Page 16 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva
“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. Anyawas 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 ofcolorful.“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.
