Page 40 of Untamed

I shuffle toward the door and out into the hall. The manor is eerily silent, the thick walls muffling whatever life is stirring beyond them. I wander aimlessly for a minute before one of the housemaids rounds a corner and spots me.

She offers a soft, polite smile and a little bow of her head. “Buongiorno, Miss Windslow,” she says in a thick accent, “Mr Russo is in the gym.”

The gym. Of course he is.

I murmur a quiet thank you and follow her vague wave down a hallway I haven’t been down before. My bare feet are silent against the marble as I move, heart hammering against my ribs harder with each step.

When I find the door, it’s slightly ajar, a low, rhythmic thud leaking out into the corridor. I push it open further and step inside.

There he is. Topless, drenched in sweat, muscles rippling as he drives his fists into the heavy punching bag suspended from theceiling. His fists land hard, brutal, sending the bag swinging wildly with each hit. His focus is absolute. His face carved from stone. Like he’s exorcising something dark and bloody with every punch he throws.

I lean against the doorframe, unable to look away.

I should go. I should turn around and leave him to it.

But I don’t.

Because in that moment, watching him move, watching him fight whatever ghosts claw at him from the inside, it hits me...Ares Russo is just as broken as I am. Perhaps even more.

The sound of the punching bag shaking on its chains and swinging fills the gym, but somehow, even over that, he senses me.

Ares stiffens mid-swing, his fists dropping to his sides. Slowly, he turns, his chest rising and falling with sharp, controlled breaths. His dark eyes lock onto mine from across the room, and for a moment, neither of us moves.

The tension between us crackles in the air, every drop of oxygen feels like it’s been sucked out of the air. I should probably say something. I should turn around and leave. But his gaze grips me tight.

Instead, I drift further into the room, pulled toward him by something invisible and unstoppable. As I get closer, my eyes drop to his body. To the scars marring his tan skin. Slashes across his ribs, a brutal line curving along his abdomen, another just below his collarbone. Marks of violence and survival. Marks of a life I can barely begin to imagine.

Without thinking, I lift my hand, reaching toward the faded scar along his abdomen. A question is already forming on my lips. Who did this to you? How did you survive this? When his hand shoots out. His fingers clamp around my wrist, firm but not painful, stopping me inches from touching him.

The sudden contact steals what little breath I have left from my lungs. His fingers are hot against my skin, rough and calloused, a stark contrast to the gentleness in the way he holds me back.

For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other.

Him...guarded and unreadable.

Me...wide open and raw.

His jaw flexes, tension rolling off him in waves. “Don’t,” he warns, voice low and ragged, like it’s laced with something he’d rather not feel. My chest aches at the wall he puts up, but I don’t pull away. I don’t retreat like I should. Instead, I meet his stare and whisper, barely breathing, “Who hurt you?”

For a second, just a second, I swear something flickers behind those cold eyes.

Something human.

Something very broken.

But just as fast as it comes, it’s gone. Ares drops my wrist and steps back, severing the fragile thread between us. His impenetrable walls snap back into place so violently, I can almost feel them slam shut. “Go back upstairs, Jordyn,” he says, tone like steel.

He turns away before I can say anything else, snatching a towel from a bench and scrubbing it over his face and hair like I’m already forgotten.

But I’m not stupid.

He felt it too, he had to, how could he not?

Something in my chest sinks deeper in my gut as I turn and, without a word, slip out of the gym. Each step feels too loud against the polished floors, way too heavy. The air in the hall is cooler, crisper, but it does nothing to soothe the burn clawing at my chest.

I don’t know where I'm going. I just know I need to move.

Away from him. Away from the way his voice cracked when he told me no. Away from the ache blooming low in my stomach like something toxic.

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