Ivanov Crime Family Excerpts
Twisted Proposal: Chapter One
Chapter 1
I knew taking this meeting was a mistake the moment I agreed to it.
Zaitsev had been relentless, hounding me for days, desperate for a deal.
That alone set my teeth on edge.
Desperate men made reckless decisions.
And Zaitsev? He was a fool. Brash, impulsive, lacking the foresight needed to survive in our world. And his son, Matvey, was even worse.
When I pulled up to the isolated cabin nestled deep in the Virginia woods, my instincts screamed danger. It was too remote, too perfect for an ambush.
My men swept the perimeter while I waited in the Range Rover, my patience wearing thinner with each passing minute.
“Clear,” one of my men murmured through my earpiece.
I stepped out into the biting winter air, snow crunching beneath my boots. The cabin loomed before me, its windows glowing with warm light that promised a comfort I knew wouldn’t be found inside.
When I pushed open the heavy wooden door, the stench of fear hit me first.
Then I saw her.
Huddled on a weathered wooden chair in the center of the room, her head bowed, lush, chestnut brown hair spilling over her shoulders, hiding her face. Ropes cut into her wrists, binding her, but there was no mistaking the tension in her shoulders.
Fury burned through me, sharp and immediate.
My fingers twitched with the need to curl into a fist.
Zaitsev emerged from the shadows, his son lurking behind him like the coward he was. Both men grinned as if they’d presented me with a gift rather than a twisted indecency.
In my world, women were protected and sheltered from the brutal reality of our business.
“Artem, my friend.” He stretched out a hand in greeting.
“We are not friends.” I pointedly ignored his outstretched hand. “And I don’t recall giving you permission to use my given name.”
He hesitated, his son shifting uneasily behind him.
The air in the cabin grew thick with tension.
My men flanked the doorway, blocking any chance of escape.
A small sound came from the woman—not a cry or a whimper.
Just a sharp inhale of barely restrained pain.
My fury sharpened to a lethal edge.
I met Zaitsev’s eyes; he was going to see the moment I decided he wasn’t leaving this cabin alive.
“We had to secure our merchandise.” He gave a dismissive wave, dropping into a chair opposite his captive. “She can be…stubborn. Nothing a firm hand won’t fix.”
My gaze remained fixed on the woman bound in the chair.
I let the silence stretch like a stranglehold around his throat.
Zaitsev mistook it for patience. A deadly mistake.
He smirked. “I’ll get right to the point, then. I know you’re making moves in the States.”
He thought he knew something. Amusing.
“You shouldn’t put stock in rumors,” I said flatly. “Your men must be bored if they’ve taken to gossip.”
Zaitsev chuckled, like we were old friends sharing an inside joke. “A shift in power is coming.” He stood and circled the woman, placing his hands on her shoulders. She flinched. The small movement ignited something dark inside me. “This is my daughter.”
A muscle in my jaw twitched.
Daughter.
I glanced at her, then back at him, my face unreadable.
What kind of man tied up his own flesh and blood?
“I’d rather not have her running wild, like these American women,” he continued, oblivious to my growing rage. “She could be useful.”
Useful.
The word curdled in my gut.
“She’s not much to look at,” he added, waving a hand like she was a piece of livestock. “But she’ll make a good wife. Quiet. Won’t ask questions. Won’t expect fidelity.” He grinned and winked. “And, of course, this marriage would come with certain advantages.”
I stared at him. Silent. Calculating.
One of the few useful lessons my father had ever taught me—silence was a weapon.
Zaitsev, arrogant as ever, mistook it for interest. He kept talking, filling the space with his own noise.
“I wouldn’t expect you to marry her, of course,” he went on. “She’s beneath an Ivanov. But a loyal underling? Someone who needs a reward, perhaps.”
Beneath an Ivanov.
Fucking idiot.
I let my gaze shift back to her.
She sat stiffly in her bonds, her spine straight despite her restraints, not in submission, but in defiance. A woman holding herself together by sheer will.
I needed to see her face.
Look up, I silently commanded.
She didn’t move.
But then, a flicker.
Just for a fraction of a second, dark blue eyes met mine.
And I saw the truth.
Zaitsev was wrong.
His daughter wasn’t plain. Far from it. She was beautiful.
But more important than that, she was furious. Not afraid. Not broken.
She wasn’t cowering. She was calculating. Waiting. Biding her time.
My interest deepened.
Then I saw it, the shadow of a bruise forming on her cheek.
The pounding in my ears grew deafening.
He hit her. Hard.
This man, who dared stand across from me and prattle on about alliances, had raised a hand to his own daughter. Had tied her in a chair in a freezing cabin wearing barely anything but a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.
He thought our families were alike.
He thought we were the same.
He thought wrong.
“Of course,” he said, still unaware he’d already sealed his fate, “she is merely a gesture of goodwill. The real deal is in the contracts. My men will run girls from Russia straight through to California. No one will touch them if they belong to the Ivanovs. And you? You’ll get a cut.”
My lip curled.
Ivanovs did not get involved in the sex trade, in any form. Period.
He leaned against the cabin wall, smug. His son slouched beside him, picking at his teeth, unconcerned.
I inhaled deeply, letting the rage simmer just below the surface.
Control. Always control.
I turned my attention back to her.
“What’s her name?” I asked.
Zaitsev blinked, as if surprised I cared enough to ask. “Viktoria.”
Viktoria.
I let the name settle. Let the weight of it press against my ribs.
“Do we have a deal?” Zaitsev asked.
I looked at my right-hand man and gave a single nod.
The gun was out before Zaitsev even registered the movement.
His son lunged for a weapon.
My men were faster.
Zaitsev senior was pinned to the rough-hewn table, a gun pressed to the back of his skull. His son restrained on the wood floor, zip ties cutting into his wrists, a boot pressing into his spine.
Their pathetic cries and pleas were white noise as I focused on the soft rasp of Viktoria’s breathing.
I crossed to her, pulling a knife from my pocket. Her eyes widened as I approached, but she didn’t flinch when I bent to cut her bonds. The ropes fell away.
I took her wrists in my hands. So pale and fragile, as if I were holding the bones of a bird. My thumb swept across the angry red welts.
She shivered and tried to pull back.
My fingers closed around her wrists. “You’ve heard what your father and brother planned,” I said. “What do you want?”
She refused to respond.
Accustomed to being obeyed, I leaned forward, resisting the urge to brush her hair away from her face. “Viktoria? I asked you a question.”
After a long moment, the lush black fans of her lashes shifted. She lifted her gaze to clash with mine.
There was cold fury in their ocean depths.
