Page 194 of Intense
Do I believe he would kill us both? Yes.
He’s dangerous.
He’s unhinged right now.
And he believes his wife is a traitor.
What do I do?
If I reveal everything, he might not even believe me. How do I make him believe that I was forced to frame him? When I have no evidence of who was behind the phone call.
Only a hunch it was that sleazy guy in the strip club.
I’m screwed whatever I decide.
“I can sit here for as long as you want, love. I have no plans. We can sit in silence and starve to death if you really want.”
I chew the inside of my mouth until I taste blood, my hands trembling despite my attempts to keep them still.
He’s going to hate me. He’s going to leave me.
“Finn, please, just stop this. I can’t even think properly like this.”
His eyes snap to mine, sharp as a blade.
“Think about what? How to fool me again? Figure out how to get rid of me for good this time?”
He stands, nostrils flaring, the tension in his jaw flexing as he unbinds my wrists, and I rub at them instinctively before tearing the ECG patches from my chest, then carefully unclipping the nipple clamps with a hiss.
“Finn.” My voice is low, wary.
“I always said you were a terrible actress. Fucking got me though, didn’t you?”
I push off the bed, my legs unsteady, but I plant myself in front of him. I’m not backing down. I’m not running scared.
“What are you talking about? This is real!” I shout, pointing between us.
He shakes his head slowly, eyes shadowed. Then he reaches into his waistband, and I gasp, stumbling back as the gleam of metal catches the light.
He doesn’t point it at me. He holds the gun out in his palm.
“Do you want me dead? Is that the next step of your plan, huh?”
I shake my head quickly, the fear curling hot and heavy in my stomach.
“What? No? Why would I do that?”
My voice is trembling, my eyes blurry from the tears I’m trying to keep from spilling. What have I done?
A dangerous laugh slips from his lips. He presses the barrel to his temple like it’s nothing.
“Will I still make it in your little book of murders if I shoot my own brains out?” His voice is quiet, almost gentle. That’s what makes it terrifying.
Psychotic.
I take a small step forward, hands outstretched. I can get through to him. I have to.
“Well, wife? Tell me? You clearly want me fucking dead. What happens to your plan if I do it myself?”
