me toward the twins.

“Those your muscle?” he asks, his Cockney twang curling the words.

I grin, just enough.

“No. They’re family.”

“Good.”

Behind him, another man gets slammed into a wall, and I feel the scrape of brass knuckles in my pocket. My fingers twitch for the weight of them.

“Interesting venue choice,” I murmur.

“Perfect distraction for us, yeah?”

I meet his gaze; his dark blue eyes are unreadable. Calculating. He’s studying me the same way I’m assessing him. Quiet assessments. Who’s bluffing. Who’ll strike first.

“You’re itching, aren’t you? To let off some steam,” he says, almost amused.

“I don’t look for fights. That’s more my brother’s game. I step in when I have to. I prefer my methods… quieter.”

Theo glances at the pub chaos with something close to fondness, that unmistakable glint of violence sparking in his eyes.

“Can’t beat a pub brawl though,” he says, running a hand through his jet-black hair.

“It’s been a while,” I admit.

Back in my teens, we used to get into fights in my father’s pubs in Ireland every weekend.

He chuckles. We both know the itch never really goes away.

“Shall we get down to business? We have to get back for a family event,” I say.

“Eager.”

I shrug. I don’t like to waste time.

“Well, as Charles is now six feet under, we can, or you can, go after Arthur.”

I tense slightly. “When you say ‘go after,’ you mean…?”

I tilt my head in question. “You aren’t planning on capturing him?” The deal was the kill. Not a scavenger hunt through London.

“He’s underground. For now. We’re working through his men. Someone’ll talk.”

“Always was a fucking pussy. Running from a fight.” My voice drops low.

Theo smirks, eyes scanning the room again.

“Wherever he’s hiding, he’ll have his best men on him. We track him down, then I’ll bring my men. And we’ve been gifted a few from Mikhail Volkov. And Frankie Falcone.”

His words hang. That name.

A grin creeps across Theo’s face.

“Oh, it’ll be good to see Frankie again.”

“You know him well?” I ask.

“Very. Back when he was out to kill his own blood, I helped him out here. So, yeah. He owes me one.”

My jaw ticks. That wasn’t in the file.

“Helped him out?”

“Hid a girl for him. He finally grew a conscience after taking her. She was pregnant, full of fire. It was a fucking mess. Let her go in the end. He’s not been as ruthless since.”

“That his wife? Zara?”

Theo laughs, shaking his head.

“Ain’t no one kidnapping Zara. Let alone dragging her to another country. She’d have slit my throat in my sleep.”

I smirk. I like the sound of her already.

“No. Her name was Maddie. I think she’s married to one of his men now.”

The dots connect in my head. “Grayson? The boxer?”

Theo holds up a finger. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

Interesting. Grayson’s tight with Frankie now. Whatever went down must’ve been bloody.

“Are they coming here?” Theo asks.

I grin. “Why, scared Grayson’s gonna beat your ass?”

His grin mirrors mine. All teeth. “I’d like to see him try. He’s not the only one who likes to fight.”

Theo, like Grayson and Keller, is built like a tank. Wouldn’t be a bad match.

“Now that we’ve had a little family history, are we in agreement on the plan? You hunt, we kill, then we can talk alliances,” I ask, taking a long drink of the beer.

“Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate.

We shake on it.

And that’s when the pub explodes into full chaos. The tension that had simmered finally boils over. Tables flip, chairs crash, fists fly.

I wait. Just watch. Let the storm build.

“Now that we’ve concluded business,” I say, ducking as a bottle whistles past my head and smashes into the wall, “can we have some fuckin’ fun now? It’s been a long day.”

I slide on my brass knuckles. The blade fits snug in my other hand. My cap tips low.

Theo’s eyes gleam as he surveys the room, carnage in every direction.

“I thought you’d never ask. Show me how the famous Quinns really fight.”

“You not joining us?”

He turns toward his brothers. Kane and Ryder are practically vibrating, fists clenched, hungry for blood.

“Might be good to see how well we work together,” I offer.

“Fine. Let’s clear this fucking place out.” Theo slams his hand down on the bar.

Silence.

Every man in the room freezes, the sounds of the fight screeching to a halt. One after the other, they turn to him. Fear widening their eyes. Like they just realized whose fucking pub this is now.

A mistake they can’t unmake.

