Page 20 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva
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.
