Untamed, p.1
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       Untamed, p.1

         Part #2 of Unbeautiful series by Jessica Sorensen
 
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Untamed


  Untamed (Unbeautiful, #2)

  Jessica Sorensen

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2015 by Jessica Sorensen

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  For information: jessicasorensen.com

  Cover Design and Photo by Mae I Design

  http://www.maeidesign.com/

  By Jessica Sorensen

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  A Dangerous Attraction

  Ryler

  Emery, Emery, Emery,

  a song in my head,

  stuck on repeat.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  I barely know her,

  yet I can’t stop thinking about her.

  How her lips felt,

  so hot and soft against mine.

  How amazing she tasted,

  like untouchable sunlight.

  Emery, Emery, Emery

  My attraction to her is dangerous.

  Beautifully dangerous.

  The kind of danger I don’t necessarily mind,

  yet I have to.

  God, what I would give

  for things to be easy,

  for Emery to be the Emery I first met,

  for her to be touchable,

  instead of so far away,

  even when she’s sitting right across from me.

  My hand stops moving across the page as I glance across the room at Emery sitting on a barstool, writing. We’re supposed to be working together on a Creative Writing partner project that was assigned today in class. The instructions were to interview your partner and then write a poem about them. But since we hardly talk to each other, Emery and I silently decided to complete the project solo. Instead of writing about Emery, I ended up writing about my feelings for her.

  “What’s wrong?” Her soft, tentative voice interrupts my thoughts.

  She’s wearing a short pair of shorts that make her ass look fucking amazing every time she bends over and a thin-strapped tank top that shows off her bare shoulders. Her long, brown hair is curled and runs down her back. Her lips are luscious, and her gorgeous eyes are locked on me and filled with curiosity.

  “Ryler, what’s up?” She chews on her pen with her head tipped to the side. “You’ve been staring at me for, like, the last ten minutes. Do I have something on my face?” She self-consciously runs her fingers across her cheeks and forehead.

  Another thing I’ve learned. For such a beautiful girl, Emery is extremely self-conscious.

  I shake my head and check the time in the clock. Realizing how much time has drifted by since I started staring at her, I set my pen and notebook aside on the sofa and stretch my arms above my head.

  “Sorry,” I sign to her. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind and spaced out.”

  She studies me intently, and then her lips part, but she quickly closes her mouth, changing her mind on whatever she was about to say. She presses the tip of her pen to her notebook and starts scribbling in it again.

  I want to tell her I’m sorry again. Sorry things turned out this way. Sorry for everything. Sorry that I took away the peace she felt whenever she spent time with me. But doing so could risk blowing my cover. So, instead I focus back on the paper.

  I’m so sorry, sorry, sorry

  that I’m a liar.

  If I had my way,

  I would tell you everything.

  If I had my way,

  I’d have you unconditionally.

  But life isn’t that simple.

  Never has been.

  We continue writing for what feels like an eternity, only stopping to take a break when Emery puts her pen down.

  She stretches her arms above her head, arching her back. “I wish we had some music to listen to,” she says through a yawn. “I’ve always wanted to listen to music while I’m writing.”

  I drop the pen onto my lap and flex my fingers, which are stiff from gripping the pen for the last three hours, then elevate my hands in front of me to sign, “You’ve never listened to music while you were writing?”

  “No, I wasn’t really allowed to listen to music back at home.” She stares out the window, coiling a strand of her hair around her finger. “I probably should get an iPod or something, but I haven’t really had the chance to since I’ve been under twenty-four hour surveillance.”

  I tap my foot on the floor, restless and unsure what to say since I’m part of the surveillance. Ever since Doc, her father, hired me to be her bodyguard, Emery has been cold and distant.

  She turns back to me with a heavyhearted sigh. “Sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For complaining.”

  Always so apologetic. Always so afraid of saying the wrong thing. Emery has lived her life in fear, that much I’m sure of. I’ve seen first hand what kind of a monster her father is, seen him kill someone with my own eyes. I’ve also picked up on little details of Emery’s traumatic childhood through the few stories she’s told me. That was before she found out I worked for her father, even though I technically don’t. Really, I’m working as an informant for the police, have been for over eight months. My main goal is to find Doc’s boss, Donny Elderman, one of the most dangerous mobster/drug lords in the country. To do so, I have to find the location of his main warehouse, which happens to be located in a hidden town no one seems to want to speak of.

