Page 232 of Untamed

Jordyn.

She’s slumped in the back seat of a car. Eyes half-closed. That same white rose resting on her lap like a signature.

I don’t breathe.

I don’t blink.

I gun the throttle and tear into the street, the roar of the engine splitting the silence wide open.

The city blurs, lights stretch. Horns wail. I don’t hear them.

All I hear is her voice in my memory, soft, breathy, laughing against my chest this morning like the world wasn’t already sharpening its teeth.

She told me to be careful. I should’ve made her stay.

I lean into the Ducati, slicing through traffic like a blade. The GPS tracker on her phone went dark four minutes ago. That’s too fucking long.

The Ducati roars beneath me like it feels my rage, like it’s trying to outrun the sick twist in my gut telling me this isn’t just a warning.

It’s a declaration.

Whoever took her wanted me tofeelthis. Wanted me to bleed for it.

My phone buzzes again in my jacket pocket. I don’t stop. I hit the voice command.

“Answer.”

Dante’s voice cuts in, clipped. “We found the car. Black Mercedes. Plates were fake, but the traffic cam at Via Mare picked it up turning east. We’re tracking it now, two blocks from the port.”

The port. Of course. They’re trying to get her out before we can pin them down.

“Seal every exit road south of Palermo,” I bite out. “Send men to the docks. Intercept anyone who even fucking breathes her name.”

“We’re already on it,” Dante says. “You’re two minutes out.”

Two minutes.

Too long.

I take the next corner without slowing down. My shoulder clips the side mirror of a parked car, and I don’t stop. I fucking can’t.

I cut into the backstreets, tyres shrieking, rage flooding every muscle until all that exists is the road and her and the sound of the seconds ticking away.

Tick...Tock.

The city falls away behind me, concrete and glass give way to rusted fences, corrugated steel, the thick salt stink of the port bleeding through the wind.

Dante’s voice is back in my ear.

“They ditched the car outside Dock 12. Security feed shows one man walking her inside. Tall. Clean cut. Unknown.”

“Armed?”

“Not visibly. But he’s calm. Doesn’t even check the cameras. Like he wants us to watch.”

A trap.

Good.

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