She was something different.
Something unexpected.
She swallowed. “I—I didn’t hear.”
Liar. It was clear her refusal to answer had more to do with ill-advised defiance.
Her voice wavered. Not in weakness. In restraint.
My hands moved to the tops of her bare thighs, my fingertips brushing the hem of her cloth shorts as I stood. “Tell me what you want, princess.”
Fierce Pursuit: Chapter One
Chapter 1
The moment I saw him, my world crashed around me.
Konstantine. My brother-in-law…and my sister’s killer.
The diner’s fluorescent lights flickered, casting a dull glow over red leather booths and the cracked linoleum floor, but all I could see was him from where I stood staring through the crack between the two kitchen doors.
Sitting at the farthest table, back to the wall, piercing blue eyes scanning the room like a predator assessing his surroundings.
My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
How?
I had been so careful.
No credit cards.
No social media.
I’d stayed in my lane, kept my head down, worked this dead-end job just to survive.
And yet, he was here.
He had found me.
Panic clawed at my chest, but I fought to keep my expression neutral. The last thing I needed was to alert the rest of the staff there was an issue. They would ask questions I couldn’t answer. My fingers clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms, the slight pain grounding me as I abandoned my post at the kitchen doors and returned to the plate of fries I no longer wanted.
“Oh my God, Marina! He is so freaking hot!”
Anna’s shriek made me flinch, bringing me back to the moment.
I snapped my gaze to her as she pushed through the kitchen doors, a whirlwind of neon-pink nails and endless energy weaving past the cooks.
She didn’t know.
She didn’t understand that the man she was ogling was the reason my sister was dead.
I forced a fry into her hand, hoping the simple act would shut her up and give me a second to think. But Anna was relentless, bouncing with excitement.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, taking a seat across from me at the tiny break table. “I mean, Marina, seriously, why didn’t you tell me you were dating the hottest man in Chicago?”
“I’m not,” I said automatically, barely registering her words.
My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might crack my ribs.
Anna scoffed. “Then why did he ask for your section?”
She grabbed my wrist and yanked me up before I could protest, dragging me toward the doors leading to the dining area. “Girl, if you’re not dating him, can I have him? Because that man is sex on a stick. I tried everything—flirty eyes, lip biting, even the cleavage lean, and he didn’t even blink. He only wanted you.”
I barely heard her.
My vision tunneled as I peered through the crack between the doors.
He hadn’t changed.
Konstantine Nikolai Ivanov, Kostya to his friends, of which there were few, still looked devastatingly handsome in that cold, lethal way that made people both fear and respect him.
Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, dark hair just long enough for a woman to sink her fingers into. He had been intimidating even before he married my sister, before he became a name whispered in the dark corners of Russia.
And now he was here.
For me.
Anna’s voice broke through my spiral. “So, who is that? Does he have a brother?”
“He does,” I murmured, my throat dry as dust. “Two. But they’re not your type.”
“Damn.” She sighed, oblivious to the way my body was locked up in sheer terror. “So he’s yours, then?”
“No,” I whispered. “He’s my brother-in-law.”
Anna blinked. “Wait, what? You never told me you had a sister who was married to a freaking Russian god.”
I swallowed hard. My hands trembled at my sides, but I kept my face carefully blank. “She’s dead.”
“Oh,” Anna said, her enthusiasm temporarily dimming. “Car accident?”
I forced myself to nod. “Something like that.”
The words tasted like acid.
I couldn’t say it, not out loud.
That he had killed her.
That my sister’s blood was on his hands.
That if I didn’t leave right now, mine would be too.
Anna kept talking, something about how a man like that had to be ready to move on. But I couldn’t hear her anymore.
All I heard was the blood rushing in my ears.
I had to get the hell out of here.
He hadn’t seen me yet.
That was the only advantage I had.
If I ran now, I might have a chance.
But I needed a distraction.
Forcing my lips into what I hoped was a convincing smile, I turned to Anna. “Actually, do me a favor? Go talk to him for me. Tell him I haven’t come in for my shift yet. Get his drink order, maybe flirt a little.”
Anna’s eyes lit up. “Girl, you do not have to ask me twice.” She fluffed her hair, adjusted her bra, and strutted out into the dining room.
The moment she had his attention, I turned and bolted.
I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Babushka, the owner, who had been so kind to me.
It didn’t matter.
All that mattered was getting out before Konstantine saw me.
Because if he did…I was dead.
Savage Vows Bonus Chapter
**WARNING**
This deleted scene was too intense for the book.
Samara
Gregor placed a finger under my chin and lifted my face to meet his angry gaze.
I swallowed.
“Take off your clothes.”
I looked around the brightly lit hallway. We were alone in the house but still, the idea of just stripping bare in so open a place made my stomach clench.
“Gregor, couldn’t we….”
“No.”
“But….”
His arm whipped out to catch me behind my neck. In one swift movement, he forced me to bend over the heavy oak table in the center of the entranceway. Ignoring my startled shout, he ripped my yoga pants and panties down to my knees. With my face pressed against the cold wood surface, I began to beg.
“Stop! Gregor! Stop!”
Knowing it was coming didn’t lesson the shock or sting.
Sparks flew behind my eyes as I squeezed them tight after the first strike of his hand. His large open palm had spanned my entire right butt cheek. The fiery flame of pain only increased in intensity as he spanked me.
The table rocked so violently with my struggles that we knocked over the vase of flowers in the center. It crashed to the marble floor scattering water and flower petals around us. I could feel hot prickles of heat course over my skin. I leapt from foot to foot as I rose up on my toes in a vain attempt to avoid his punishing hand.
Breathing heavily from his own exertion, Gregor straightened his shoulders. “Now take off your clothes.”
My soft sniffles were the only sound heard as I rose up and lifted my t-shirt over my head. Careful to avoid the water and shards of glass, I then kicked off my sneakers and finished pulling off my yoga pants and panties. I started to cross my hands protectively over my breasts but Gregor’s harsh command stopped me.
“Don’t.”
With my head lowered, I waited.
Gregor took a step back.
Through lowered lids, I watched him unbuckle his heavy leather belt.
Oh God.
Releasing the strap with a snap, he folded it in half and tapped it against his thigh. His voice was low and controlled, a sure sign of his anger. “Now I want you to crawl up those stairs,” he said, motioning to the wide, carpeted staircase which led to the second floor.
Taking a tentative step forward, I made sure to leave plenty of space between me and him as I made my way to the first step. Without thinking, I gingerly walked up the first few steps, more concerned with the stinging pain caused by each stretch of my heated skin as I stepped.
