Page 5 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)
STEPHANIE
“ S teph, wait up!” I call out to Kia. God, it feels wrong shouting my real name at another girl. But it’s her stage name, and I’d never go around shouting her real name for any of these monsters to hear.
She spins on her heel, brushing her platinum blonde hair over her shoulder. She pulls a wad of money from her bra.
“What’s up?”
I nod toward one of our changing rooms, and she follows me in.
“Oh, gossip time? Have you heard from Ben? He completely disappeared after the place went up in flames,” she rambles on.
She’s always been obsessed with Ben. I couldn’t give a flying fuck. He was an asshole—well on his way onto my hit list.
“No. Probably ran away from all his debt. That guy in booth six—did he say anything weird to you?” I ask.
He gave me the creeps, and when he touched me, I nearly smashed his glass and sliced up his face.
I’ve seen him here a few times before, but never danced for him. But tonight, he requested me personally.
And then he told me to meet him outside after my shift, which I politely declined. But that evil glint in his eye? It worried me.
I know men like him. The ones who don’t take no for an answer.
“Umm. Not really. Just the same as the rest of them. Fucking pervs.”
I tap my chin. Something isn’t sitting right with me. He’s not from round here, he has some kind of drawl to his voice.
“Okay. Just keep an eye out. Let me know if he comes back or asks for me again,” I tell her.
Her eyes narrow.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I give her a smile.
“Yeah. Of course. I just... don’t want to find myself in a similar situation to when I first started dancing.”
Nearly all of the girls here carry stories like mine. Young. Naive. Dazzled by the fast cash. I might have had a scholarship into med school, but it wasn’t the full ride. I had to find a way to live. And with both my parents in jail, it was up to me to figure it out.
And so I did. In a club much worse than this.
What you don’t see is the dark side of this job. When you’re desperate to secure your future, your present becomes chaos.
I gave away something I can never get back. Let a man of my past persuade me to become more than a stripper.
Something I never wanted. Something I’ll never forgive myself for.
And no matter how many years go by, I can’t help but mourn what I lost. I can’t change my past, but I’ll be damned if I let predators like him take something from the next girl.
“I will. Go home. You look exhausted, Angel,” she whispers.
After a ten-hour shift and five hours here, she’s right. Luckily, tomorrow is my day off.
As I head to my car, I pull my jacket tighter, quickening my steps.
The dull streetlights make everything feel more sinister.
With one hand wrapped around the pepper spray in my pocket, relief washes over me as I unlock my car. But then I spot a small white slip tucked under my windshield.
I pick it up, holding my breath. A messy handwritten note, with a PR stamp on the top.
EXPECT A PHONE CALL, DR. MILLER.
My heart practically leaps out of my chest. It has to be that guy from earlier.
They know my real name. My job.
What the hell does he want with me?
And what the hell does the PR stand for?
I’m kicking myself. I knew there was something off about him.
I jump in the car and lock the doors, my pulse racing.
And then my phone rings.
Unknown flashing on the screen.
I hit accept and stay quiet, trying to calm my breathing.
“Dr. Miller.” A distorted voice fills the line.
Well, fuck.
“Who is this?”
“That is none of your concern. We have a task for you. If you wish to live, you’ll stay on the line and listen to our proposition.”
My fist clenches.
What do they know about me?
I’m careful. Always. No kills in the club. I follow them home. I make it look clean. Undetectable.
There’s no way I slipped.
“Stephanie?”
“Y-yes. I’ll listen.”
“Do you recognize the name Mark Fisher?”
My stomach drops.
My first kill. The man who shattered me. Who brokered my body to his men like a fucking commodity.
“I think I know the name vaguely,” I lie.
The voice laughs.
“Knew. But we know what you did. Very naughty.”
My nails dig into my skin.
“What do you want?” I ask, practically whispering.
“For you to do it again, Dr. Miller. But don’t worry, your secrets are safe with us. You won’t take the fall. We just need you to set it up.”
I rub my palm across my collarbones.
“And what happens if I say no?”
The voice scoffs.
“You’ll end up just like your parents and die a murderer in the public eye, Dr. Miller. That’ll make quite the tabloid, don’t you think?”
There’s a drawl under the distortion.
“What proof do you have?”
“Enough to burn your career in twenty seconds. Mark was a very good friend of mine.”
“I’m not apologizing.”
He chuckles.
“I don’t expect you to. I’m impressed, really. He had it coming. Surprised it took that long for karma to catch up. That’s why I’m asking you. You’re the only one who can pull this off seamlessly.”
I pause.
“Who would I be killing?”
“A patient at your hospital.”
I feel sick.
“Too risky.”
“That’s a you problem, Dr. Miller. I’ll send you the patient details. Just get it done. We’ll take care of the rest.”
I shake my head, trying to process everything.
“If I’m not getting the blame, who is?”
I swear I hear him smile.
“Your favorite attending surgeon.”
Dr. Quinn.
Fuck.
Think. Think.
There has to be a way out of this.
“You have twenty-four hours to decide. Just know—if you decline my offer, you better have your burial plot picked out. If you accept, we’ll vanish once the job is done.”
I blow out a breath. Before I can respond, he cuts the call.
Fuck.