Page 74 of Untamed

Bloody hell. Of course, it’s him.

He’s sprawled languidly in the corner booth as if he owns the very air around him. One arm draped over the back of the seat, while the other cradles a glass filled with a rich, dark liquid that exudes luxury. His black shirt is open at the collar, devoid of a tie, and his jacket hangs loosely, an artful blend of ease and deliberation.

His eyes find mine.

And he smiles.

Like he’s been waiting for me all night.

Like he already knows exactly how this evening ends.

I swallow hard and force my steps forward, balancing the tray in my hand. My spine is straight, my expression neutral, but underneath it all, my nerves are dancing like sparks near gasoline.

When I reach the table, I notice the lines of white powder laid out neatly in front of him on the reflective black glass.

Coke.

Bold. Brazen. Like he doesn’t give a damn who sees it.

He doesn’t. Men like him never do.

Because he owns the night.

“Jordyn,” he says, his voice like smoke and silk. “Vieni. Siediti, stellina.”Come. Sit, little star.

I offer a polite smile and shake my head. “I can’t, just here to serve the drinks.”

His grin deepens, and it makes my skin crawl.

“You’re here to serve me tonight, and I’m asking you to pour yourself a drink and come sit.”

Keep him happy, Jordyn.

I pour the scotch slowly, deliberately, ignoring the way his eyes trace the movement of my hand, the curve of my arm, the line of my collarbone. He watches me like he’s imagining things I don’t want to picture. Like he’s already undressed me in his mind and decided what I’ll sound like when I beg.

My stomach knots. This isn’t like the other shifts. Tonight, something feels...off.

I steady the bottle and take a step back. My hands are steady, but it’s taking everything I have to keep the chill off my skin.

Because this man doesn’t just look at me like I’m something he wants...he’s looking at me like I’m already his.

He pats the seat beside him.

“Come on, stellina. Don’t make me beg. You’re the main attraction tonight, and I hate drinking alone.”

I hesitate. Just for a second. But it’s enough for him to reach for my wrist and tug me gently into the booth.

I sit, stiff, careful to keep a few inches between us, but it doesn’t matter. He leans in anyway, his cologne hitting me like a wall. Spiced. Strong. Designed to overwhelm.

He gestures lazily toward the lines on the table. “You ever tried it?”

I shake my head. “Not really my thing.”

“Pity. It sharpens everything.”

His fingers trail along the rim of his glass. I can feel his gaze crawling over my skin like smoke seeping into fabric.

“Relax, stellina.” he drawls smoothly. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

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