Page 101 of Intense
They say you can’t train a snake. That they act on instinct alone.
That might be true.
But Nyx…
Nyx is different.
She doesn’t follow orders. This isn’t anything that’s spoken between us—it’s more.
She reads me. Reacts to my heart rate, my body temperature, the current that pulses just beneath the surface of my skin.
It’s not obedience.
It’s something deeper.
Bonded in silence, she is the living embodiment of everything they fear in me.
I stroke the top of her head with two fingers.
“You ready to have some fun, girl?” I murmur.
When I’m calm, she’s calm. When I strike, she coils tighter.
I don’t think she’d ever hurt me, unless I deserved it.
And I would accept that, too.
She’s not a pet. She’s a reflection. A part of me that crawled out of trauma and learned to kill.
And still, I can’t stop thinking about Stephanie’s tattoo.
A serpent, etched over her skin beautifully.
Does she see what I see in these creatures?
Or is she another Nyx?
Beautiful and deadly.
I exhale slowly and turn from the tank, stepping into the corridor that leads to the room holding Troy Barnes. Who we know now as the logistics coordinator for The Preacher.
The creep from the strip club. Which, potentially, could be where he was getting girls from in our state.
But he is the man who may hold the answers to the questions burning holes in my fucking skull.
What the fuck does his cult want with me?
And how the hell are they trafficking women across state lines without a trace?
I reach the reinforced door and key in the code. The mechanical lock disengages with a hiss.
As I open it, the stench of sweat and piss hits me first. Then the fear.
Troy's chained to the surgical table in the center of the room. Limbs spread, heart pounding so loud I can hear it from here.
Good.
I step inside, letting the door click shut behind me.