“Crawl,” he barked.
With a startled cry, I fell to my knees. The position stretched the skin over my ass even more and I let a hiss escape from between my teeth. Lifting a knee, I whimpered from the pain as I shifted to move up one step at a time.
The wool threads of the carpet bit into my knees and palms as I slowly made my way up. My face burned with humiliation as I could hear Gregor following me. Knowing full well, he had a complete few of my red ass and even glimpses of my already aroused pussy.
There were a pair of massive double doors at the top of the staircase. The master bedroom.
Gregor motioned with the hand which held his belt for me to continuing crawling inside.
In keeping with the provincial feel of the house, the entire bedroom was elegantly decorated in shades of cream. In the center, there was a large, mahogany four-poster bed. Above it was a silver-gilded, crystal chandelier suspended from double-recessed ceiling with an intricate leaf fresco pattern. In front of the white marble fireplace, directly across from the bed, was an upholstered chaise on top of a black and cream Moroccan-style rug. Suspended over the mantle was a silver framed mirror.
The light, sophisticated decor gave Gregor an even more menacing appearance.
Leaving me on my knees in the middle of the room, Gregor kicked the feet of the chaise till he had pushed it to the end of the bed.
“Step up.”
Not knowing what he had planned, I obeyed. Rising on my feet, I walked over to the chaise. Grasping the solid post, I lifted myself onto the chaise.
“Turn around.”
I faced him.
To my horror, I realized my elevated position at the end of the bed meant my body was on full display in the mirror over Gregor’s shoulder.
“Spread your legs wide.”
I began to tremble.
“Samara. You know, I don’t like asking twice.”
Holding onto the end posters of the bed, I spread my legs as wide as I could. The sides of my feet rested against the curved ends of the chaise.
Gritting my teeth, I tried to brace my body to control the trembling as I watched Gregor slowly unbutton his shirt. He shrugged out of it, giving me a full view of his heavily muscled and tattooed chest. Next, he released the top button of his jeans but stopped.
My eyes lowered to the stark outline of his cock as it stretched down his inner thigh, being restrained only by a thin piece of denim.
Taking a step back. Gregor raised his arm. Opening his hand, he let the leather belt unfold like an uncoiling snake.
As he took a step forward, I screamed and collapsed back onto the bed, curling up.
Undaunted, Gregor grabbed me by the hair and forced me to stand once more.
“Just for that, you get an extra ten.”
“Please! I’m sorry!”
“As I said, I plan to make sure of it.”
Leaving me standing, Gregor crossed over to a small door next to the bed. He opened it and stepped into the walk-in closet. After a moment, he emerged with two silk scarves.
“No! Please! Don’t tie me up! I’ll be good.”
Ignoring my pleas, Gregor secured each of my wrists to the wooden posters. I now had no choice but to endure the full force of his belt whipping. Tears coursed down my cheeks as I waited helplessly for the punishment to begin.
It didn’t occur to me to fight him. At some point, I had conceded to him. Submitted to him. Falling under the draw of his strength and control.
The leather flap of his belt caught me between the legs. I howled with pain as my hips twisted.
“Get back in position.”
With shaking knees, I opened my legs again. He hit my pussy with the strap a second time. I cried out as the delicate folds between my legs throbbed.
I closed my eyes so I didn’t see his arm raise a third time. The belt whipped around my hip to strike the already sensitive skin of my left ass cheek.
I pulled on my wrist restraints as I struggled to keep my knees from buckling. Heaving in great gasps of air, I struggled to bring breath into my lungs.
This time the belt whipped around my other side, catching my sore right cheek.
The hard leather hit both my inner thighs and stomach before returning to my pussy.
I was sobbing now. My whole body seemed to pulse with agonizing heat.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded.
I caught my reflection in the mirror. My pale skin was scarlet with strap marks from his belt. My eyes large and bright with tears.
Gregor’s tanned hand reached up to pinch one of my nipples. I bit my lip as he then slapped the underside, the soft weight of my breast bouncing with each angry touch of his hand. He turned to my other breast. I could see red splotches appear across the delicate flesh.
“Who’s in charge?”
“You are.” My voice was a ragged whisper.
“Are you going to forget that fact again?”
I shook my head vigorously no. I was so beyond words, I barely noticed when he released my wrists from their silk restraints.
“Kneel. Bend over the bed.”
As slowly as possible, I shifted on the chaise and slowly lowered to my knees. I rested my cheek against the silken coverlet, grateful for the cool feel against my tear-stained cheek.
“Reach back and open your cheeks.”
“Please Gregor. I’ve learned my lesson.”
His response was to spank my already sore ass with his open palm.
With a cry, I reached back and spread open my ass cheeks, feeling vulnerable and humiliated.
Second by agonizing second ticked by.
I then felt the tip of his finger caress my asshole. I reflexively clenched it in response.
Gregor whispered darkly over my shoulder, “By all rights, I should fuck your ass dry to truly teach you a lesson.”
“Please don’t.”
He pressed his finger against my hole. I tried clenching it tight but I was no match for the strength of his thick finger. It thrust into my ass to the knuckle.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” I whimpered.
With only the lubrication of my own arousal, it burned as the skin stretched to accommodate his forced entry.
He pulsed his finger in deeper a few times and then withdrew.
I held my breath.
I felt the head of his cock at my pussy entrance. The pressure of his flesh pushing against my tender folds made me swallow a cry of pain.
To my deep humiliation, I was wet and ready for him.
As I waited for his piercing thrust, I heard the jangle of his metal belt buckle. Wrapping the leather around my throat, he slipped the end of the strap through the buckle and pulled it tight. I felt a rising panic as the leather pressed against my windpipe. I could feel the hard press of the buckle against the back of my neck.
“Time to prove your trust, mалы́шка.”
He thrust in deep as he pulled tight on the strap. I struggled to breathe as my body struggled to accommodate his thick girth. My fingers dug into the coverlet as I tilted my head as far back as I could, desperate to ease the pressure… desperate to pull air into my lungs.
I rocked back and forth with the force of his thrusts. The deeper he penetrated my body, the harder he pulled on the leather strap. The edges of my vision began to blur. My lungs seized. I clawed at the bed.
He thrust harder.
Proving his ownership over my body… my life… my soul.
I could feel a creeping euphoria slide over me the longer the leather strap cut off my air. It felt as if I were floating. The thrust of his cock was the only thing grounding me to this life. His hard length caused just enough pain to keep the shadow of death on the edges of my consciousness. My whole world condensed into one of only sensation… to only him.
