Page 68 of Untamed

Bratvabloodline

Yes and promise I’ll make it up to you

It’s simple, but it makes my chest tighten anyway. A promise. I’m drinking champagne, wearing a gorgeous gown I could never afford, and eying shoes fit for a princess and her rendezvous with Prince Charming, and he’s telling me he’ll make it up to me.

I take another sip of champagne, glancing around the boutique with its opulent decor and whispering sales staff. Rodion’s world is nothing like mine. It’s overwhelming and glamorous as fuck, but maybe, just maybe, I can navigate it.

If he’s going to make it up to me, I might as well enjoy this strange ride while it lasts.

I’m sitting in the back of the car alone. Cindy’s had all my purchases delivered to my apartment. We pull up to my building, and I see a shadow of a man but can’t see details. From the distance in the dark I wonder if it’s him but quickly decide it isn’t because he doesn’t walk like Rodion.

I stifle a sigh.

When he turns, horror dawns on me. Is it…Shawn?

Oh god. I can’t handle the emotional rollercoaster from one thing to the next like this.

My mind races. The words are frozen on my lips. I’m trying to think of what to say. His messages have gone quiet for a few days, and I had almost convinced myself he was going to give up, but then?—

I look again, and he’s gone.

Was it my imagination? Did I conjure that up?

I shake my head and take my keys out when a low, dangerous voice whispers in my ear.

“Do exactly what I say, and I won’t hurt you.”

Chapter 15

EMBER

The ropes biteinto my wrists, but not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to hold me in place. The blindfold is soft, though it makes my world pitch black. My breathing echoes in the silence of the forest, shallow and sharp.

I know this isn’t real. It can’t be.

But the terrible memory whispers anyway, a ghost brushing my ear. Shawn’s weight pressing me down, his hot breath sour as it chased me into every corner of my childhood. My stomach flips, bile and fear rising together until I hear it—a low chuckle, unmistakably his.

Rodion.

My lungs loosen enough to pull in air as relief floods me, shoving the past into the dark. He doesn’t say my name, but he doesn’t have to.

“I told you,” he murmurs, footsteps circling me. “Careful what you wish for, little queen.”

Relief floods me as heat races down my spine, battling the cold bite of the night air against my skin. He’s doing this—exactly as I’d described it in the video I never thought he’d see. The timing, the details, even the pull of the ropes.

“You’re sick,” I say, though my voice is husky and affected, betraying me.

“And you like it.” His words are a low growl, too close to my ear. I jerk instinctively, but he steps back, giving me space I don’t want.

“Say stop if you want to.” His tone turns softer, a question disguised as a dare. “I’ll hear it, Ember. I’ll stop everything.”

I hate how much I don’t want to say it. Hate how much I trust him, even now, bound and blindfolded and god knows where.

When I stay silent, his hand touches my arm, skimming down to my wrist where the rope holds me. “Good girl,” he says, his voice thick with approval. “You’re not afraid of me.”

“I should be,” I snap, but my voice trembles for an entirely different reason.

His fingers trail away, and the sound of his boots shifts, crunching leaves as he moves behind me. “Oh, I don’t know. You might be safer with me than anyone else.”

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