Page 61 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)

STEPHANIE

B eads of sweat drip down my temple, before sliding over my cheek.

I can’t tell if it’s from stress or because I’ve just swallowed poison.

And the one man who claims to hold the antidote walked out like it didn’t matter.

Like I didn’t matter.

His words still itch under my skin, pulling at the threads of who I am, what I’ve done. But as I glance around the room, I start to wonder what all of this is set up for.

Is this something he does regularly with other women?

Or is this something he set up for me? To test me?

I don’t know how long passes before I start to doubt the pill was anything but a placebo. Time seems to stand still here.

Maybe this is part of the game, to make women spiral, to watch them fake sickness or lust, to see how far they’ll degrade themselves for him.

This can’t be the first and only time he’s done this.

Does he do this with all of them?

Is this his ritual?

The thought twists in my stomach. Not because I’m scared, but because I hate the idea of being reduced to just another player on his board.

I force myself to lean back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. My nails scrape against my palm.

The door opens.

My head snaps up, eyes locking on his.

There’s conflict there, a flicker that doesn’t match the coldness he wears like armor.

He sits across from me, deliberately further away this time.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

A smile tugs at my lips.

“Absolutely fine and no hornier than normal around you. So, I suppose my body just didn’t react to whatever it was.”

He runs his thumb across his lip.

“Hmm. I didn’t think it would take you long to see through that one.”

I grin.

“Placebo test. Very good.” I wink.

His fists clench at his sides, and I stiffen. He’s unamused.

“Do you play this game with other women?” My arms fold over my chest. My voice is steady, but my pulse ticks faster.

“Game? This is just a game for you?” he counters.

I chew on my lip.

“Well, that’s what you called it earlier? I just want to know if I’m just another woman to you.”

His eyes form slits and he sits upright.

“Oh, is that how this is going? You get to interrogate me?” His smirk is all teeth.

“What? Are you interrogating me?”

“Testing,” he corrects.

“Do you?” I press softer now.

He nods.

Something tugs in my chest.

I’m not special.

I always assumed he wasn’t the type for a string of women, especially with his strict rules about no looking, no touching.

I thought what I’d seen of him—the softer edges, the cracks—were mine alone.

I turn my head, letting my hair fall forward as I reset my expression.

Maybe to him, everything is a game.

“Does that hurt?” he asks.

My eyes snap back to his. “No.”

“Awful liar, love.” He looks pleased.

“The women who attend my trials,” he says, “are part of a competition me and my brothers host here at Decadence. Entered by their families or husbands. They compete… to survive.”

My mouth parts.

“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re lying.”

“I don’t lie, Stephanie.” His face doesn’t move.

“Why? How? What the hell?” I’m speechless.

I know he likes to play games. But actual trials on people? No. I don’t see it.

“This is where I introduce myself.”

He extends his hand. I hesitate, then take it.

“I’m Dr. Finn Quinn. Son of Seamus Quinn. Irish mafia—born and bred. We deal in arms and drugs. This chocolate factory? It’s our front. Inferno hosts the elite of the underworld—alliances that span the globe. You were right, you know?”

One word sticks in my mind.

“Inferno.” A place I’ve only heard whispers about. A sex club.

“You own Inferno?”

His smirk deepens. “Is that where you wanted to end up with your side career?”

“I—I don’t know. I’ve just… heard of it. Stripping was only ever a way to feel powerful, just for an evening, when in the day, I just go back to being no-one.” The words fall from my lips, a revelation I wasn’t ready to give.

I shake my head to recompose myself.

“What was I right about?” I ask.

He crosses his arms, looking completely casual about this entire situation.

“That I bought my way to the top. I did. But not with high-class family money. With blood. From an empire built on the bodies of our enemies. Do you want to know my role?”

He leans in, and my breath catches. Not out of fear, but because the heat between us spikes, even as the words coming are laced in violence.

“I kill people. Bad, bad people.” His voice ghosts over my cheek.

His hands run down my arms, and my skin prickles.

“These hands you’ve felt inside you? They’re the same ones I kill with. I have no remorse, temptress. In fact, I enjoy it. Finding new, inventive ways to end a life. While at work, I dedicate myself to saving them.”

My heartbeat is fast but steady. He’s not telling me anything I didn’t already suspect.

The shadows in his eyes were always there.

This just gives them a name.

And he’s just like me.

“Are you scared of me now?”

No.

I should be, maybe. But I’m not.

What I am is watching, measuring him the way he’s measuring me. Because now I know exactly what kind of man I married. And I still want him.

“Do you kill the women that compete?”

He shakes his head.

“No. I don’t. I let them think their life is at risk so they fully immerse themselves in the trial. You see, the assholes that send them here, they’re the ones who actually lose their lives. The women, they all get their freedom. A new life. We like to balance the good and the evil in Decadence.”

I close my eyes, trying to compute what he’s telling me. How everything he’s saying is striking me as a reflection of myself. Of how my brain works.

How I try to balance the good and the bad.

“No. I’m not scared of you,” I tell him.

“You should be.”

I sit up straight in my chair. His words slice through me.

“Are there any dark secrets you’d like to tell your husband?” he asks, running a finger along my lips.

I answer in a way to play the game. The lines are blurring, and I’m not sure what is real between us anymore.

And he seems to thrive with the illusion, with bringing out fear.

I have to keep myself safe.

“No. You know me,” I say.

He nods, slowly.

“On to the second trial then, wife.”

A mix of dread and hurt swirls in my stomach.

Perhaps I’ve got this all wrong. Him all wrong.