Page 64 of Untamed

The video showed he watched mine earlier, but…

I click the focus on my camera, adjusting the lens to center on the subject—a cluster of glossy city lights reflected in a puddle on the uneven pavement. It should be an easy shot, something I’ve done a thousand times before. But my hands aren’t steady. The framing feels off, and no matter how I reposition myself, the composition doesn’t click into place.

I blow out a frustrated breath and try again, crouching lower, angling the camera upward. The viewfinder blurs for a second, and I realize I’m not even looking at the scene anymore. My mind is somewhere else.

No. Not somewhere. Someone.

I shake my head and reset the focus, but my fingers stay on the buttons too long. A second passes. Then another. It’s useless. The image in my head isn’t the lights or the rain or the city’s moody backdrop.

It’s him.

His hands on me, the way they linger just long enough to leave an impression as hot as a brand. The low timbre of his voice when he murmurs something teasing and sharp, a challenge laced with a dare. The heat in his eyes when he looks at me—like I’m something rare, something he’s already decided is… his.

The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and my hand slips, jarring the camera. “Shit,” I whisper, cradling the lens as I try to reset the shot again.Focus, I tell myself. Just focus.

But the truth is, I’ve lost the thread completely. My eyes drift to my phone resting on the edge of my camera bag. I resist the urge to check it—for messages, notifications, anything. He hasn’t called, hasn’t texted, but I know he isn’t far away.

Or is he?

The lights blur in the lens again, and this time, I don’t even try to fix it. I set the camera down, my breath catching as my thoughts spiral back to him. I’m gonna give myself a minute to indulge the fantasy, to be as fucking obsessed about him as he is about me.

What’s he doing right now? Thinking about me? Planning something?

My heart beats faster at the thought, and I press my hands to my thighs, willing the adrenaline to fade. But it doesn’t. Not when every part of me is tuned to him like a live wire.

The camera sits forgotten on my lap as I stare out at the city, my pulse pounding in sync with his memory. I know then… it’s hopeless. I’ve got a big, head-over-heels, heart-pounding crush for the guy.

I send him a message but it goes unreturned. I barely stifle the need to pout.

I need to talk with someone.

I pull up the app and message Bookbabe.

I haven’t heard from my stalker.

Bookbabe

Nooooooo. He posted last night, though, didn’t he?? Did you shamelessly flirt with him, or…?

I did and he responded and then nothing

Bookbabe

Oooh. Does he…usually respond to you more often? Maybe he’s… I dunno, like… offing someone or unaliving them or whatever tf mafia men do? What DO Bratva men do?

I don’t want to know but I think it’s more than that?

Jesus. Ihopeit’s more than that.

Also? I’m not lying. I truly have no idea what he does because I would hazard a guess that nearly everything is… well, not exactly legal.

We joke in the romance community about these guys who are morally gray. But how grayishe? Are we talking a little bit of smoke mixed in with mostly white-gray? Or are we talking, like… charcoal gray?

Gunmetal gray?

Gah.

He did say he had a job to do before he broke into my apartment, and… my cheeks flush pink.

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