Page 67 of Ignite

The door flies open, and the room falls silent again.

“This better be fucking good. I just had to call in some serious favors at the hospital.” Finn storms in, slamming the door behind him.

I bite back a grin as Declan kicks me under the table.

I can’t look at Enzo—he’s got a short fuse, especially with Finn. But it goes both ways.

Finn’s gray eyes meet mine; I discreetly nod toward the head of the table. He rolls his eyes.

“Afternoon, Enzo.”

He yanks out a chair opposite me and Declan next to Drago, who, like me, is barely holding back a smile at Finn’s outburst. Drago fits in well.

“Saving lives is more important than taking them, Dr. Quinn?” Enzo’s thick Italian accent cuts through the room.

Finn glances at Declan, who scowls, then checks his Rolex.

“Yeah. In daylight hours. Remember, I have to keep my job at the hospital to make this whole fucking illusion real. But I’m here, aren’t I?”

I clear my throat and get another kick from Declan.

“Do it again, and I’ll throw you across the table,” I whisper.

“Try me. I’ll shoot you in the face.”

“No. You wouldn’t. Because you love your little brother. Finn is the one in trouble, not me.”

I tease him.

Enzo’s accent stops me from saying more.

“Yes. You’re here. So quit the bratty complaining. This was important enough for me to fly in from Vegas.”

Enzo leans back in his chair.

“Enzo. It’s good. We’re all here and listening,” Declan cuts in.

Enzo nods, his eyes on me. I straighten my back and sit up straight.

“Conan. Your games are next. I’ve sent over the final contestants. This year you’ll have ten.”

I flick a glance at Finn. The more contestants for the Decadence Chase, the busier Finn is eliminating those who entered the women.

“Okay.” I scratch my stubble.

“I do have a request, though,” I tell them.

All eyes on me. Here goes nothing.

“What?”

“The reward will be two million, but no option for a submissive for a year. I need that in the contract.”

I look to Drago for help. He’s the guy drafting all the legal shit. A grey area of what he did for Vlad in Russia, but the guy knows everything—martial arts, law, business, cooking, and teaching Isabella. You name it, he does it.

“So what do you exactly get out of this?”

I shrug.

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