Page 138 of Untamed

I rest back against the pillows, pulling my knees up. I can barely feel the weight of him curled on top of my chest, but his warmth seeps into me.

So does the scent clinging to the sheets.Ares. Clean and dark and comforting in a way that makes no sense, but feels like exhale after a breath I’ve been holding for too long.

The room is still...safe.

And somewhere between the rhythm of Ladro’s purrs and the ghost of Ares on my skin, my eyes grow heavy.

The last thing I feel is Ladro nuzzling beneath my chin and a whisper of peace curling into my chest.

And then I’m asleep.

Wrapped in the quiet of a man the world fears, but whose bed, somehow, feels like the safest place I’ve ever known.

The warehouse reeks of a potent mix of oil, rust, and blood. A stench so thick it clings to your skin. It’s the kind of hidden reserve no one stumbles upon by chance. Nestled behind neglected shipyards and encircled by chain-link fences, it's a zone no cop would dare enter without ample reinforcement. That's precisely why I chose this location. It’s the perfect stage for a dramatic statement. Which is exactly why I brought them here. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that revenge isn’t enough… you have to make it memorable.

Suspended by his wrists, the Ferrara runner hangs like a broken marionette, his shirt drenched in blood, which has dried into a crusty, cracked map across his temple. He teeters on the edge ofconsciousness, his head drooping forward, yet he clings to life.For now.

Dante stands to the side, arms folded across his chest, his jaw like granite with tension.

“You’re sure he didn’t talk?” I enquire, my voice a low, unwavering murmur.

Dante gives a single, resolute nod. “He said Nicolai assured him it’d be quick. Deliver the message, then vanish. He had no idea they’d abandon him to bleed out at our gates.”

I pace in front of the bastard slowly, every step deliberate and controlled. My shoulder stings from the movement, fire lacing down my arm, but I ignore it. Pain is a reminder. A tether and I welcome it.

The warehouse is too quiet.

That kind of stillness that hums with violence, just waiting to snap.

I watch as the Ferrara runner hangs limp from the chains overhead, his bare chest rising and falling with shallow, ragged breaths. Blood trails down his torso in slow, sticky streams. The crude letters carved into his flesh are fresh and raw.

JORDYN.

Six jagged letters, slashed with a trembling hand. The cuts weren’t meant to kill him—they’re meant to deliver a message. And they did. Loud and clear.

Dante paled when he found him dumped at the west gates, barely breathing, the carving still oozing. And I, God, I didn’teven see red. I’d gone colder than that. Colder than I have been in a long fucking time.

Because it’s not just a name. It’s my warning.

“She didn’t even do anything,” the runner gasps out now, his voice rasping through blood in his throat. “I swear to God, I don’t know why he, why he used her?—”

“You keep her name out of your mouth,” I growl, low and lethal.

The blade in my hand is solid, familiar. It grounds me even when the fury wants to strip me bare. My shoulder throbs where skin stretches, but I barely feel it anymore. All I see is her name carved across another man’s chest, like Nicolai owns her.

“He wanted to get your attention,” Dante says from behind me, voice grim. “Looks like he did.”

I nod once, sharp and final.

“He made it personal,” I murmur. “So now I will, too.”

The blade feels heavier than it should.

Not because of the weight, but because of what I’m about to do with it. What Ihaveto do with it.

The runner doesn’t struggle anymore. He knows what’s coming. And honestly? That makes this cleaner. He already made his mistake. He delivered a message withher namecarved across his chest like it meant nothing. Like she was something Nicolai could touch.

He was wrong.

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