Page 84 of Intense (Beneath The Blaze #3)

FINN

Song- As The World Caves In, Sarah Cothran

T here is no relaxing when it comes to events like this. No matter how much you prepare, no matter how many people stand on your side, you never know when shit will go south.

It’s how I’ve lived my entire life.

Coiled. On edge. Waiting for everything to fall apart.

And no matter how many times Theo or Enzo try to reassure me this is a clean in-and-out job, I know better. Nothing is clean when it comes to the Bowens.

Our father lost his life to these men. Conan spilled the blood of Arthur’s younger brother in the cage. We’ve hunted each other across oceans, each strike leaving scars. Even after we moved to the States, he found a way back to us. To hurt Conan.

And now I’m meant to put my trust in Theo. Not a man I give my faith to lightly. He has a long fucking road ahead before he earns this alliance.

As we enter the room, it’s a sea of bodies. A woman brushes into my side as she walks past and stops.

“Excuse me, darlin’, we need to get past,” I say.

“Oh, sorry.” She steps back, flustered, and moves to the side and keeps walking.

Stephanie’s hand slips from mine, and I immediately turn to face her. Her nostrils are flaring, her eyes are daggers as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“What?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She steps closer and pushes against my chest so my back is against the wall.

“Call another woman darlin’ again, and neither of you will be walking out of here alive,” she says with a straight face.

It makes my cock twitch, her being possessive like this.

“I hear you. No problem. Never again.”

She blinks at me. I think she was expecting me to fire back. But I understand. To me, it was being polite. Life is different now. Stephanie is the only woman who has a nickname.

“Well,” she smiles.

I curl my fingers around her throat and lean in.

“I wouldn’t threaten me with death again though, love,” I whisper in her ear, and she shivers against my touch.

“Why is that, Dr. Quinn?” she whispers back.

“Because that makes me hard as fuck,” I tell her, feeling her skin heat.

“Noted.” She winks and smirks back at me.

I press my lips firmly against hers. Fuck. She’s perfect.

“That was easier than I thought,” she mutters as she pulls away and puts her hand in mine like nothing happened.

I lead Stephanie straight to the bar. The air is thick with cigar smoke, laughter, and the sound of money being thrown around like it means nothing. A string quartet plays to Polish the Illusion of Elegance, but underneath it all this room reeks of predators in expensive suits.

My brothers are already in place, posted on either side of the bar, scanning the crowd with eyes that miss nothing. The Volkov men are scattered strategically around the floor. Frankie and Zara waltz on the dance floor like this is any other Saturday night date.

“Champagne?” A deep British voice cuts in behind me.

“Sure,” I mutter.

The flute is in my hand a second later, but Stephanie goes stiff beside me. Her body jolts against mine.

“What is it?” I lean down, my mouth close to her ear.

“I—uh… I don’t mean to be rude, but that guy’s face was a mess.”

A mess?

She swallows, her voice dropping lower. “Like… broken. Like he took a heavy beating and walked away without an eye.”

I frown. That doesn’t fit with the kind of staff they hire to work these floors. My gaze flicks to the man, but he’s already moving—disappearing through the double doors into the kitchen, back turned before I can get a good look.

“Maybe he’s part of one of the families that run this place,” I tell her, though the unease prickles my skin.

I wish I’d seen his face for myself.

Stephanie takes a sip of her champagne, a soft moan slipping from her lips. My eyes follow the drop that spills down, sliding from the corner of her mouth along her chin.

I put my glass down, curl my hand around her waist, and pull her flush against me. My tongue sweeps over her skin, licking the champagne from her chin.

“Don’t moan like that in public,” I growl against her mouth.

“Why not?” Her eyes spark with challenge, blue fire burning me alive.

Because she doesn’t understand. I’m obsessed. Addicted. Every sound, every look, every part of her is mine, and mine alone.

“Because your moans belong to me,” I mutter, stealing a kiss.

My hand grips her ass hard enough to make her breath hitch. She sets her glass down beside mine, her smile lighting her face until everything else in the room falls away.

She’s the center of my fucking universe.

“Dance with me?” I whisper against her lips.

Her mouth tips into a grin, teeth catching her bottom lip. “My husband wants to dance with me? In front of everyone?”

“Careful,” I warn. “Keep pushing and I’ll fuck you in front of them too.”

Her mouth falls open, shock and heat clashing across her face, and I smirk. We both know I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. She’s mine. Only mine.