  Stale, the agent who gives me orders, is positive Emery knows where the town is and wants me to use her to find out its location. While I think he might be right, the idea of using Emery to get information makes me feel like an asshole. Doesn’t really matter, though, since Emery barely speaks to me anymore.

  She collects her pen again and her hand flows across the paper, tracing letters with such passion. Whenever she writes, she looks so relaxed and into it, and I find it fascinating to watch. She’s so calm, so at peace, so unlike the Emery I see during most of the day. She deserves to feel this all the time, and I wish I could make that possible for her.

  A sudden idea clicks in my head. Setting my journal and pen down on the coffee table, I rise to my feet and walk toward the front door.

  Her gaze flicks to me. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll be right back,” I sign, then open the door and slip out into the stairwell.

  I trot down the flight of stairs to the second floor and push open the door to my apartment. Luke and Violet, my roommates, are cooking what smells like pasta; steam is flowing from the kitchen, and pots and pans cover the counters.

  “Hey, you’re just in time for dinner,” Violet says from near the stove. She lifts the lid of a pan and peers inside. “Can I just say how great this smells?”

  Luke opens the fridge door and grabs a soda. “Subtle way to compliment your cooking.”

  I envy their time together, but not because I have a thing for
Violet. I just want to be free in life for once, to hang out without constantly looking over my shoulder or cringing every time my phone vibrates. I want to be able to curl up on the couch with Emery and watch a movie instead of staring at each other from across the room with distrust.

  After kissing Violet again, Luke turns to me and pops the tab on the soda. “We’re going to a concert after dinner if you want to hang out. There’s no fancy bands or anything, just a little garage rock, but it could be fun.”

  Even though I’d give my left arm to go, I can’t leave Emery for the night. I shake my head as I cross the living room, walking backwards. “I have to work on an assignment with Emery. I just came to get my stereo.”

  Violet twists around and gives me a knowing look. Neither of them are aware that I’m an informant for the police. They think I live in Laramie to attend the University of Wyoming—that I came here to get a new start. To them, Emery is the strikingly beautiful girl who lives upstairs and has stolen my heart over the course of a month. What I would give for them to know my reality.

  Want.

  Want.

  Want.

  Please, just let me be free.

  “You two sure have been spending a lot of time together,” Violet remarks, collecting a spoon from the drawer.

  “We’re just friends.” I squeeze past the two of them to get to the fridge and grab two beers, even though Emery isn’t a big drinker. Honestly, with how stressed I am, I could drink both myself.

  “That’s what I used to say about Luke all the time.” Violet flashes me a smirk. “And look how that turned out for me. Now I’m stuck with him.” She winks at Luke who counters with a playful slap on her ass.

  I shove the beers into the back pockets of my jeans then sign, “And that’s my cue to leave.”

  I collect my record player from my room and a few of my favorite records and then head back into the living room with my arms full.

  Luke and Violet are cuddling on the sofa with plates of spaghetti and watching TV.

  “You sure you don’t want to join us?” Violet asks as I maneuver the door open with one hand. “It’ll be a lot of fun.”

  Part of me craves to sit down with them, be the third wheel and go to the concert, just enjoy the goddamn night for once. But Doc would flip if he found out I left Emery’s place too early, and honestly, I hate leaving her alone, not when someone has been sending her notes that could be interpreted as threats.

  Shaking my head, I exit our apartment and climb the stairs to the third floor. When I make it back to Emery’s place, she’s moved from the stool to the sofa. She’s still writing, her pen moving a million miles a minute as she stains the paper with ink.

  When I shut the door, her head whips up. “Oh, my word, I didn’t even hear you come in.” Her eyes zone in on the record player in my arms, and for a fleeting instant, she perks up, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You brought music?”

  I nod, setting the player and records down on the coffee table. “I brought music and,” I reach around to grab the two beers from my back pockets and put them down next to the record player, “drinks.”

  She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, staring at the beers. “What do you plan on doing tonight?” Her voice is off-pitch, nervous, and her eyes are attentive. “Because it looks like you have more than homework planned.”

