Page 78 of Untamed

My veins pulse with heat and rage, every nerve tensed like a coiled spring, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. The night air smells of sweat and oil and coppery blood.

We reach the bike, and without a word, I pull off my leather jacket and drape it over her shoulders. It swallows her frame, but she doesn’t shrug it off.

She looks up at me, searching for something.

But I keep my eyes down.

Because if I look at her, I might see judgment. Or worse… I might see disappointment or disgust. And if I’m being honest, I’m not ready for either.

Not when the blood on my hands hasn’t even dried.

I pick up the helmet from where it hangs and shove it into her hands without a word. She flinches, just slightly. Like a heartbeat skipping a step. Her fingers brush mine as she takes it, and for the first time, I feel the tremble in her touch. Whether it’s from fear, adrenaline, or something else, I don’t know. I can’t afford to care.

I can feel her eyes on me still, searching, always fucking searching. For reassurance. For comfort. For the man she believes I am.

Which I don’t have in me right now.

Not after what just happened.

Not after what Ilethappen.

I swing my leg over the Ducati, planting my boots on either side of the beast. My grip on the handlebars tightens until the leathergroans under my gloves. The engine snarls beneath me like it feels what I feel, like it wants blood too.

Because tonight, I fucked up. I haven’t lost control like this since I was fifteen, and even then, there was a body at my feet and no one left to witness it.

For the first time in a long damn time, I let my emotions dictate my actions. I showed my hand. I broke the cardinal rule: never let them see your weakness.

And Nicolai Moretti? He saw it.

He saw the way I looked at her. The way I moved when he touched her. The violence I unleashed without hesitation.

And now he knows.

He knows that my weakness is five foot five with golden blonde hair, blue eyes, and a mouth that never fucking listens.

Jordyn Windslow.

She thinks my anger is because she disobeyed me, because she stepped into Eden dressed like bait, pouring drinks for a man that doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as her. And she’s right. Partly.

But it’s more than that.

It’s the ache in my gut when I saw her cornered under that flickering light. The terror in her eyes that I failed to erase in time. Because if I’d been even a second slower, if I’d hesitated, what would Nicolai have done to her? And what would I have done, in my own blind fury?

I grit my teeth until my jaw aches. I want to hurl the helmet across the cracked asphalt. I want to roar back inside and tear down every last man who dared look at her.

But I don’t.

For her...because she’s watching.

And for the first time, I realise just how fucking dangerous that is.

Becauseshe sees me. And tonight, she saw the real me. The ugly in me.

And I don’t know if I’m the kind of man who survives being seen like that.

Instead, I twist the throttle and let the engine throb. I wait for her to climb on behind me. When she does, her arms slide around my waist, her cheek resting against my spine and for a heartbeat, I close my eyes, not in relief, but in restraint.

The way she touches me, quiet, trusting, vulnerable, makes me feel things I was raised to kill inside myself.

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