Page 34 of Untamed

I rip the door open with a snarl. And there she is. Crumbled on the floor like a broken doll. Her black dress tangled around her thighs, her hair a halo of chaos around her face. Her skin is waxy, too pale, sheen of sweat sticking to her forehead. One armdangles uselessly at her side; the other is clutched weakly against her stomach like she’s trying to hold herself together.

“Cazzo,” I breathe, dropping to my knees beside her, my hands already on her, checking for a pulse.

It’s there. Faint. Fluttering under my fingers.

“Jordyn,” I rasp, my voice scraping raw against my throat. “Bambina, hey, look at me.”

Her eyelids flutter, a broken little whimper escaping her lips. Rage sears through me so violently, I see red.

Not now, Ares.

Focus.

Save her first.

Murder later.

I slide one arm under her back, the other behind her knees, lifting her up against my chest like she weighs nothing. She lets out a soft, broken sound that guts me deep.

“I've got you,” I murmur against her hair. “Sei al sicuro adesso. I've got you, Bambina. You’re going to be okay.”

I don’t stop to think. I carry her out of the bathroom like a goddamn reaper come to collect a soul. My car is already outside, engine on, waiting. I carry Jordyn against my chest, moving fast, my boots slamming across the floor. I don’t take the main exit. I don’t want a single set of eyes on her.

I cut through the staff hallways, the ones carved into the bones of the club for when business needed to be handled... quietly.

At the back of the building, the heavy steel door swings open into the alley behind Oscura. The cool night air punches against my skin, sharp and bitter, but I don’t slow down. My car is already waiting, engine idling. The driver behind the wheel, stone-faced, ready for whatever orders I give.

I move straight to the back door, the driver leaping out to open it. I slide into the back seat with Jordyn cradled tight against me, one hand supporting her head, the other clamped around her thigh to keep her steady.

Her body is limp. Too quiet...too fucking fragile.

My jaw locks, rage simmering just under the surface.

“Go,” I bark at the driver.

The car peels away from the curb without hesitation, the city lights blurring past the windows in a smear of neon and shadows.

I pull my phone out one-handed, punch in a number from memory.

It rings once. Twice.

“Boss?”

“Get a doctor to the house,” I snap. “Now. Tell him it’s urgent. Private.”

“Understood.”

I end the call and toss the phone aside. Every second that ticks by with her like this feels like a blade twisting deeper under my gut. What the fuck have you taken, Jordyn? Why would you do this to yourself?

I glance down at her, at the faint pulse fluttering against her throat, the way her fingers twitch weakly against my chest.

“You’re okay, Bambina,” I murmur against her hair, voice low and rough. “Stay with me, you hear me, stay with me.”

Because if she doesn't. If she slips away before I can make this right, there won’t be a hole deep enough in Sicily to hide the bodies I’m going to stack.

The car’s tires screech against the gravel as the car skids to a stop outside my house. I’m already out of the back seat before the engine cuts, Jordyn clutched tight against my chest.

The front door bursts open without me touching it. One of my men is already waiting, face grim, holding it wide. By now, they know better than to get in my way.

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