The touch of his hand as it caressed my back, pressing just above my ass, pushing my body into a bowed arch. The feel of the leather belt against my ribcage. The sounds of his harsh breathing. At this very moment, he breathed for me.
At that sublime moment when I didn’t think I could take anymore; he released his grip on the belt. Sweet oxygen flowed into my lungs with a dizzying rush. My inner thighs clenched as I felt the equal rush of my own release. My own cries were drowned out by the sound of
Gregor’s possessive roar as he filled me with his warm come.
We both collapsed onto the bed.
His leather belt was still wrapped around my throat.
Rolling over, I tossed my arm over his flat stomach, “That was fun. What game should we play tomorrow?”
Grab Vicious Oath, Ivanov Crime Family, Book Two now!
Betrayed Honor: Chapter One
Mikhail
Three years earlier.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
As the sharp edge of my voice cut through the chilly darkness of the bookshelf-lined study, Nadia turned, her bright blue eyes wide with shock. Her arm hung suspended in midair as the silver flask clutched in her hand stopped just before touching her lips.
The soft, blueish-white glow from the moonlight streaming through the large windows illuminated her pale face. It gave her an ethereal quality as if I had startled a beautiful specter during her nightly hauntings. The muted noises of dancing and laughter sounded a world away. Since we were in the far wing of the house, they might as well have been.
From this distance, no one would hear her cries for help.
Just over her shoulder, insolently lounging in her older brother’s ox-blood leather chair with his feet on the desk, was a man I didn’t recognize, but not knowing his name would not prevent me from killing him.
He spread his arms wide, palms out. “Relax!” Foamy spittle fell onto his tie from his lips as he slurred the word. “She can have a swig or two. It’s a party.” He swung his head in Nadia’s direction. The man took a moment to refocus his drunken gaze before giving her an exaggerated wink.
It was all I could do not to seize her in my arms and bodily carry her out of the room.
How dare she put herself in danger like this?
Wandering away from her own party to sneak a drink with some unknown man?
This wasn’t like her.
Most of the guests were assholes in cheap suits and women in tight dresses reeking of even cheaper perfume. In other words, the usual crowd of business associates, political dignitaries and crime bosses that congregate at an Ivanov party. They were all here to celebrate Nadia’s birthday. Well, truthfully, none of them were actually here to celebrate her birthday. Few could even pick her out of a line up.
They were here for one reason, and one reason only: to get close to her brothers.
Each drawn to the unchallenged power the family yielded.
Each coming with a false smile and an open palm, hoping to curry favor and line their pockets.
Each ignoring the guest of honor, the birthday girl.
No wonder she had wandered off unnoticed, but only because I’d been occupied by dragging a drunk who had accosted
her friend Yelena out the back.
The moment I returned, I knew she was gone. It had become a habit over the years to always look for her. As the Ivanovs’ head of security, technically it was my job to watch over her, to protect her.
My job and my own private hell.
I wasn’t sure which part angered me more.
That she had wandered off alone when the house was filled with strangers.
Or that she had wandered off with another man.
My fingers curled into a fist at my side.
If I can’t have her, no one can.
It was an irrational and selfish thing to think, especially since I had never even so much as allowed myself to touch her, but then I wasn’t thinking straight in that moment. Something tightened in my chest as I reined in a primal howl of mine.
As she fidgeted under my unrelenting gaze, her two front teeth sunk into the soft plump flesh of her lower lip. An adorable nervous tick of hers. My tongue flicked out over my lip as if I could taste the cherry sweetness of the flavored lip gloss I knew she liked.
Nadia bowed her head and turned. She leaned over, stretching her arm across the wide expanse of the polished oak desk, to hand the man his flask back. As she did so, the ruffled edge of her floral dress rode up the back of her thighs. She had the cutest freckle which peeked out from behind her hem, high on the back of her right thigh, just below the soft curve of her ass. I resisted the urge to tilt my head to the side in a juvenile attempt to catch a glimpse of her panties.
Christ.
Speaking of hell, that was precisely where I was going. Her two brothers would be the ones to send me there.
This was madness. If her brothers knew what I was thinking, they’d put a bullet in my head. My years of loyalty be damned.
The fact that Nadiam had finally turned eighteen didn’t matter. She may have been legal to touch, but that didn’t make it less wrong. Nadia was the protected baby sister of the Ivanov family, and the very definition of forbidden fruit. I wouldn’t blame Gregor and Damien for taking me to one of our off-grid warehouse locations and beating me bloody to within an inch of my life for even looking at her this way.
As she stood before me, she fidgeted with the charms on her silver bracelet and rambled, “Mikhail, this is Adam. Adam Fischer. He’s Peter’s older brother. You know Peter, right? Samara’s boyfriend? Adam graduated several years ahead of us.”
Fischer.
He wasn’t Russian. Another strike against him. At least now I had a name for his tombstone.
Adam lifted his flask in a mock salute and called out, “Na zdorov’ye!” He then took a long gulp.
I cast an annoyed glance in Nadia’s direction. She at least had the presence of mind to look embarrassed at Adam’s incorrect use of a toast most Americans thought Russians used every time we took a sip of alcohol.
Adam leaned over to hand the flask back to Nadia. “Take another sip, sweet stuff.”
Sweet stuff?
My control snapped. I surged forward.
Nadia sprang out of the way, a small cry of fear on her lips as she raised her arms.
I moved past her and swiped at Adam’s feet, knocking them off the desk. My fists twisted into the extra fabric of his ill-fitting polyester suit blazer, and I wrenched him out of the chair. Even before knowing his name or hearing his voice, I knew he wasn’t Russian. A Russian man would never disgrace his hosts by wearing the same wrinkled suit he had worn into work that day to a celebrated event in someone’s home.
I leaned in close to rasp in his ear. “YA vyrvu tebe glaznyye yabloki i zasunu ikh v tvoye degenerativnoye gorlo.”
Adam’s thin lips stretched wide over small teeth in a crooked smile as he shoved his forearms up, then against my wrists, breaking my grip. “Shove off so Natalia and I can get better acquainted. Don’t worry,” he sneered, “I’ll hand her over to you once I’m done.”
Since I had just told him I was going to rip out his eyeballs and shove them down his degenerate throat, that would not happen. After dragging him from behind the desk, I swung around and shoved him toward the door.
“Her name is Nadia, you piece of shit, and you’ll touch her over my fucking dead body.”
While we were matched in height, each over six feet tall, I had at least thirty pounds of muscle on him, which gave me an advantage. That, and the fact I was raised in the unforgiving icy wilderness of Siberia and not some cushy American suburb. Although I knew Adam didn’t have any political power and wasn’t connected to the Ivanovs’ criminal enterprise, it still would look bad if I hauled him out of the party bloody and bruised. Against my better judgement, I would have to let him go with a warning to never go near Nadia again.