Her hands slide slowly down my chest, her touch a brand. “I’ll dance with you, rich boy.”

A growl rips out of my chest as I duck my head, sinking my teeth into her neck hard enough to make her gasp.

“Whatever my wife wants, she gets,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to see her smile.

She tilts her head, still looking at me like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered. “I just want you.”

That does it.

She grabs my hand, dragging me right into the center of the dance floor, under the chandeliers, and pulls me into her orbit.

The music slows, the swell of strings drifting through the air as I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her in. Her body fits against mine like it was always meant to be there, like the universe has been carving us into each other piece by piece.

I’ve danced in operating rooms. With death. With blood. With the silence of failing heart monitors. But I’ve never danced like this. Never with a woman pressed so close, her heartbeat tangled with mine, every breath she takes pulling me deeper into something I swore I’d never feel.

Stephanie tilts her head up, her eyes locking on mine. “You don’t even know how to waltz, do you?”

“No,” I rasp. My hand tightens at her lower back, and I lead her anyway. “But you’ll follow me. You always do.”

She gives me a coy smile. “Well, neither do I. Looks like we’re perfectly paired.”

Her laugh is soft, breaking me open. Her palm presses against my chest, right over the heart I’ve kept buried from the world. The heart I’ve told myself doesn’t exist. And fuck, it hurts. The pressure of it. The weight. Because I can feel it hammering under her touch, beating just for her.

“Finn…” she whispers, like she knows. Like she feels the storm tearing me apart inside.

I close my eyes for a second, pulling her in tighter, because the past is bleeding into the present.

Just like it always does. I see Penelope’s face.

I see every patient I’ve lost. Every kill I’ve made.

Every grave I’ve filled. A life built on precision, violence, and walls I swore would never crack.

I can feel Conan’s blood on my hands again. See my father’s grave. Feeling the world fall apart when my mom died.

And yet here I am. Cracking. Splintering. Bleeding right into her hands, and she doesn’t falter.

She fucking grounds me.

When I open my eyes, she’s still watching me, her eyes shining, her lip caught between her teeth like she’s scared to breathe too loud and shatter this moment.

But this is it. Our fucking moment. The one my mom always promised me I’d have.

I never believed her. She always saw the good in me, too. Even when I screamed at her that she was wrong. She never gave up on me, not until the world ripped her away from me.

I can’t fight it anymore.

I open my mouth to speak, but she beats me to it.

“I love you,” she breathes out.

She truly is a fuckin’ menace.

“That’s great, love.” I keep my tone neutral.

She frowns, licking her lip.

“That’s all you have to say? Seriously?”

I can’t help but grin.

“You’re the one who stole my line, temptress. Now, are you gonna let me say my whole declaration properly?”

I tilt my head and she blushes.

“I get a whole speech?” she whispers.

“I’ll give you the whole damn world if you’ll let me. So, yes.”

I cup her cheeks and take a deep breath.

“Stephanie Quinn. I love you,” I tell her quietly so only she can hear.

The words are a raw confession, ripped straight from a place I didn’t even think was alive anymore.

Her mouth parts, her breath catching, tears flooding her eyes as though she’s been waiting for this, needing it as much as I’ve needed to say it.

“I love you, temptress. More than I can stand. More than I ever thought I was capable of. I thought love was a weakness. I thought it would destroy me. But you—” My voice fractures, my throat burning as I press my forehead to hers. “You’re the only thing that’s ever made me want to fucking live.”

Her palm rests on my cheek as she whispers back.

“Finn…” Her voice trembles, it’s broken and beautiful. “I’ve loved you since the second you terrified me into noticing you. And I’ll love you for the rest of my life. I want to be your wife for as long as you’ll have me.”

I can’t breathe. My chest aches like it’s collapsing in on itself, but her arms come around my neck, holding me together, and it’s the first time in my entire fucked-up existence that I believe I’m not beyond saving.

“So, forever? Does that sound okay? In this life and the next,” I whisper.

“Yes.” She hiccups. “I’d love that.”

The world blurs around us. The chandeliers, the music, the predators circling the room. It all fades until it’s just her and me. My temptress. My wife. My salvation.

And when I kiss her, it isn’t the kiss of a man who’s claiming. It’s the kiss of a man who’s surrendering.

I might as well be on my fucking knees.

Because I’ve finally fucking found the one thing stronger than the darkness inside me.

Her.