Page 7 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)

STEPHANIE

I promised myself I’d stop.

That my first kill was my last. Well, at least inside the hospital. My endeavors have continued after hours. In the dead of the night, when only the predators come out to play.

Yet, one phone call, from a distorted male voice, changes everything.

I have my orders, and I don’t have a way out. I’m used to ending lives, for myself. Never under the command of another, especially not from a man. I’m not an assassin. I kill for a good cause, I kill for vengeance, and to save other women from having to go through the pain of what I went through.

I close the door behind me, sucking in a breath as I look at the sleeping man. It’s like I’ve stepped back in time.

Except, for all I know, this man could be innocent? Doubtful, seeing as I’m being enlisted to kill him by god knows who.

Men like this, men who end up as my targets, rarely are.

But I suppose I’ll never really know.

And in the end, it won’t matter.

Dr. Quinn just saved his life yesterday.

And Dr. Quinn will be taking his life. That’s how my blackmailer has assured me it will appear. The CCTV will be wiped. The systems have been hacked.

Right now, Dr. Quinn is standing here, not me. Or that’s what the police will believe. I am merely a ghost.

I cross the room in measured steps, my gloved fingers brushing the IV line threaded into the back of his hand.

He shifts in his sleep, a tiny groan escaping his slack mouth. My heartbeat doesn’t even quicken. This part of me—this precise, clinical part—has always been terrifyingly steady.

I draw the syringe from my pocket. It’s not filled with any poison, but it’s just as deadly.

I pause at the bedside, scanning the readouts. No one would question me if they saw me checking his vitals.

I press a button on the cardiac monitor, bringing up the settings menu. My gloved finger hovers just long enough to confirm that the alarms are active, then I toggle them off . The screen freezes. No more beeping. No more witnesses.

The silence feels enormous. Ominious.

I detach the pulse oximeter from his finger and tuck it under the folded blanket near his hip. No alarms to announce the moment his oxygen drops to nothing.

He shifts against the sheets, eyelids fluttering. A faint, bewildered sound in his throat. He’s waking just enough to know something’s happening.

Air. What we need to survive can also kill us just as easily.

I pull back the plunger until the barrel is filled with emptiness. Four, five, six milliliters. Enough to shatter the illusion of safety.

He exhales in a sigh that sounds almost content as I ease the needle into the line. I watch his face as I depress the plunger.

One moment, he’s dreaming.

Next, his body knows something is catastrophically wrong.

His eyes snap open, confusion bleeding into horror as he tries to suck in air that won’t come. His chest bucks against the sheets, pupils dilating in primal panic.

An air embolism. So small, so efficient. The bubble travels straight to his heart, a silent saboteur. I can almost imagine it racing through his veins.

His hands scrabble weakly at the tubing, trying to claw it out, but it’s too late.

I rest my palm over his sternum, feeling the stuttering rhythm sputter, then seize. His gaze locks with mine, glassy with terror and the dawning realization that nothing will save him now.

Thirty seconds, maybe less.

His lips part around a wet, broken gasp. His last breath.

Then silence.

I wait until I’m certain the last flicker has gone out.

Then I pull the syringe free, I reconnect the pulse oximeter to his finger, and tap the monitor back to life. It will alert the team.

That’s what my blackmailer wants.

I slide the spent syringe into my pocket and exhale. Leaving the man as he is.

Out of all the lives I’ve taken, this one is the worst.

Because I didn’t just take his.

I’ve also taken Dr. Quinn’s. My boss. My rival.

I should be elated at the end of his reign. No more tally charts every week to prove he’s better at his job than me.

No more losing to him at our award ceremonies.

No more of his smug grins or cheeky winks to annoy me.

I should be happy.

Except I’m not. I wanted to beat Dr. Quinn fair and square with my skill and my work ethic. Not like this.

This feels like I’m cheating.

I don’t know if I prefer the devil that walks the hallway of this hospital to the one blackmailing me.

As I slink out of the room and calmly head back to my office, I see Finn racing back down the hallway. Our eyes lock, and I swear time freezes.

His stare is always ice cold, yet it burns me from the inside out.

Knowing my luck, he probably will bring the dead back to life and royally screw me over.

Because if I fail this.

I die.