Page 105 of Intense
Peering through the narrow gap, my stomach lurches.
There he is.
Finn. Laughing with his friends. Leaning against the bar with a whiskey in hand like he owns the place. I should’ve known today had gone too smoothly.
What is he doing here again? I know for a fact he’s not a regular. He’s here hoping to see me?
By the time I get changed, I decide to leave my snake tattoo on show. What’s the point in hiding now? He knows.
When I walk into the main room, his cold eyes are already on me. For some reason, they heat me up.
Another dancer is on stage, so I scan the booths, pretending I don’t notice his stare. But I do. I always do.
He's seated with three men, all big, inked, and basking in attention. But it’s Finn who makes my stomach twist. One of the girls runs her hand across his shoulder, and he flinches. Subtle. Barely there. But I see it.
And he quietly removes her touch without anyone else noticing.
She leans in, whispers something, and then he smirks. My jaw tightens in response.
A slow burn creeps beneath my skin as another girl drapes herself in front of him, her ass waving in his face. He doesn’t stop her. He bites his lip and winks, but right at me.
My vision blurs with rage. He wants a reaction.
Fine.
I scan the room and zero in on a bachelor party nearby. Loud, drunk, and ripe for tips. Perfect. I strut toward them and instantly draw their attention.
"Right, boys. Who’s first?" I purr.
They point to the guy at the end, who licks his lips. "Turn around, gorgeous. Let me see that ass."
I fake a sultry smile and do as he says, sliding my hands down my sides.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Finn watching. He’s not even pretending to enjoy the girl dancing on him. His hands are still on his thighs. He’s like a coiled snake ready to attack.
I step between the guy’s legs. "Well? Did I pass your test?"
He groans. "Fuck, yeah. Dance for me, whore."
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and push through it, swaying to the beat, hair whipping over my shoulder. There’s only one man who can call me that.
"How much for a private room?" he asks.
"I don’t do that."
"Everyone’s got a price."
"And mine’s not for sale."
"Then I’m not paying," he snaps.
"That dance was a hundred bucks, sir," I say politely.
"Take the bra off, then maybe."
I straighten up, forcing sweetness into my voice. "That’s not how it works. One hundred. Now."
He stands, like he’s reaching for his wallet, but then he grabs my wrist, yanking me forward. His nose almost touches mine, his voice venom-laced.
