Page 181 of Intense
My mouth parts.
“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re lying.”
“I don’t lie, Stephanie.” His face doesn’t move.
“Why? How? What the hell?” I’m speechless.
I know he likes to play games. But actual trials on people? No. I don’t see it.
“This is where I introduce myself.”
He extends his hand. I hesitate, then take it.
“I’m Dr. Finn Quinn. Son of Seamus Quinn. Irish mafia—born and bred. We deal in arms and drugs. This chocolate factory? It’s our front. Inferno hosts the elite of the underworld—alliances that span the globe. You were right, you know?”
One word sticks in my mind.
“Inferno.” A place I’ve only heard whispers about. A sex club.
“You own Inferno?”
His smirk deepens. “Is that where you wanted to end up with your side career?”
“I—I don’t know. I’ve just… heard of it. Stripping was only ever a way to feel powerful, just for an evening, when in the day, I just go back to being no-one.” The words fall from my lips, a revelation I wasn’t ready to give.
I shake my head to recompose myself.
“What was I right about?” I ask.
He crosses his arms, looking completely casual about this entire situation.
“That I bought my way to the top. I did. But not with high-class family money. With blood. From an empire built on the bodies of our enemies. Do you want to know my role?”
He leans in, and my breath catches. Not out of fear, but because the heat between us spikes, even as the words coming are laced in violence.
“I kill people. Bad, bad people.” His voice ghosts over my cheek.
His hands run down my arms, and my skin prickles.
“These hands you’ve felt inside you? They’re the same ones I kill with. I have no remorse, temptress. In fact, I enjoy it. Finding new, inventive ways to end a life. While at work, I dedicate myself to saving them.”
My heartbeat is fast but steady. He’s not telling me anything I didn’t already suspect.
The shadows in his eyes were always there.
This just gives them a name.
And he’s just like me.
“Are you scared of me now?”
No.
I should be, maybe. But I’m not.
What I am is watching, measuring him the way he’s measuring me. Because now I know exactly what kind of man I married. And I still want him.
“Do you kill the women that compete?”
