Page 106 of Intense
His fingers trail over my breasts as he shoves a white card in my bra.
"Private room. Now. Don’t make a scene. You’ll earn your money. Maybe even a tip. And there’s my card if you want a big payout later.”
I don’t hesitate. I lift my heel and slam it into his shin. "No means no, asshole."
Before I can spin away, I slam into something hard. Then a hand is on my waist. The touch doesn’t burn, no, it simmers. Like it’s meant to be there.
Finn.
"If you’ll excuse me for a second, love," he murmurs, his lips brushing the top of my head. "I need to speak to this stupid fucking man. Don’t leave this room."
He steps forward, and my heart stutters when I see the gun in his hand, discreetly pressed into the guy’s ribs.
"Doors behind you. Now," he says.
No one else in the club notices. No drama. No spectacle. Just Finn Quinn, cold as hell, and completely in control.
And I’ve never been more terrified or more turned on.
I discreetly trail behind them as Finn shoves the guy into the night, his silhouette sharp beneath the glow of the flickering streetlight.
This seems to be a pattern—me sneaking off to watch my husband beat men senseless. But this time, there’s no blade gleaming in his grip. His weapon of choice tonight is his gun, pressed dangerously under the guy’s chin.
I’m too far away to hear the words, but I don’t need to. The look on the guy’s face is all I need to see; he’s terrified. Utterly rattled. The kind of fear that seeps into your bones and makes you question every decision that led you to this moment.
I linger at the edge of the alley, watching Finn with a twisted sense of awe. The man isn’t some reckless brute. He’s calculated. Composed. He doesn’t just throw punches; he makes sure you never forget why they landed. Maybe this creep will think twice before threatening another woman again.
But just as I’m about to turn back, the guy does something truly stupid. He swings.
My breath catches in my throat.
Finn doesn’t even flinch. He ducks like he’s done it a hundred times before, because he probably has, and in that instant, everything shifts. The ice in his expression melts into fire.
His fist cracks against the man’s jaw with a sickening thud, and before the guy can even register what’s happened, Finn hashim by the collar, slamming his skull against the brick wall. The sound echoes down the alley like a warning shot.
And then the man is on the ground choking, and Finn’s boot comes down hard on his throat.
“Cunts like you deserve to die.”
He spits in the guy’s face like it’s nothing. No hesitation. No remorse. Just raw, seething dominance.
The man claws at Finn’s leg in desperation, and it only earns him a cold laugh. A sound so devoid of humor, it sends shivers through me.
“Pathetic.”
Finn eases the pressure, his boot lifting just enough for the man to gasp for air, but the reprieve is fleeting. The gun returns, pressed to his temple this time, and Finn leans in, his voice low and lethal.
I can’t tear my eyes away. Do I want him to shoot him? Will that make me feel better about what I do to men like him?
Are me and Finn the same? That’s why I’m so drawn to him?
“If you step foot in any club, anywhere in this state, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”
My pulse pounds so hard I can feel it in my ears. My lungs don’t remember how to breathe.
And then Finn turns and walks straight toward me, calm as anything, like he didn’t just flirt with murder.
Chapter 37
