Page 250 of Intense

“Don’t you dare,” I choke out, thrashing until the chair rattles against the floor. My skin is raw where the rope bite, but I can’t stop. I can’t let this play out. “Arthur, please.”

Everything in me breaks.

And the world stops.

James turns his head to me, grinning like he’s savoring every second. “You’re about to watch your psycho husband die for you, Angel. Must feel special.”

My stomach twists.

But then I catch it. The tiniest flicker in Finn’s face, the subtlest edge to his smirk. He’s not surrendering. He’s baiting him. He’s playing James the way he plays everyone else.

It’s Decadence all over again. A trial. A game.

And James has no idea he’s already lost.

Chapter 93

FINN

This was the biggest risk of my life. Years of games. Years of sacrifices. All of it leading to this moment.

I’d put my trust in the very man I came here to slaughter. Arthur Bowen. My enemy. My father’s executioner’s son.

But I’ve studied the Bowens since I was ten years old.

I know their tells. Their quirks. Their brand of cruelty. And Arthur’s reaction earlier told me everything—that this wasn’t him. Taking my wife would never be his play. He knows what I’m capable of. He knows better.

And something in my gut is telling me to trust him. Worst case, as soon as the bullet rips through me, our army will be in here quick enough to save Stephanie. That’s what I’m telling myself. That she will be saved.

A shot fires.

Stephanie’s muffled scream rips through the room, drowning out everything else. My pulse hammers, my body braces, waiting for the bullet. For the ripping pain. For the end.

But it never comes.

When I open my eyes, James is already crumbling at my feet. His gun clatters uselessly to the floor. He’s clawing at his chest, his ruined face twisting in disbelief before his knees slam against the carpet.

And Arthur stands over him. Chest heaving. His own weapon still smoking.

For a split second, I can’t move. Relief and suspicion collide inside me. Because Arthur Bowen doesn’t save lives. Not unless it feeds his own survival. But this is different. He’s been betrayed by his own blood.

Our eyes lock. His grief is naked, his fury at the truth of betrayal written all over him. But I don’t let myself soften. I can’t afford to.

I lunge forward, grabbing James’s fallen gun just as the door bursts open and chaos explodes in. Declan and Conan, weapons raised, rage burning in their eyes. Frankie right behind, Zara at his shoulder. All of their weapons pointing at Arthur.

“Don’t!” My roar tears out. “No one touches him! Not yet!”

The whole room freezes. Every muscle wound tight, every barrel trained. But I keep my gaze on Arthur, but I’m well aware James is still alive.

“I’m giving you one chance, Arthur,” I growl. “One. You hand me James, and I will offer you a chance to live.”

Every gun shifts, the tension balanced on a blade’s edge. But Arthur just exhales, the fight bleeding out of his shoulders. He lowers his weapon.

“He’s all yours.”

He spits in James’s bloodied face, the sound harsh in the silence. “You’re no brother of mine.”

I turn to Conan, who is seething.