  I select a record and line it up on the player. “I have nothing else planned. I just thought this might help us relax a little.”

  Her attention zeroes in on me, and her brows elevate. “Did my father put you up to this? Did he tell you to try to get me to warm up to you so I’d trust you?”

  I shake my head. “Your father has nothing to do with this.” I position the needle in line with the record and twist on the power. “In fact, I’m not sure he’d appreciate me giving you beer and letting you listen to my music... I don’t think he’s a fan of punk rock.”

  “No, probably not. He likes old-school stuff, but never let my brother or me listen to it.” Emery focuses on the player as the record spins, and “The Curse of Curves” by Cute Is What We Aim For flows through the speakers. She shuts her eyes and inhales deeply before opening her eyelids again. “I like this.” She grabs one of the beers, pops the top, and slumps back in the sofa. “It’s different… I like different.”

  “I know you do,” I sign, dying to reach forward and press my lips to hers as I watch her mouth wrap around the top of the bottle.

  She takes a swig, her face twisting from the taste. Silence encases us as our gazes fasten and smolder with heat. Finally, she tears her eyes away from mine and fixes her attention onto the beer bottle. She tips her head back and takes another long swallow before setting the bottle between her legs. “I don’t want to work on the assignment anymore.”

  “But I thought you wanted to listen to music while you wrote?” I sink down on the edge of the coffee table. When my knees brush hers, her body tenses, yet she doesn’t move her legs.

  “What I want is to get out of this house,” she utters softly, staring down the hallway with her brows knit.

  I glance over my shoulder, curious at what she’s looking at, but I find the hallway empty and dark.

  Looking back at her, I raise my hands in front of me. “What do you want to do, then?”

  She lifts her shoulders and shrugs, looking back at me. “Get out of this house. I haven’t been allowed out of here except to go to school. I’m starting to go stir crazy.”

  “Emery, I don’t think that’s such a wise idea,” I sign with reluctance. “Your father wants you to stay in until he can figure out who’s leaving you those notes.”

  “No, he wants me locked in here, because he knows I’ll go stir crazy and hopes it’ll be enough to drive me home.” She bends forward and snatches her pen and notebook from the table. “Never mind. Forget I asked.” She practically stabs the pen through the paper as she begins to scribble words down again.

  My lips desperately ache to surrender and give her what she wants. I want to give her everything she asks for, even if it means risking my cover. Or worse, my life. My attraction for her runs deep in my veins. Dangerously deep.

  Chapter 2

  Don’t Let the Butterfly Out

  Emery

  Dying, Dying, Dying,

  I feel like I’m dying

  a slow death.

  Each day, just a little bit more

  tortured.

  Just like I was back at home.

  Only it’s different this time.

  Because I’m allowing myself to die.

  Holding onto something that will never be.

  Can never be.

  Holding, holding, holding.

  I need to let go.

  Because in the end,

  he was never really what I thought he could be.

  Unable to stop myself, I peek up from my journal. Ryler is sitting on the opposite side of the sofa from me. He’s been staring at me on and off ever since he rebutted my request to get out of the house. He stares at me every day. Ever since we found out one another’s true identity, that’s all we do—stare, stare, stare.

  Right now, he has his head tipped down, absorbed in his writing. He looks like an untouchable piece of artwork, so beautifully put together. So dangerously put together. He’s undeniably gorgeous; with inky black hair hanging in his eyes and facial piercings and multiple tattoos decorating his skin. He turns me on in a way I didn’t think was possible and is the exact opposite of Evan, my perfectly put together, pretty-boy ex-boyfriend.

  I thought Ryler was different from everyone else in my life. Come to find out, he was part of the life I ran away from. Right in the center of it to be exact. He told me he didn’t know who I was when we first met, that it was a coincidence we found each other. True or not, I can’t seek freedom in him anymore, not when he’s part of what restrained me. He’s now my new bodyguard, a job title given by my father. In my eyes, Ryler is now an enemy. Every time he reminds me of who he rea
lly is, every time he follows my father’s orders, I remind myself to stay away from him.

  Easier said than done, since I can’t get him out of my head. Whenever he looks at me, I try my best to ignore him, but my body has a built-in Ryler sensor. I’m hyperaware of every time he glances in my direction, and it makes our situation complicated.

 
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