Page 76 of Untamed

“Drink,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument.

I remain motionless, defiant.

His smile vanishes, all charm burned away, leaving nothing but raw power and venomous intent.

“You’re in here, wearing that little red thing like you wanted to be seen. So drink, Jordyn. Or don’t, just know what happens when you disrespect me.”

My throat tightens, constricting with the threat. I lift the glass, just enough to appease him momentarily, and let the liquid brush my lips, barely a sip.

He nods once, satisfied, and then gestures toward the table where lines of cocaine remain untouched.

He taps one line with a lacquered nail, a singular, deliberate motion.

“Now this,” he says, his voice quieter, almost conspiratorial. “This is where the fun begins. Go on. Just a taste. I promise you will love it.”

My blood runs cold, freezing in my veins. “No.”

“Do it,” he growls, gripping my chin with a vice-like hold and tilting my face up to his. “I don’t like to repeat myself, stellina.”

My jaw clenches, defiance burning in my silence.

He lowers his face closer, his breath hot and acrid with whisky. “Good girls do as they’re told.”

And just as his hand presses harder into my cheek, just as my breath stutters in my chest, I hear it.

“You’ve got exactly three seconds to take your fucking hands off her, Moretti. Or I’ll snap off every finger you own and feed it to you.”

That voice cuts through the tension, calm yet laced with icy menace.

Oh God, Ares.

His voice cuts through the haze like a gunshot. Low, calm and controlled. But so full of venom it turns the blood in my veins to ice.

Nicolai's head jerks up with a snap, and mine follows suit, though more slowly, and filled with disbelief. I feel like I’m seeing things and for a moment. Like I actually believe my mind just conjured him up.

Ares stands at the entrance of the VIP lounge like he’s stepped straight out of a nightmare designed just for men like Nicolai. Dressed in all black, shadow clinging to every sharp line of his frame, he’s more storm than man.

His eyes, for once aren’t on me.

They’re locked on Nicolai. Like a predator who’s just caught the scent of his prey.

Nicolai’s fingers loosen and fall from my chin slowly, like he’s weighing his options. He turns, trying to reclaim whatever power he just lost, but Ares doesn’t give him the chance.

“I said three seconds,” Ares says, stepping further into the room, his boots crushing glass beneath them from a shattered tumbler no one remembers breaking.

“One.”

My breath stalls.

“Two.”

Nicolai’s jaw flexes. “Russo, this is neutral ground?—”

“Three.”

Ares lunges.

There’s no warning. No buildup. Just the sound of impact, flesh meeting flesh, bone cracking beneath the force of it. Nicolai flies backward, slamming against the mirrored wall behind the booth, the glasses on the table shattering as they hit the ground.

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