Page 110 of Intense
Every time I make eye contact, it burns. I can still feel his touch. The way he commands me.
The music blares, yet all I can hear is him calling me temptress.
This is for my husband. Revenge for not giving me what I need.
And once I’m done, I wink right at him and blow him a kiss. Almost dedicating that dance to him. His face remains still, while his friends all whistle. Check. Mate.
Before the night ends, I dash back to the dressing room, change out of the costume, pull on my leggings and black tank, and shove everything into my purse. I race down the hallway and straight into Paulie’s office.
He’s in his usual spot, cigar burning low between his fingers.
Groaning.
Oh no.
There’s a woman under the desk. Fucking hell.
“Out!” he shouts, not even glancing up.
I hold up the cash. “Your money.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and moans again.
Disgusting.
I wonder how much money he waved in that poor girl’s face to do that.
I make a run for it, slam the cash down on the corner of his desk, ignore the slurping sound beneath, and escape at record speed, clutching my purse like it’s a lifeline.
Once I’m outside, I gulp in the cool air.
His Mercedes is easy to spot. Parked way too cockily under the streetlight.
And… I can’t feel him behind me.
Good.
I slip the flip knife from my bag and stab it clean into the front passenger-side tire. It hisses, spitting air like it’s screaming for help.
I smile. A twisted thrill zips down my spine. It feels good being bad. Maybe I could lower the severity of my crimes from now on.
I cross over to the back wheel and jam the blade in again.
Then, I move to the front driver’s side.
The second the knife sinks in, a hand wraps around the back of my neck.
And I’m slammed down, face first, onto the hood.
“Fuck,” I hiss, cheek pressed to the warm metal.
“Fuck, indeed,” Finn growls behind me.
His grip is punishing.
Dominating.
Fucking perfect.
