Page 6 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva (Yezhov Bratva #8)

The cold air felt like freedom against my skin.

I slipped out the back door, heart pounding, heels in one hand, phone already turned off so they can’t reach or track me.

The estate behind me was dark and quiet with guards patrolling the entire place. Luckily, none of them noticed me slip out of the building through the emergency exit.

There was no turning back now.

The vehicle of my friend, Marielle Rue, was a block away, down the street, with the engine idling and no lights on.

A black convertible that she had no business being able to afford, yet she could.

She leaned over and opened the door with a smile that could start revolutions as soon as she spotted me.

“Z,” she said, giving me a once-over. “You look…exhausted.”

“And you look like you’re about to own the night,” I replied as I threw myself into the front seat, panting for a second before turning my head to take her in fully.

She was wearing a short black dress that barely did anything to cover her cleavage and exposed most of her thighs.

Her long hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she smelled like sin soaked in seductive flavors.

She looked hot as fuck. Any man would be happy to even lick a drop of whiskey off her feet if it weren’t for the black, six-inch strap heels she was wearing.

“Thanks,” she replied with a wide smile, her eyes glinting with amusement as she stepped on the accelerator like the devil was after us, and perhaps he was because it was only a matter of someone discovering I was gone before we’d have one of the bodyguards or more on our tail.

Los Angeles blurred around us in streaks of silver and red. Streetlights. Neon signs. The heartbeat of a city that didn’t sleep.

I dropped my head back onto the seat, breathing as if for the first time in weeks.

No Matvey.

No Carter legacy.

No suffocating rooms or Bratva dinners or discussions of marriage like it was a prison sentence.

Just freedom at last.

And the kind of night that felt like it might rewrite the rules.

“I presented you with choices,” she said, looking at the road. “Red lips or black? Dagger earrings or hoops? You’ve only got one night to get wild, and I want you to feel good doing it.”

I laughed—loud, real, almost startled by the sound. “Trust me, I’ll feel good if all I had to wear tonight is my granny’s nightgown. You have no idea how trapped I felt in that mansion.”

Her lips curled with a smile. “You sound like you’re really excited about tonight.”

I was more than excited. I felt alive.

“Well, you have to look it.” She leaned over and passed me a tube of red lipstick and some glittering hoops.

“We’re going to Vanta. And don’t even bother asking how I got us in.

Let’s just say it took a fake name, an ex-boyfriend’s jacket, and a favor from someone who may or may not be a Russian pop star. ”

I arched an eyebrow. “Is it the tattooed neck and two passports one?”

Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she whipped her head to look at me and wink. “That’s the one.”

We shared a wicked grin.

It had been weeks since I’d felt like this—alive. Free. Each night since the engagement had felt like a noose closing in.

But tonight? Tonight, I could breathe once more.

We cruised out to Vanta, a club so hip it didn’t advertise. You heard about it…or you didn’t exist.

The bouncer, a black-suited man, raised the red velvet rope the moment Marielle removed her sunglasses.

“Evening, Ms. Rue.”

She winked. “Miss me?”

His cheeks turned red with a blush, and he swiped his tongue over his lips. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Well, I’m here tonight.” She bit her bottom lip and pushed out her chest, making her cleavage even more exposed in the tiny dress she was wearing.

I bit back a smile. Marielle was crazy; it was one thing that got me so drawn to her. She was smart and strong as hell, too. I wondered what she’d do if she were me.

The bodyguard groaned, his throat bobbing as if he was thinking of all the ways he could devour her. But he held himself back and moved away from the door, granting us passage.

She flattened her hand on his bicep and flashed a seductive smile at him. “Thank you.” She cat-walked into the club before he could even mutter a response.

I followed her inside, taking in my environment. It’d been a while since I clubbed, and I felt like a nerdy teenager as I weaved through the sea of sweaty, dancing bodies inside.

The bass went down first. It was deep, pulsing, as if stitched to my heartbeat. Black walls, mirrored ceilings, bodies packed tight on the dance floor. Red and gold lights flashed, casting shadows that made everything look like a fever dream.

I slid into the chaos like I belonged there. And I believe I did, not in some mansion-like prison, displayed as a trophy wife and a breeding mare for Matvey Yezhov.

The club pulsed with heat and movement.

We found the rest of our friends near the back lounge, behind a curtain of low-hanging lights and velvet ropes.

Anya was already halfway through a radiant drink, twirling a straw between her fingers like a sword.

Marina leaned against the leather sofa like it belonged to her, dark hair tied back, gold chains glinting.

Arielle and Sophie waved us over from a booth, their faces flushed, already dancing in their seats.

“Sweet! Finally!” Sophie said when I sat down next to her. “We figured you ditched us again because your prince charming wouldn’t like his precious fiancée clubbing with us.”

My heart skipped a beat, but I laughed. “He’s not a prince. He’s the damn executioner.”

“Better still,” Anya said, lifting her glass. “At least if he does break your heart, he’ll do it clean.”

“Shh, he’s intimidating,” Arielle replied, sipping on something colorful. I was wary of colorful. “Like, objectively hot. But in a kill-you-if-you-blink-wrong kind of way.”

“He doesn’t blink,” Marina stated matter-of-factly. “That guy’s eyes are a surveillance camera with a human cover.”

They’d all seen him at Yulia’s wedding and her funeral.

They all laughed.

I smiled too.

Marielle grabbed us a drink from the front bar. It was cold and citrusy, with a kick added in.

We did not toast; we didn’t need to. We just grabbed each other’s hands and joined the other guests on the dance floor, vibrating to the music, flipping our hair, and laughing with every move our bodies made.

I let the music block out everything else. Tonight wasn’t about Matvey or my father or Lilian and my half-brothers.