At least that was my plan until he took a swing at me. Then all bets were off.
Adam snatched a brass double-headed eagle figurine from the bookshelf nearby, and swung his arm wide, almost clipping me on the chin.
I took a step back and grinned. I slipped out of my suit jacket and tossed it onto the desk behind me. Slowly circling Adam as he continued to lurch about and swipe his arms at me, I rolled up my shirt sleeves.
Nadia’s plea came from behind me. “Mikhail, don’t. It’s my fault.”
I tossed her a look over my shoulder, and warned, “I will deal with you in a minute.”
This time when Adam swung the brass figurine, it slipped out of his hand and sailed across the room. It almost hit Nadia in the shoulder before shattering the window behind her. With a snarl, I snapped my right arm out, hooking him under the chin with my fist. He staggered back. I hit him again and again. I didn’t give a damn if he was drunk. If he was sober enough to toss a punch, he was sober enough to take one. The final time I swung out, I felt his cheek bone shatter beneath my knuckles. Adam fell to his knees, howling in pain as he clutched his face. A swift kick to the jaw silenced his cries.
As his body fell limply onto the Persian carpet, Ilya, one of my men, appeared in the doorway. “Alarm went off, signaling a breach.”
Lowering onto my haunches, I wiped the blood from my knuckles onto Adam’s shirt. Motioning with my head, I indicted the window. “Broken window.” I rose and pointed to Adam. “Mr. Fischer has overstayed his welcome. Please see him out.”
Ilya snatched Adam up under his arms and walked backwards as he dragged his limp body toward the door. “Consider it done, Boss.”
As I followed him to the threshold, I instructed, “Ubedites’, chto gosti nichego ne vidyat.” The last thing I needed was a scene with the party guests.
Ilya nodded, then casually asked, “Should we kill him?”
There was a soft gasp behind me.
Ilya started as he looked past me, deeper into the dark room. “Izvini, Boss. YA yeye tam ne videl.”
Of course he hadn’t seen Nadia. It was a common occurrence. As the quiet little sister of the great Ivanov brothers, everyone often overlooked her.
Everyone but me.
At barely over five feet tall, Nadia didn’t even come up to my shoulder. She was like a living doll. She had a light smattering of freckles over the bridge of her tiny nose, a delicate cupid’s bow of a mouth and an adorable bundle of soft strawberry blonde curls. Each time she nervously bit her lip, I wanted to do dark and dangerous things to her.
Yes, everyone else may see past her, but not me.
She was the first person I looked for when I entered a room and the last one I thought of at night. Every time she left the house, even if it was only to go to school, I was on edge till she was back safely at home, under my control. The Ivanovs led a dangerous life with ruthless enemies who could strike at any moment. Nadia was a vulnerability, a weak point their enemies would think nothing of exploiting, but that would never happen. Not on my watch.
The number one rule in the Ivanov household was no one talked business in front of or within earshot of Nadia. It was the family’s wish she never be aware of the extent of their criminal activities. As far as she was concerned, her father had owned a successful import and export business that he passed on to her brothers at his death. The intense security I and my staff provided were explained away as America being a dangerous country.
I waved off Ilya’s apology. “Nichego, Ilya. Prosto delay, kak ya govoryu.”
As soon as they were both gone, she spoke up, although her voice was barely above a nervous whisper. “I should rejoin the party. My mother will be looking for me.”
With a flat palm, I pushed the door shut. I slid the heavy brass bolt that secured just below the top of the door into place.
Turning, I faced Nadia. “You’re not going anywhere.”
How UK Betting Sites Evolved According to Betzella's Research
The United Kingdom has long been regarded as one of the most mature and regulated gambling markets in the world. From the smoky betting shops of the 1960s to the sophisticated digital platforms of today, the transformation of UK betting sites represents one of the most remarkable evolutions in the history of consumer finance and entertainment. Understanding how this industry developed — through legislative shifts, technological breakthroughs, and changing consumer behaviour — offers valuable insight into both the past and the future of regulated gambling. Betzella, a research-driven platform focused on the UK betting landscape, has compiled extensive findings that trace this journey with considerable depth and analytical precision.
The Legislative Foundations That Shaped the Industry
The story of UK betting sites cannot be told without first acknowledging the legislative framework that made their existence possible. The Betting and Gaming Act of 1960 was the watershed moment that legalised off-course cash betting in the United Kingdom, giving rise to the high street bookmaker. Prior to this, betting was largely conducted through credit accounts or illegally. The Act allowed licensed betting offices to operate openly, and within just a few years, thousands of such establishments had opened across the country.
For several decades, the industry remained predominantly physical. Punters would visit shops operated by companies such as William Hill, Ladbrokes, and Coral to place wagers on horse racing, football, and other sporting events. The relationship between bettor and bookmaker was personal, transactional, and geographically constrained. The regulatory environment was relatively straightforward, with the Home Office overseeing licensing and compliance.
The true pivot came with the Gambling Act of 2005, which replaced the outdated Gaming Act of 1968 and fundamentally restructured how gambling was regulated in Britain. The 2005 Act established the Gambling Commission as the central regulatory body, tasked with licensing operators, protecting consumers, and preventing gambling-related harm. Crucially, it also created a legal framework that could accommodate online gambling, which had already begun to emerge in the late 1990s. This legislation was not merely administrative — it was the foundation upon which the modern digital betting industry was constructed.
Betzella's research highlights that the 2005 Act, while forward-thinking, also created certain ambiguities that would only become apparent as the online sector grew rapidly. The framework was tested by the explosion of mobile betting, live in-play wagering, and the emergence of international operators seeking access to the lucrative UK market. Subsequent amendments and increased Gambling Commission enforcement actions in the 2010s and 2020s reflect an ongoing effort to keep regulation aligned with a rapidly changing commercial reality.
The Digital Revolution and the Rise of Online Betting Platforms
The late 1990s and early 2000s marked the beginning of a seismic shift in how British consumers engaged with betting. The internet provided operators with a new channel that was available around the clock, accessible from home, and capable of offering a far wider range of markets than any physical shop could accommodate. Early online betting sites were relatively rudimentary by modern standards — basic interfaces, limited payment options, and a modest selection of sports markets. Nevertheless, they attracted significant interest from a public increasingly comfortable with conducting financial transactions online.
