Page 196 of Intense
“I was scared you’d leave me. And now I’m scared you’ll do that anyways. I assumed since you got away with it, you wouldn’t care. That it was done,” I quietly admit.
He pulls back, leaving me panting against the wall, my throat throbbing where his fingers were.
“You were wrong. Who blackmailed you?”
I twist my thumbs together, avoiding his gaze.
“There was a note left on my car. It was after that same guy you had a knife to, that wanted to speak to me. He had an accent not from around here. Then it was a phone call, a distorted voice. They gave me the warning and the details. Nothing else. But they knew about my first murder. They knew enough to ruin me.”
My stomach twists. Everything is collapsing, and it’s my fault.
I always knew I’d end up alone. I just didn’t think it would be this soon. And I didn’t expect my husband to be the one to kill me.
My ears ring as he watches me, silent, calculating.
“And they didn’t say who?”
I shake my head.
“All I had was that stupid bit of paper with a PR in a fancy font at the top.”
He stills, scratching at his jaw.
“You’re sure. PR?” he asks.
“Yes. I can read, psycho.”
He grunts under his breath. I’m getting agitated with this now too.
“And did they say exactly why it had to be me?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Nope. Nothing. And I haven’t heard anything from them since. I’m waiting for them to either kill me in my sleep or try to use me again.”
He blows out a long breath, his eyes diverting away from me. Reality must be setting in.
His eyes snap to mine.
“They won’t fucking touch you, Stephanie,” he grits out.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I whisper.
His cold eyes snap back to mine.
“I’m not hurt. I’m disappointed you couldn’t confide in your husband. That I still wouldn’t have known. It’s only because ofthat stupid fucking nightmare that I even found this out. I could have protected you—and myself.”
I nod slowly, stepping closer to him.
“You know the truth about me now, Finn. You know who I am. I have nothing more to hide. I’m still not scared of you, though.”
His head tilts.
“You really are as crazy as me, aren’t you?” He grins, and my heart pounds.
“I think that might be the case.” I pause, thinking back to some of our previous interactions.
How, for years, he’s been making notes about me. Analyzing me. Yet, he missed all of this. This whole other side to me.
“Did you have any of this in your notepad about me?” I ask, rubbing my sore throat.
