Page 200 of Intense
I pinch the bridge of my nose, dragging in a breath.
They have no idea. No idea what happened to me. No idea what I’d take back if I could.
I wonder who I’d be if I never let them do the things they did. If I didn’t try to save my friend by taking her place.
But I can’t change the past. I can’t even change what I’ve done today to Stephanie. It’s too late.
She’s seen me, and I’ve seen her. And she didn’t crumble. She still pushed back—even with a gun to my temple.
But how the hell do we move past this?
“There are many things I regret, brother. Today might be one of them. But I am who I am.”
I stand, rounding the desk, and clasp Declan’s shoulder.
“We need you, Finn. Theo called,” Declan says sharply.
“When do I go?” I ask.
“They’re setting up a meet with Arthur. So, as soon as you can get there, it's game on.”
I nod slowly, glancing to Conan.
“Are you ready to leave?”
“Yeah. Hallie is fine with it too, she understands.”
“Good. And you, Declan? Are you joining your brothers?”
He takes in a breath.
“You know I’d never fucking leave you both. We’re in this together. Always have been, always will be,” he tells me, his eyes narrowing at me.
“And someone has to stop you from putting loaded guns to your damn head,” he continues.
“Let me deal with this, and then I’ll pack a bag. Get the jet ready; let's end this once and for all,” I tell him.
As Declan runs a hand through his dark hair, I can’t help but think how much he is like our father. Trying so hard to hold this family together. I can see how worried he is, just by the way he’s looking at me. At the way he’s speaking to me, everything is so careful.
“I know you care about me, but stop worrying. I’ve survived this long. Nothing has changed. I’ll see to this, and then we go.”
I don’t wait for their reply. I head out, down the hall, and straight into the part of my mansion where Nyx waits.
She is my judgment day.
Chapter 66
STEPHANIE
Song- over me, Camylio
The heavy door opens again.
Finn steps inside, and he’s holding something. I see the ripple of muscle beneath midnight-black scales, the slow movement as the snake coils lazily around his tattooed forearm.
My breath catches.
“Meet Nyx,” he says, his voice low but holding that edge, the kind that makes the air too heavy to breathe.