By the mid-2000s, established bookmakers had invested heavily in their digital infrastructure, and a new wave of online-only operators had entered the market. The introduction of broadband internet accelerated adoption considerably, enabling faster page loads, real-time odds updates, and the early iterations of live streaming. The competitive pressure between operators drove rapid innovation, with bonuses, enhanced odds, and loyalty programmes becoming standard features designed to attract and retain customers.
The smartphone era, beginning in earnest around 2010 with the widespread adoption of iOS and Android devices, transformed the industry once more. Betting apps became central to the user experience, allowing punters to place wagers from anywhere at any time. According to data referenced in Betzella's analysis, mobile betting now accounts for the substantial majority of all online wagers placed in the UK. This shift had profound implications for product design, responsible gambling tools, and the overall pace of market activity. Platforms that had been built for desktop use were rapidly redesigned to prioritise mobile usability.
It is within this context of continuous digital evolution that resources like Betzella's dedicated research on new betting sites in the UK https://betzella.com/new-betting-sites-uk/ become particularly valuable, as they provide consumers with structured, up-to-date analysis of how emerging platforms compare in terms of licensing credentials, product quality, and regulatory compliance — criteria that have become increasingly complex to evaluate independently.
The proliferation of new entrants into the UK market during this period was substantial. Operators from across Europe and beyond applied for Gambling Commission licences, bringing with them diverse approaches to product development and customer engagement. Some focused on niche sports markets, others on casino-style games integrated alongside traditional sports betting, and others still on the emerging world of esports wagering. This diversification reflected both the breadth of consumer demand and the flexibility of the regulatory framework in accommodating varied business models.
Responsible Gambling, Consumer Protection, and Regulatory Tightening
As the online betting sector expanded throughout the 2010s, concerns about problem gambling, advertising practices, and the vulnerability of certain consumer groups began to attract significant public and political attention. The Gambling Commission responded with a series of increasingly stringent regulatory measures designed to strengthen consumer protection without dismantling the commercial viability of the licensed industry.
Among the most consequential changes were requirements around affordability checks, Know Your Customer (KYC) procedures, and self-exclusion schemes. The introduction of GAMSTOP in 2018 — a national self-exclusion register that allows individuals to block themselves from all licensed UK gambling sites simultaneously — represented a significant step forward in coordinated harm prevention. Operators were required to integrate with the scheme and to conduct enhanced due diligence on customers showing signs of problematic behaviour.
Betzella's research draws particular attention to how these regulatory changes reshaped the competitive landscape. Smaller operators, lacking the compliance infrastructure of larger companies, faced considerable difficulty meeting the new requirements. This contributed to a degree of market consolidation, with several established brands acquiring smaller competitors or exiting the market entirely. At the same time, the higher compliance bar raised consumer confidence in licensed operators, reinforcing the importance of the Gambling Commission's licensing regime as a quality signal.
Advertising restrictions also tightened considerably. The 2019 "whistle-to-whistle" ban, which prohibited gambling advertisements during live sports broadcasts before the watershed hour of 9pm, was a direct response to concerns about the exposure of children and vulnerable adults to gambling marketing. While the ban was largely voluntary in its initial form, it reflected the direction of regulatory travel and anticipated the more formal restrictions that followed in subsequent years. Operators adapted their marketing strategies accordingly, shifting investment toward digital channels, affiliate partnerships, and content-driven approaches.
The Gambling Act Review, initiated by the UK Government in 2020 and resulting in a White Paper published in April 2023, signalled the most comprehensive reassessment of gambling regulation since the 2005 Act itself. The White Paper proposed a range of measures including statutory affordability checks, limits on online slot stakes, and enhanced powers for the Gambling Commission. While implementation remains ongoing, the direction of policy is clear: the regulatory environment will continue to evolve in ways that prioritise consumer protection alongside commercial sustainability.
Emerging Trends and the Future Trajectory of UK Betting Sites
Looking beyond the regulatory developments, Betzella's research identifies several structural trends that are likely to define the next phase of the UK betting industry's evolution. Perhaps the most significant is the continued growth of in-play betting, which now constitutes a majority of sports wagers on many platforms. The ability to bet on events as they unfold — adjusting positions based on real-time developments in a match or race — has fundamentally altered the nature of sports wagering, making it a more dynamic and continuous activity than the pre-match betting that once dominated the market.
The integration of data and technology into the betting experience has also deepened considerably. Advanced algorithms power the pricing of markets, fraud detection systems monitor for suspicious activity, and personalisation engines tailor product offerings to individual user behaviour. For consumers, this means a more customised experience; for regulators, it raises new questions about the ethics of targeted marketing and the potential for technology to be used in ways that exploit rather than serve customers.
Esports betting has emerged as one of the most notable growth areas, particularly among younger demographics who may have limited interest in traditional sports. Games such as Counter-Strike, League of Legends, and Dota 2 now attract substantial wagering volumes, and several operators have built dedicated esports product teams. Betzella notes that this segment, while still relatively small compared to football or horse racing, is growing at a pace that commands serious attention from both operators and regulators.
The question of cryptocurrency integration is another area of active development. While the Gambling Commission has maintained strict requirements around the traceability of funds and the prevention of money laundering, some operators have explored the use of blockchain technology for transparency purposes, and the broader conversation about digital currencies in regulated gambling continues. The regulatory position on crypto betting remains cautious but not entirely closed, and this is an area where the landscape may shift meaningfully in the years ahead.
Finally, the role of artificial intelligence in both product development and responsible gambling interventions is growing rapidly. Machine learning models are being deployed to identify early indicators of problem gambling behaviour, enabling operators to intervene proactively rather than reactively. This represents a genuine evolution in the industry's approach to harm minimisation — moving from blunt instruments like self-exclusion toward more nuanced, data-driven support mechanisms.
Conclusion
The evolution of UK betting sites from licensed high street shops to sophisticated, data-driven digital platforms is a story of continuous adaptation — to technology, to regulation, and to changing consumer expectations. Betzella's research provides a valuable lens through which to understand this transformation, documenting not only what has changed but why those changes occurred and what they mean for the future. The UK remains a global benchmark for regulated gambling, and the ongoing dialogue between operators, regulators, and consumers will continue to shape an industry that touches millions of people's lives. Understanding its history is essential to navigating its future responsibly.
Vicious Oath: Chapter One
Damien
Washington, D.C.
She knew I was watching her.
Like an innocent creature in the woods who sensed danger nearby, her body reacted to the force of my gaze. Only the trained eye of a hunter could pick up the signs. There was the slight tensing of her shoulders. The way her head tilted in my direction but didn’t fully turn. Her hand self-consciously rose to cover her heart as if her palm could smother the sudden rapid beating.