It was about me having fun with my friends and not having to worry about anyone or anything.

The music thrummed through, my heart rate quickening as I swayed to the beat, but my smile faded quickly as I felt a prickling sensation on my scalp. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt it, and I knew what followed each time.

Even here in this room, even with my girls near me, and the music pulsating in my veins, I could not shake it off.

I knew it was him.

Matvey.

I could feel him, like smoke in my lungs.

There was no way he was here, but I knew it wasn’t just anyone else. It was Matvey, and Matvey was always watching. I knew from the moment he proposed marriage to me that I would never be able to escape his watch.

Anya pulled me to the middle of the dance floor. “Come on, Z. This might be your one last chance at having fun forever.”

I chuckled and allowed her to pull me along.

The music surrounded us even louder, the kind that settled into your chest and dared you not to dance along.

I lifted my arms and released them.

Only for a moment.

I spun, my hair whipping, my hips swaying to the beat, and Anya spun with me, wild and lovely.

Arielle caught up, yelling things between swallows of champagne. Marina was already flirting with some DJ-looking guy in a corner, and Sophie was filming fuzzy videos none of us would recall agreeing to.

And for that second—that dizzy, sweet second—I was alright.

Normal.

Free.

But even as I smiled, I felt a chill despite the heat. Like eyes on my back. Like a string around my throat, waiting to be pulled.

I blinked and searched the crowd for a glimpse of him, heart pounding. There was no face I knew. No dark suits. No gunmetal gazes.

But I could feel him. I was certain it was him somewhere in the crowd, watching me.

I turned around, grinning with my hair sticking to the back of my neck, panting and rosy from the alcohol I’d taken. The bass throbbed against my skin in time with the burst of adrenaline rushing through me.

Then I spotted him.

The crowd blurred, the lights strobed, and there, through the sea of dancers, my eyes locked onto a figure in the shadows.

Tall.

Motionless.

Predator-quiet.

Matvey.

He was barely off the dance floor, half hidden in the shadows, dressed in black as if he were the grim reaper here to take my soul.

His eyes were fixed on me, sharp as a blade and cold as steel. His face was expressionless as usual.

And then, suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. My pulse sped up, the rhythm of the song pounding in tandem with the rush in my ears.

He wasn’t meant to be here.

This club wasn’t his world; it was mine. It was my sole unspoiled location. My haven.

And yet…he’d found me. Of course, he had.

Matvey Yezhov didn’t wait for chaos. He was chaos.

My stride broke.

Marielle caught it. She stopped dancing and glanced in the same direction as me. “Z? What’s wrong?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

I just stood in the middle of the dance floor, seething and glaring at the dark shadow standing across from me.

He didn’t move, not even after our eyes locked. He just looked at me, as if I were prey that had wandered too far. As if he’d allow me to dance, laugh, pretend I was free just so he could remind me who was in control.

I was supposed to be afraid of him. I’d heard stories about how cruel he was; everyone feared him, but I didn’t.

I was furious as fuck that he’d followed me. Tracked me. Invaded the one area of my life that wasn’t already filled with shadows and blood.

“Hey.”

I turned around to see who was standing behind me. He was so close that I could feel the heat rolling off him and the smell of whiskey on him.

He was tall, good-looking in a boyish, careless sort of way. Brown hair, cocky smile, dark shirt open at the neck, and innocent-looking. Or at least acting that way.

I would usually turn him away with a look. I was not up for games. Not the lighthearted, superficial kind.

But tonight wasn’t normal.

Tonight, I didn’t give a shit about Matvey or my father or the Bratva.

All I cared about was sending a message to Matvey.

I needed him to understand that I wasn’t my sister.

I wasn’t going to bend to their rules and live like a piece of furniture in their mansion until they decided I wasn’t worth the stress and killed me.

And more importantly, he needed to know I was never going to be his in the way he wanted.

I smiled back at the guy, flirtingly. “Hey.”

He tilted his head, his brown eyes dark with lust as he glanced at me from head to toe. I wore a simple, backless red top and a black skirt tonight. It wasn’t too revealing, but I could tell his eyes paused on my nipples poking through my shirt for a moment before his gaze met mine again.

“Is everything okay? You looked anxious, so I assumed you might need some rescuing.”

“Maybe I do,” I replied, inching a step toward him. “Now it’s a matter of whether you can rescue me or not.”

He smiled even harder, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “What’s your name?”

I didn’t respond.

I stepped in instead. His hand fell to my waist instinctively, fingers curling around me possessively.

Right, this was just what I needed.

I felt Matvey’s eyes on me.

Even without having seen it, I could tell he was burning with rage knowing another man was even breathing the same air as the property he thought was his to claim.

I pressed into the stranger’s touch, hand on his chest, lips at his ear. “If you want to know my name, then you have to earn it.”

“How do I do that?”

Through the corner of my eyes, I saw Matvey’s gaze harden in our direction. His face was still blank, but the murderous look in his eyes couldn’t be faked.

I smirked as I wrapped one of my hands around the guy’s neck and lifted my face in his direction. “Like this.”

Lifting myself on my toes, I kissed him.

Not soft or subtle. I kissed him like I’d been dying for it.

The stranger was startled at first, then he cupped my cheeks and kissed me back with hunger and need, but I hardly noticed.

My eyes remained shut, my muscles straining. It wasn’t for him. It was for the man in the shadows.

After what seemed like an eternity, I jerked back, breathless, adrenaline pounding in my ears, and when I finally dared to look back, Matvey had left.

There was no trace of him anywhere. He’d gone just as smoothly as he’d come in, like a shadow that had vanished as unnoticed as it appeared.