Untamed (Bratva Kings #2)

Chapter 6

EMBER

The soft glow of my laptop screen bathes the room in pale light as I curl up on my couch, knees pulled to my chest. I shouldn’t be doing this—not after everything that’s happened. Not after the man with the sharp gray eyes, the knowing smirk, and the audacity to watch me had the nerve to leave a gift.

But here I am.

Scrolling through my messages, my pulse skitters when I see his name pop up again. I know it’s him—I don’t even have to check. His replies are always short, sharp, and smug as hell.

Bratvabloodline

I never asked. Enjoy the present, little queen?

My breath catches, and heat prickles up my neck. I narrow my eyes at the screen, hating that I can practically hear his voice—low, rough, dangerously calm—when I read those words.

I type out my response with a little too much aggression, my fingers flying across the keys.

You think leaving a creepy camera at my door makes you charming?

The dots appear immediately. Of course he’s waiting. He always is.

Bratvabloodline

I’m nothing if not resourceful.

I groan and slump back against the cushions, biting my lip to keep from smiling. He’s infuriating. Maddening. And yet, I can’t bring myself to block him.

You sound so proud of yourself. Stalker goals unlocked. Congrats.

Bratvabloodline

Careful, Ember. I might start thinking you like my attention.

The nerve. My heart slams against my ribs, and I sit up straighter, my fingers trembling slightly as I type.

I don’t.

Bratvabloodline

Liar. If you were mine, I’d punish you for that.

I blink at the screen, my throat going dry. It’s just one message, but it hits like a punch—cutting through my thin defenses, forcing me to confront the truth I don’t want to admit. I do like the attention. I shouldn’t, but I do.

And the worst part? He knows it.

You’re full of shit.

Bratvabloodline

Maybe. But I’m also right.

I let out a soft growl, the sound echoing in the quiet of my apartment. Of all the arrogant, self-righteous— god , he’s infuriating. I shouldn’t reply. I should shut the laptop and go to bed, pretend this conversation never happened.

Of course I don’t. Instead, I type out a reply, my fingers hesitating before I hit send.

What is it you want, anyway?

The dots blink in and out again, taking longer this time. For a second, I think maybe he’s backed off. Maybe he’s realized this whole thing is ridiculous and crossed a line.

Then his response comes through.

Bratvabloodline

What I want? I want you to admit the truth. That you like the attention. That you want a man who sees you—not just your camera, not just your posts. YOU.

I swallow hard, my cheeks heating as the words sink in.

You’re delusional.

Bratvabloodline

Am I? Tell me, when you post about men who tie you up, blindfold you, who take what’s theirs—are you thinking about someone specific?

My chest tightens, my pulse stuttering as I stare at the words on the screen.

I gotta go.

I slam my laptop shut as if that could sever the connection, but it’s too late. The words are already in my head, echoing in his voice, lingering in the spaces where I don’t want them.

The worst part is, I can’t stop the thought that creeps in, unbidden and unwanted.

Is it him I think about?