Page 7 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva (Yezhov Bratva #8)

I told myself that I wouldn’t follow her.

I told myself that tracking her was protocol. That letting her run was strategic. That if she believed she was free, she’d burn out her rebellion before the wedding.

I lied.

Turned out she was even smarter than I expected.

She waited for the right window, the perfect moment when the staff rotated and the external feed changed angles—a two-minute window at most. And she took it.

She must’ve known I was watching her every move, and yet she’d wanted to be seen.

Was she trying to test me? To see how far she could push? How far she’d be able to run and what I’d do when she disappeared?

I leaned back in my chair, tapping a finger on the rim of the full glass of untouched scotch. “Where is she now? Did you manage to find her?”

“We tracked her to the city. We believe she’s at a club—Vanta. She’s with another. A woman.”

“Marielle Rue,” I told him without thinking. I’d looked up everyone she was close with, and only Marielle Rue out of her five friends had enough nerves to try and smuggle her out of the Carter estate at night.

She was going to be a problem, that one.

Kiril blinked. “How do you know it’s her?”

I steepled my fingers in front of me. “She’s my fiancée. You think I wouldn’t do my own research on who she surrounds herself with?”

I didn’t come this far in the mafia world by being dumb. Zoella was nothing like her sister. I knew this would happen, and it was only a matter of time before she tried something funny. I wondered if Carter knew his little girl was sneaking out of the house at almost midnight.

“Tell the men to keep their eyes on her,” I told him, standing up. “Nobody gets close to her until we’re there, and they should stay as far away from her sight as possible.”

Kiril nodded and narrowed his eyes at me. “We’re going to the club?”

Without glancing over my shoulder as I made it to the door, I answered, “Yes.”

***

Vanta was a pit.

An upscale pit, with velvet-clad and mirrored walls, reeking of money, pheromones, and the scent of irresponsible youth.

The instant I entered, bodies parted. Not because they knew me, but because power had a scent, and I reeked of power and brutality.

Zoella didn’t see me at first.

She was in the middle of the dance floor, dancing in circles of strobe and booze, with her friends.

Her head was tossed back, laughing. It was the first time I’d ever seen her laugh, that naked throat flashing sweat and defiance. Her body swayed to the music so effortlessly, with loose hips, red lips, and hard eyes beneath her lashes.

She wore a tight skirt and a loose top with the back exposed, just the right amount of clothes to make a man lose his mind, and she was goddamn beautiful tonight. She looked even more beautiful each time we met.

And for the first time since this engagement was negotiated, I truly saw what I’d bargained for.

A girl who didn’t wish to be possessed by anyone.

And now she was mine.

The fire in my chest burned icy.

I watched her for a minute or two, taking in the sway of her hips, the fit of her skirt against her legs, the way she leaned in against her friend.

And then she moved and caught sight of me.

The music stopped, the lights dimmed, and the world stopped spinning.

For one moment, there was only us.

Me, standing in the darkness. Her, trapped in the middle of the dance floor, her smile falling off her face as her eyes met mine.

She didn’t tense. Didn’t flinch.

She cocked a brow.

Not shy. Not shocked.

Defiant.

And then she glanced over at the man behind her. Some faceless, inconsequential boy with a smile I’d love to punch off his face as he leaned in and whispered something to her.

Zoella didn’t break eye contact, even as she whispered back to him and flattened her hand on his chest. She didn’t look away even as she wrapped an arm around his neck and leaned in as he snaked his around her waist.

And then she kissed him.

Long. Slow. Possessive.

She gave him what was mine. Her kiss, her need, and her lips.

The rage crashed like a wave.

I moved before I even realized it, shoving through dancers, ignoring shocked faces, cutting through the beat of the music like a blade.

I took hold of him first.

Raised him up by the shirt, slammed him into the nearest wall hard enough to shake the speakers.

Drinks crashed to the ground. People screamed.

The guy’s face turned white. “What the hell—?”

“You touched what’s mine.” My voice was ice, an angry scowl that reverberated the dance floor.

“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.”

Her eyes glinted. “You’re a monster.”

“It’s good that you already know what I am,” I growled, fighting to restrain myself from leaning in for another kiss. “Stop tempting me unless you want me.”

She stared at me, her fingers trembling at her mouth.

My lips curled with a smile. “You’ll think of me when you touch your lips,” I murmured. “No one else. Just me.”

Her cheeks turned red with a blush, her breath hitching for a moment before the fire in her eyes returned.

But she didn’t argue. She scoffed and didn’t utter a word when we exited the club.

She didn’t look in my direction.

Not when I opened the car door. Not when I slipped into the car next to her, city lights flashing over her face.

Her arms were pinned hard across her chest, her chin up, but her body convulsed with suppressed rage. She didn’t have anything to say, but her silence screamed.

Good.

Let her rage. Let it burn.

It was better than fear.

Igniting the car engine, I sped away from the driveway and into the night with Zoella seething beside me.

No one had ever dared to talk back at me or even raise their voice at me. No one had ever shown so much defiance in front of me in my entire life.

No one except for her.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she said finally.

Her own voice was rough and deep, hardly louder than the growl of the tires on asphalt.

“What?” I asked, even though I already knew what she was talking about.

“Following me. Grabbing me. Telling me who I can or cannot touch.” She turned to face me, flames dancing in her eyes. “You don’t get to play at owning me. I’m not property.”

“You’re mine.”

She turned back to the window. “You’re an asshole. There’s no winning with you.”

“I’m worse,” I whispered, glancing away from the road for a moment to look at her. “And yet you let me kiss you.”

Her head swiveled around. “I didn’t let you.”

I smirked. I loved her defensiveness even more than I loved her defiance. “Then why are your lips still swollen?”

She pulled away as if I had slapped her.

Then she turned away once more, speaking softly. “You don’t intimidate me.”

“No,” I breathed. “But I should.”

The rest of the ride was quiet. Not peaceful or calm. Just quiet and heavy, like the inside of a bomb before it goes off.

The gates swung open on the Carter estate as we pulled up.

Blake was already outside, waiting, shoulders rolled forward, tension carved into his face.

I had Kiril call him after I found Zoella at the club.

I didn’t step out immediately. Instead, I glanced at her.

“You can keep running,” I said to her. “But remember this, Zoella: I can always find you.”

She stared back at me, chin trembling with unshed tears, but she said nothing as she pushed the car door open and stepped out of the car. Turning around to glance at me one more time, she made her way to the entrance of her father’s mansion.

I stayed in the driver’s seat, watching her go into the house where I’d be pulling her away from soon enough.

I got out of the car, the gravel crunching beneath the soles of my shoes like dry bones, and walked toward Blake.

His lips were already opening to apologize. “I didn’t know she was—”

“Don’t,” I told him.

He stood there, still as a frozen fish with tension probably rolling down his spine at what to expect.

I moved in closer, so my voice wouldn’t have to go up to be audible.

“Let this be the last time.”

His throat bobbed with each swallow, and he nodded.

I didn’t wait to hear whatever he had to say in response before I turned around and started for the car.

Blake Carter knew better than to stir me the wrong way. He knew what I was capable of and how far I’d go to punish him if he didn’t keep to his own side of the deal.

I knew he wouldn’t risk it; he had too much to lose.

And Zoella?

She thought she was battling me. That she could disobey, outwit, and escape me. She was just about to learn how wrong she was if she thought she could.

The war had just begun.