Page 273 of Untamed

Fuck.Nicolai.

Bianca sobs behind me. “Please…don’t hurt my sister…” The man only laughs and shoves me hard toward the car.

Bianca is already huddled in the corner, tears streaming down her cheeks, her face pale with fear, her lip bleeding.

The doors slam. My ears ring in the silence.

No sirens. No help. Just the sound of tyres spinning on dirt as the car disappears into the bleeding morning.

We’re gone. Taken. Before anyone even knows we left.

The Ducati hums beneath me, the engine eating up the road as dawn breaks over the hills. Dante rides just behind, close enough to cover me if needed, far enough to give me space. We’re headed back from the final perimeter sweep, clean, secure, no threats in sight.

It should be over. She should be safe.

My mind drifts to her in that bed, tangled in sheets still warm with us. Her scent still on my skin. I’d left her with a kiss and a promise.

Back before you know it. Then my phone vibrates against my chest.

Just once.

But it’s thewrongkind of buzz.

I pull the bike to the side of the road fast and hard, gravel spitting under my tyres. Dante cuts in behind me, already frowning as I rip off my gloves and yank the phone from my jacket.

The screen lights up.

Location Alert: Bracelet Movement Detected.

JORDYN – STATUS:MOBILE.

Everything in me stills.

Not a thought. Not a sound. Just that cold, sudden drop in my chest like a blade slipping between ribs.

She’s not at the villa. She’s not on the grounds. She’smoving.

Dante swings his leg off his bike and steps toward me. “What is it?”

I stare at the screen. The blinking red dot. “She’s gone.”

His eyes narrow. “What do you mean gone?”

I look up at him slowly, my voice a low snarl. “She left the fucking estate. She’s not on the grounds anymore,” I growl, shoving the phone in his direction. “She’s moving. Car or van, I don’t know yet, but it’s not her walking. She doesn’t even know the bracelet’s tracked.”

“Cazzo.” Dante hisses.

I find her number and hit call.

It rings.

Once. Twice. Four times. Voicemail. I end it and call again.

Still nothing.

“She’s not answering her phone,” I add, voice tightening.

“She’s on the route to the airport.” Dante exhales, pulling out his own device and syncing locations. “Could be she ran. Or someone helped her.”

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