“I thought I said no fucking fighting in my pub,” Theo shouts, voice like thunder.

The silence deepens.

“There are six of us. And a fuck lot of you. Either leave… or fight us. Your choice.”

He turns to me, grinning like the devil.

“You know they ain’t going to leave, right? These were Bowen’s men. This was Charles’s pub before I took it. I’m not welcome here. And neither are the Irish.”

Well, shit.

He walked me straight into the wolves.

And I’m more than ready for it.

Everything in our world is a test. And this one?

We’re about to pass with flying fucking colors.

Ryder smashes a bottle on the bar and holds the jagged edge like a weapon.

The storm’s about to break, and I’ve never felt more alive.

Ryder swings first.

A bottle to the jaw of a man who’s stupid enough to lunge without backup. The crack echoes like a gunshot. Blood splatters across the bar.

And then it begins.

The room fractures into violence.

I move through it like water, my blade gripped tight in my left hand, the brass knuckles locked across my right. Precision. Control. No wasted movement.

A man rushes me from the side—beer gut, bad footwork, fists too high. I duck low, come up under his ribs with my right, the metal slamming into bone. He chokes on blood and drops.

Next.

Another one charges; he’s bigger and faster. I sidestep, let him stumble past, and hook my arm around his throat. The blade presses under his jaw as I drag him back against me.

“You picked the wrong pub, mate,” I mutter, and drive the blade straight up under his chin, severing whatever was still keeping him upright.

His body drops like a sack of bricks.

Behind me, Rowan is laughing, fully unhinged, a sound that would terrify any sane man. But these men? They’re not sane. They’re loyal to a dead tyrant and high on bloodlust.

Reggie moves like a ghost. A chair breaks across someone’s back, and Reggie doesn’t even flinch. He grabs the nearest guy by the jaw, slams his head into the wall twice, then turns to the next.

We’re not brawlers.

We’re predators.

Kane tackles a man over a table, fists flying. Ryder’s knuckles are dripping, face blank as he kicks someone’s teeth in. Theo watches for a moment, then finally joins the fight, cracking his knuckles like he’s been waiting for an excuse to hurt someone.

I let another man swing at me, let him think he’s landed something with his broken bottle, but I pivot, slam my knuckles into his throat, and sweep his legs out. He drops to the floor, gasping like a fish. I don’t hesitate. Boot to the neck. One, two, done.

A hand grabs my shoulder. Another reaches for my blade.

Mistake.

I spin, elbowing the first in the nose hard enough to feel the cartilage crack. Then I slice low across the second man's thigh, dropping him to his knees before driving the hilt of my blade into the side of his head.

It’s blood and fists and heat and the steady, focused rhythm of destruction.

And I feel alive.

Not because I like it.

Because I’m good at it.

“Finn!” Rowan shouts, tossing me a broken pool cue.

I catch it mid-air, flipping it in my grip. A man stumbles toward me, and I ram it into his ribs, feeling it splinter against bone. He howls. I jab upward into his throat, and he goes silent.

I wipe the blood on my coat and turn.

The pub is wrecked.

Glass everywhere. Bodies groaning and twitching on the floor.

Only a few men still stand, and they’re smart enough to stay frozen in place.

Theo grins as he steps over a body, cracking his neck. His hands are bloodied, but he’s smiling like it’s Christmas morning.

“Well,” he says, breathless, “that was cathartic.”

Reggie grabs a half-conscious man by the collar and throws him out the front door.

Rowan wipes blood off his jaw and raises a brow. “That all of them?”

One of Bowen’s men tries to crawl for the exit. I walk over, crouch beside him, and whisper low.

“You tell Arthur that war’s already begun. And next time, I won’t stop at your friends.”

I let him go, and he scurries like a rat into the night.

Theo claps his hands together once. “Drinks?”

I let out a breath and roll my tense shoulders.

“Only if you’ve got whiskey that doesn’t smell like petrol.”

He laughs, stepping behind the bar like he owns the place, which he does now, I suppose.

I glance at the wreckage around us. Broken chairs. Blood smeared on the floor. My brass knuckles stained deep red.

And for the first time in days… I feel something close to peace.

Because the violence silences the noise in my head.

The ache in my chest.

The name I keep biting back.

Stephanie.

And tomorrow, I go home.

And she’s going to feel everything I’ve been holding back.