Page 190 of Intense
“I mean, if I have to kill you, temptress, then I won’t be able to live with myself. So, we either both survive here, or we both die.”
Death doesn’t scare me.
But loving Stephanie does. That petrifies me.
I said this marriage would be my first and my last. It seems I can predict my future better than I thought.
“Say it with me, love. Til’. Death. Do. Us. Part.”
She whispers it back to me and I pull away from her.
“Would you like to hear the rules of this room?” I ask.
She closes her eyes and I shake my head, grabbing her jaw.
She doesn’t get to hide from this. From me.
She pushed me this far. Let out the monster I never wanted her to fucking see.
“No. You will not take your eyes off me,” I growl.
I’m stern, but it’s important.
This is our make or break.
My make or break.
I pick up the remote and press the button that sends shocks to her nipples. Her back arches, and she lets out a scream.
“I said, do you want to hear the rules of this room?” My voice is louder. Harsher.
My patience is wearing thin.
“Yes!” she cries out.
I push my chair away, and it clatters onto the floor with a crash as I stand.
Her heart rate is screaming.
And everything inside me is raging.
“I ask questions, you answer. For each lie, your punishment gets worse. There are no limits here. Life or fucking death. It’s only the truth that can save you.” I lean over her, gripping her throat so we’re nose to nose.
“Remember who you’re talking to now. I’m not your husband anymore. I’m the decider on whether you go straight to hell. This isn’t a fucking game, there are no illusions. You should never have trusted me. Now, you get to see the man you really married, and I want you to show me who you really are, Stephanie Miller.”
“Finn, please.”
I squeeze her throat tighter, stopping myself from taking it too far.
“Begging for mercy won’t work now. Play the game.”
I release her and stand, straightening my shirt and shrugging off my suit jacket. I turn slowly back to face her.
Panting, petrified. Looking at me like I am a fucking monster.
Good. She’s understanding that she hurt me.
“Question one. Tell me about your first murder,” I say bluntly, not mincing my words.
