Your father’s crew and hers are blood enemies.

It’s supposed to be a line in stone, but she doesn’t give a fuck about lines.

You’ve been her obsession from day one, and everyone knows it — her rivals, her crew, even your father’s men who can’t stand how easily you blush when she teases you.

But she doesn’t back off.

If anything, the forbidden makes her louder, cockier, meaner with how she shows you off.

⸻

The bar was crowded with her people, music pounding, pool balls cracking against each other.

You slipped in quiet, trying not to draw attention, but she caught you the second you crossed the threshold.

“Fucking hell, look at this,” she drawled loud enough for the whole damn room to hear, tossing her pool cue down and stalking toward you.

Her smirk stretched wider when everyone’s heads turned. “Baby just can’t stay away, huh?”

You froze as she closed in, her hand landing heavy and possessive on your hip before you could think to step back.

“Shit,” she muttered, her accent curling over the word as her eyes flicked down at your dress, “you’re trying to kill me walking in like that. You know half these guys are staring, yeah?”

“But, They know I’ll fucking gut ’em if they try something.”

The crowd chuckled nervously, but she wasn’t done.

She leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice low but still sharp enough for people nearby to hear.

“You still sore from last time, love?” she teased, the cocky lilt making your face burn. “Bet you are. Bet you fucking love it, too.”

Gasps, laughter, whistles — her crew loved the show, but you wanted to disappear into the floor.

She just grinned wickedly, tugging you tighter against her side.

“C’mon, baby,” she said louder now, voice carrying over the music, “show Daddy’s crew who really fucking owns you.”

You went rigid, heat crawling up your neck, but she just threw her head back and laughed when you swatted her arm weakly. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You love it when I run my mouth. Makes you blush every fucking time.”