Page 172 of Untamed

“Bianca,” I warn.

But she leans in slightly, lowering her voice. “Jordyn, tell me the truth. Is there something going on between you two?”

My pulse jumps. I force myself to laugh. “Wow. Really reaching today, huh?” She doesn’t laugh back. Just stares at me like she’s searching for a crack in my lie.

I stand abruptly, grabbing my phone. “Maybe pick up a hobby, Bee. Something to keep you busy, so you don’t spend so much time speculating about my social life.” I toss the napkin onto the table and force a smile. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Jordyn.”

I stop in the doorway but don’t look back.

“Be careful,” she says, quiet now. Not suspicious, just… worried.

I don’t answer. Because I’m already in too deep to pretend I’m not.

The walk to town feels longer than usual. Every step tightens the knot in my stomach. Not because I’m scared, just the weight of everything we didn’t say to each other last night.

My phone is silent in my pocket. No new messages. No check-ins.

Bianca’s words still ring in my ears;You act different when he’s around.

She has no idea.

The road curves at the top of the hill, and as the town comes into view, so does Ares.

He’s leaning against his all-black Ducati like he belongs to another world, the kind that moves in silence and shadows. Then again, I suppose he does. His black t-shirt clings to him like a second skin, ink peeking beneath the sleeves, sunglasses hiding his eyes, jaw sharp and unreadable.

His arms are crossed. One boot propped casually against the curb.

He looks calm, controlled,deadly. And somehow… he makes the entire street fade away.

As I get closer, his gaze lifts behind the lenses. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile. Just watches me like he’s been doing it his whole life.

“You’re late,” he says when I reach him.

“I’m exactly on time.”

He arches a brow, then reaches for the spare helmet hanging off the handlebars. He holds it out. “Get on.” I hesitate for half a second.

But I take it, and the moment my hands brush his, the chaos inside me goes still. The helmet is warm in my hands, like it’s been waiting for me. I slip it on, fingers trembling just enough that I hope he doesn’t notice.

Ares swings his leg over the Ducati in one fluid motion, the leather of his gloves creaking as he grips the handles. He doesn’t look back as he says, “Hold on.”

I slide onto the seat behind him, letting my knees bracket his hips. The moment my hands find his waist, he stiffens. Just barely, but enough that I feel it.

He revs the engine once, low and hungry then peels away from the curb like the road belongs to him.

The wind bites at my skin, tugging my clothes tight against my frame. But I barely feel it. All I can focus on is the steady thrum of his body beneath mine, the way his spine aligns with my chest, how even now… I press my forehead to his back and feel safe. Even now.

The streets blur around us, sun flickering through the trees like strobe light.

We don’t speak. Not one word. But the silence is louder than anything we could say. Ares doesn’t take the usual roads into town, no main square, no casual passersby. Instead, he winds through quieter streets, down narrow turns that keep us hidden. Discreet, just like him.

Ten minutes later, we pull into a small parking lot tucked between two buildings with no signs. No markings. Just a slate-grey entrance and mirrored glass windows. He kills the engine and steps off the bike like he’s switching masks.

By the time I pull the helmet off, he’s already holding the door open for me.

But I don’t move. Not yet.

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