Page 26 of Untamed

Meh

Bratvabloodline

Ah. The bratty type.

Listen, buddy. I know your type. Dark, broody anti-hero with a superiority complex posing with his arsenal of weapons about power. I’ve read your whole vibe on every bookshelf in America. And while that’s all fun and games for fantasy, this is the real world here, not one built on happily ever afters

Bratvabloodline

You have a lot of opinions about me for someone who doesn’t know me, little queen

Why do my cheeks heat at that? I swallow hard and roll my eyes again.

Aww. You’re like a mafia fangirl’s dream come to life. But real? Nah. You’re all smoke and mirrors

Bratvabloodline

And yet, you haven’t tested that theory, have you? You haven’t blocked me either

The breath catches in my throat.

I swallow.

You must be bored. You really have nothing better to do than try to get my attention?

Bratvabloodline

You have no idea the lengths I’d go for you

I swallow hard and bite my lip.

Maybe I think this whole shtick is kinda cute

I wait for his response. I wonder if I’ve gone too far. I wonder?—

A quick notification pops up:

@bratvabloodline has posted a new video.

I click it like my next breath hinges on watching it. The clip is short but… intoxicating. He’s damn good at this.

Bathed in shadows, the gleam of steel catches the light as he assembles a weapon with precision. His movements are fluid and sure, every shift of muscle deliberate. I watch, mesmerized,as his large, powerful hands move with such brutal efficiency. It’s clear: he’s a master at this.

Uuugh. What else would he do with those hands?

The faint hum of Russian music fills the background, setting a mood that’s both primal and sophisticated. Though his face is masked, his eyes burn with an intensity I can’t help but be drawn to. He’s smirking. I know he is.

I watch, unable to look away, as the camera lingers on the veins running along his muscled, tattooed forearms, sleeves rolled up to show the curve of muscle. I imagine what it would be like being pinned beneath those arms, helpless to move his weight off of me…

His movements are deliberate, sensual, as he snaps pieces into place. I get it…this is anything butcute.

God, he’s playing with fire. He’ll get banned so damn fast for this.

A knife flashes next—a deadly contrast to the smooth lines of the gun—its edge catching the dim light. He lazily twirls it between his fingers like a baton before he fists the handle and slams it, blade first, into the table. The camera pans up slowly, where the mask has gone slightly askew—I catch a glimpse of a stubbled jaw, tilted just enough.

Finally, he leans into the light and strokes the stubble on his jaw.

The video ends with him running his thumb over the edge of the knife and glancing straight at the lens.

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