Page 22 of Forced Virgin Bride of the Bratva
She doesn’t get to wear that dress, to toss her hair, to smile at the world like nothing is wrong. She doesn’t get to offer what was promised to me to a crowd of strangers who don’t know her name, who wouldn’t care if she disappeared by morning.
I thought that I was gracious, allowing her one last evening of enjoyment. Now I see that I never should have allowed it. A girl with this much freedom is dangerous.
She was given tome,and now she’s out, unsupervised, with her skin bare and her mouth open in laughter that wasn’t meant for anyone else.
Kiera doesn’t know what she’s doing, she doesn’t understand what she provokes.
This isn’t a game to me. This isn’t a childhood rebellion she’ll walk away from unscathed. She was delivered into my hands with full knowledge of what I am.
She’s mine, and this is not acceptable.
I turn back toward the car. The driver straightens when he sees me approach, but I don’t open the door.
“Wait,” I say.
He nods once and steps back, the engine still humming. He doesn’t ask questions. He knows better. Most men who work for me learn quickly when to keep their mouths shut.
I stay on the sidewalk, facing the club she disappeared into. The music spills faintly into the street every time the door swings open, flashes of colored light slipping through the crack before the bouncer pulls it shut again. Somewhere behind that wall of noise and sweat, she’s moving through a crowd of strangers, smiling, laughing, playing at freedom she doesn’t own.
There’s no need to follow her. I already know exactly where she is, who she’s with, and how long she’ll be inside. I know the name of her friend, the driver of the car that brought her, the bouncer who let her pass without hesitation. Every variable is accounted for.
That should be enough, but it isn’t.
She thinks she’s free. Thinks walking into that club without my approval makes a point. Thinks laughter is protection. It’s not. It never has been.
Next time, she won’t walk into a room without someone knowing her exact steps. Not unless I say she can. Not unless I decide it benefits me.
She wears my ring. Maybe not where anyone can see it. Maybe she tucks it into a drawer and pretends it doesn’t carryweight. But she accepted it. She opened the box. She knows what it means.
So does everyone else.
That ring isn’t jewelry. It’s a boundary. A warning. A brand.
If she wants to act like she’s still untethered, fine. Let her. But the consequences won’t be soft. They won’t be gentle. She wants to test limits, and I’m more than capable of showing her where they begin and end.
My mind begins sorting through the next steps, even as my gaze stays locked on that door. Surveillance. Eyes at the back entrance. Schedules. Proximity.
I won’t cage her, but I will remind her what belonging means in this world. What it means when your name is linked to mine. What it means when you’re claimed.
She won’t see the leash, but she knows it’s there. Maybe then she’ll start to understand the difference between possession and affection. Between safety and indulgence.
The space between us is temporary. Her rebellion is temporary.
What isn’t temporary is this: I decide how close she gets to the fire.
I step toward the club, hands flexing at my side.
When I slip inside, I find her at the bar.
Chapter Seven - Kiera
I lean against the bar, fingers curled around the rim of a glass I’ve barely touched. The drink’s some pale pink thing Esme ordered for me—vodka, citrus, something fizzy. I’ve taken maybe three sips. The condensation beads along the side, trailing slowly over my hand, but I don’t wipe it away.
Esme dances a few feet away, her arms raised, hips swaying in time with the music. She’s flushed and radiant beneath the pulsing lights, her laughter bright even in the roar of sound. There’s no stiffness in her movements, no hesitation. She lets herself belong here, lets herself take up space.
I envy that ease.
I watch her with a small smile, my chest tugging tight. Not from jealousy—never that—but from the dull ache of knowing I used to feel like that. Light. Unafraid. Before everything changed. Before words likebrideanddealandbelongingwrapped themselves around my throat.