She angled her head a little further as she swept a thick golden curl behind her ear. I could just see the high curve of her flushed cheek as she trained her gaze downward, no doubt trying to catch a secretive glimpse of me from under her soot-black lashes. Her pink tongue flicked out to lick her lips. The champagne light from the chandelier suspended above picked up on the faint shimmer left behind.
Balls of ice clattered then settled in my glass as I tipped the smooth, amber liquid past my lips. The Macallan Rare single-malt scotch might as well have been rotgut whiskey for all I tasted it. The smoky vanilla and clove tones of the liquor did nothing to soothe my anger or cool my rising lust. Placing the now empty glass on the silver tray of a passing catering server, I crossed my arms over my chest as I leaned against the doorjamb.
The little minx was now doing her best to ignore me.
Her head was thrown back, and even over the annoying din of the surrounding party guests, the sound of her laughter reached me. It was too high-pitched and hollow as if she were forcing the sound past stiff, nervous lips. Some asshole in a cheap off-the-rack suit grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the makeshift dance floor set up in my parents’ spacious living room.
I didn’t recognize him but then I didn’t know many of the guests. I suspected neither did my little sister, Nadia, despite it being her eighteenth birthday party. Many would be high-profile businessmen with their wives as well as the occasional politician or policy maker. These were the people my family associated with in the light of day to help keep up the veneer of legitimacy.
My job in the Ivanov family was to associate with the types who only crawled out of their holes in the dead of night. I kept to the corners of fine society. Dark corners for doing dark deeds. It was how I had earned the moniker Demon Damien. If I showed up on someone’s doorstep, there were no more second chances. It was game over.
I nodded a greeting to my brother Gregor. He stopped a server and gave them some quick instruction before approaching. Despite being separated by several years, we were thick as thieves, always had been. We stood silently surveying the crowd. The same server approached with an old-fashioned glass filled with clear liquid, only one small cube of ice. No doubt Stoli Elit, his favorite vodka. Although Russian to my very core, I never developed a taste for the stuff, preferring the rich malty flavor of scotch instead.
Gregor nodded toward the server. “You need another?”
I trained my gaze back on her.
The DJ was playing I’m on Fire by Bruce Springsteen.
Hey little girl is your daddy home; did he go and leave you all alone…
Ignoring her dance partner, her body swayed to the soft, somnolent beat. Each curve hugged by crushed pink velvet, the dress slinking all the way down to her ankles. No doubt a designer dress she’d stolen from some boutique. She turned her back on me and shifted her hips from side to side. The velvet fabric caught snatches of light, illuminating the gentle swell of her ass. Her slender arms rose and slipped under her thick curtain of hair, raising the long length to expose the vulnerable pale skin of her neck. I could just make out the image of a small pink heart tattooed in the center. Irrational anger twisted in my stomach at the thought of another man touching her in such an intimate place, even if it was only with a tattoo needle.
Fuck.
I shifted my stance, trying to ease the increasingly pleasurable pain below my belt.
The little minx was toying with me. Foolishly thinking this crowded house full of guests would protect her.
She played with fire.
Knowing I had better at least be mostly sober for the fight that was brewing between me and her, I shook my head and waved the server away.
The man she was dancing with placed his hand on her hip, and I stiffened. Fortunately — for both of them — she swayed in the opposite direction, dislodging his grasp. She did it so effortlessly there wasn’t a doubt in my mind she had had plenty of practice dodging unwanted grabs. My jaw clenched so hard I swore my back teeth cracked. I took a deep breath through my nose, forcing myself to remain calm.
“His name is Pavel Rasskovich,” offered Gregor. I didn’t even bother to pretend to not know what he was talking about. “A low-level thug for the Novikoffs. He’s here as a bodyguard for one of the useless brothers.”
If he touched her again, he was a dead man.
I had no right to feel so possessive toward her. No right at all.
In fact, it was practically criminal. The girl was barely eighteen to my twenty-seven years.
Yelena Nikitina, my little sister’s best friend… and the very definition of trouble.
Stubborn and untamed, her father had let her run wild since her mother’s death with virtually no supervision or discipline.
There was the time eight years ago I’d caught her stealing a few silly makeup items from a local store. I had been home from college for the weekend. Her mother had just died, if I recall. She fought me like a wildcat when I snatched her by the arm after witnessing her pocketing the stolen loot. Her arm was so thin, I was worried I would break a bone if I squeezed too hard. She looked so small and vulnerable, but those big blue eyes still shone bright with defiance. Ignoring her protests, I had dragged her to the McDonald’s next door and bought her a Happy Meal.
She ate every bite as if it were her last meal. Or more accurately… her first.
It had made me sick to think that may have been the only half-way decent meal she had had in days. I’d made a mental note to have my parents speak with her father. He was a low-life hanger-on who occasionally did small jobs for my family. The sort of stuff we wouldn’t dirty our hands with. True to her nature, she’d stared me down the entire time, refusing to utter even a single word. She did, however, slip the small Hello Kitty toy that came with the meal into her pocket when she thought I wasn’t looking.
As I came back to the present, the same sick feeling twisted in my gut, but this time it was guilt. I’d spoken with my mother about Yelena’s welfare but that was as far as I’d taken it. Shortly after, Gregor got into that mess at his college and was shipped off to St. Petersburg. My life became more complicated with him gone. It was no excuse; simply the hard truth.
Still, I should have made sure my parents took an interest and looked after her.
I wasn’t technically responsible for her welfare but that wasn’t how I saw it.
I had let her down, abandoned her to the sloppy care of that piece of shit she called a father.
And now that little girl with the big blue eyes had grown into a woman — a young, still naive one — but nevertheless a woman.
And now she was in trouble — real trouble.
This time, I wouldn’t be able to pay off a simple shopkeeper and threaten him not to call the police.
She had gotten herself in deep with some ruthless people so dirty even my family refused to work with them.
Her only hope was for me to do what I should have done years ago.
I would let it be known she was under my protection.
I wasn’t sure even that would be enough to save her, but I’d be damned if I’d let her down again.
I would get her out of this mess and then send her far away. I’d lock her up in some European college where she would be safe from her own mistakes.
And from me.
There was no denying it. I wanted her, badly. My gaze hardened as I watched her body sway to the next song. Jealous of every undeserving man in the room who was witnessing her display. A display I was certain was done purely to antagonize me. I couldn’t say why. It wasn’t like I had spoken a word to her or even seen her in years. Just somehow, I knew she was as aware of me as I was of her. I could feel it, even across this distracting sea of chattering guests. A primal clash of wills.
