Page 21 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva

“What—man, I didn’t know—”

I didn’t let him finish.

Another slam. Then I dropped him like trash, turning just as Zoella shoved at me, fury in her eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she spat, hands pressing against my chest. “Have you lost your damn mind? Who do you think you are to follow me here and cause a scene?”

I wrapped my fingers around her wrist. Not hard, but hard enough to let her know I wasn’t here to play games.

“You left me no other choice.”

She tried to yank her hand away from mine. “Get your freaking hand off me!”

I pulled her into the black VIP corridor, indifferent to the commotion we left behind.

The music faded behind glass, and her shoes clicked wildly over the polished floor as I dragged her along with me.

“I said—”

“You tell me nothing,” I cut in before she could finish her sentence. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

She struggled to get free. I turned her, pinned her against the wall with light pressure, palms on either side of her face.

Her eyes flashed wide, breath locked, but it wasn’t in fear. It was in fury.

“This is what you plan to do?” she snapped. “Control everything until there’s nothing left of me?”

“No,” I said, my tone low. “This is me reminding you who you belong to.”

Her lip curled. “I’m not a fucking piece of property. I don’t belong to anyone. You don’t get to—”

I pressed my lips against her, kissing her hard and ravenously. It was the only freaking way to shut her up.

I didn’t care that people could still see. Didn’t care that the music thundered around us.

I kissed her like she was air and I was drowning.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t kind. It was fire and punishment and raw, blistering possession.

She gasped into me—a sound between anger and something else. My teeth caught her bottom lip, just enough to sting.

Her hands pushed at my chest, then fisted in my jacket like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to hit me or hold me.

She kissed me for three heartbeats, as if she hated me.

As if she had to break me.

As if she already had.

And then she shoved me hard. “Get off me, you animal.”

I let her go.

We stood there, gasping like we’d both sprinted ten miles, the air between us crackling with heat and fury and something much more lethal.

“You think this changes anything?” she snarled.

“Yes,” I said. “That even when you hate me, you feel me.”