Her soft hair fell in waves down her back. I itched to wrap the long locks around my fist as I claimed those full lips. I could practically feel the warmth of her skin and ached to inhale her scent as I crushed her to my chest. I needed to know if her eyes changed color when she was aroused. Would they become a deeper sapphire blue?
Clearing my throat, I forced myself to look away.
Christ.
She was my little sister’s friend and barely an adult.
This was wrong.
If I was truly going to save her, then it had to also be from myself. While I might be a better man than her father, it was only by a few degrees.
My life revolved around blood money. Selling arms to the highest bidder with no thought to who or what that man or country may be and not having the slightest care regarding their intentions. I wasn’t the one pulling the trigger, so I didn’t give a damn what they did with the guns I sold them. I never had a choice about entering the family business so there was no point in being morally judgmental about it. It was better to accept it and move on; after all, family was family, and they came first.
I didn’t have a choice, but I would make sure Yelena did.
She wasn’t like us. Her family didn’t have an empire to protect. She could escape this life if she chose. And even if she didn’t choose, I was choosing for her. She deserved better. I had the money to buy her a decent life… one away from me and all this violence and bullshit.
Glancing at my brother, I asked, “Have you seen Samara yet?”
He shook his head.
Speaking of family bullshit, my brother was being forced into an arranged marriage with our little sister’s other close friend, Samara Federova. Unlike Yelena, Samara’s family did have an empire. One they sold her to protect. It wasn’t my brother’s idea. It had been our father’s dying wish, one Gregor would see through no matter his feelings on the subject. His unenviable responsibility as the eldest son. Family was family. The millions Samara’s father demanded for her hand in marriage was paltry compared to the business and diplomatic connections we would receive once the Ivanov family was joined in marriage to the Federovs.
Gregor reached into his pocket and pulled out a Regius Double Corona cigar. They were the finest cigars in the world. Like me, he always demanded the best. It was part of the golden handcuffs which kept us tethered to this lifestyle. The luxury our ill-gotten gains afforded us had a rather seductive pull.
“I’m going to escape out the back and have a smoke. You coming?”
I shook my head.
Gregor followed my gaze as I once more watched Yelena on the dance floor. “When are you going to take care of that little situation we learned about today?”
Gregor was of course aware of the trouble Yelena had caused a few days ago. He had planned to handle the situation himself, but I insisted on taking ownership of the problem.
Just because I was forcing myself not to touch her — to claim her for my own — didn’t mean she wasn’t mine. In some strange way, I felt responsible for her. Her problems were my problems. “Soon.”
Gregor nodded as he took another sip of his drink. Laying it on a nearby tray, he nodded to me again and slipped through the crowd.
I returned my attention to Yelena.
Another man in a cheap suit had grabbed her from behind, wrapping his fat arms around her slim middle.
All my previous good intentions were gone.
Forgotten.
Fuck my good intentions.
Someone with my black soul had no business having good intentions anyway.
Yelena was mine and right now that asshole was touching her, which meant he had to die.
I stormed toward the dance floor… and her.
Savage Vows: Chapter One
Samara
“We’re going to get caught!”
Ignoring the warning, my boyfriend tugged harder on my arm.
The clatter of music and laughter from the party faded the farther Peter pulled me down the dark corridor. When I glanced back, I could just make out a shaft of light as it stretched across the marble-tiled entrance to the great hall. The servants had moved the ancient furnishings out and rolled the Persian carpets up to make room for the celebration. Hired catering staff dressed in ill-fitting tuxedo jackets passed around silver trays with either caviar canapés or glasses of Veuve Clicquot while everyone smiled and pretended to like one another.
From where it was tucked away on a thickly wooded lot along the Rock Creek Parkway, visitors could be forgiven if they thought they’d arrived at a creepy gothic manor. My friend Nadia’s massive granite house was probably over a hundred years ago.
The estate screamed old money and tradition, even though it was far from the truth.
It was only what they wanted people to think.
Instead, it was all just smoke and mirrors.
But I wasn’t allowed to talk about such things.
Peter’s warm hand was sweaty as it roughly clung to mine. As he dragged me down the shadowed labyrinth of hallways, he stopped before each threshold, twisting one doorknob after another to see if they were locked. Soon, the muted rattle of metal against wood and Peter’s soft curses replaced the music. Before long, he found a door the servants had neglected to secure. We slipped inside, and Peter softly clicked the door shut.
The room was mostly dark, only hints of moonlight filtering through the gauzy silver curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows.
We didn’t dare turn on a light.
I took a few careful steps inside, not wanting to bump into any furniture. Although I had played in my best friend Nadia’s house since I was a child, I hadn’t been paying attention, so I wasn’t sure which room Peter had pulled us into. I knew the first floor on this side of the house mostly contained a mixture of bedrooms, gaming areas, and offices.
A distinct scent clung to the air, the unmistakable mark of the room’s occupant.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled.
It was a warm woodsy scent with a hint of ginger and spice.
My eyes snapped open.
I knew that scent.
“We have to leave.”
“What?”
Clasping Peter’s forearm in a tight grip, I bent my knees and tugged, throwing my weight backward. “Please, Peter. We can’t stay in this room!”
My slight frame was not enough to budge him.
“No. All the other rooms are locked. Besides…” He snatched me around the waist, then yanked me against his chest. “This one has a bed.”
Peering over Peter’s shoulder, I widened my eyes as I could just make out the ominous outline of the four-poster bed.
That was his bed.
Clawing at Peter’s fingers, I freed myself from his hold.
I had to get out of here!
“No, Peter. You don’t understand!”
I couldn’t be caught in this bedroom.
In his bedroom.
Of course, I should have known he would be here tonight.
It was Nadia’s eighteenth birthday, after all.
It had been five years since I had last seen him, but it didn’t matter.
Ten years… hell, twenty years could pass and it still wouldn’t matter.
I would still be terrified of him.
I wasn’t sure why I was nervous.
It wasn’t like he cared–if he even knew who I was.
I had stopped myself from asking Nadia if he would be attending her birthday party at least a million times.
Because it didn’t matter.
If I kept telling myself that, it might actually be true. It had to be true. Besides, I had my own life now. I even had a boyfriend. I wasn’t that foolish little girl with a crush. Not anymore.
But that scent.
His cologne.
Bleu de Chanel.
The unmistakable scent of him.
Goose bumps rose on my arms.
He was here.
Pivoting on my heel, I clamored in the darkness for the doorknob, desperate to return to the party. Back to the music and light and dancing, to people and laughter… and safety.
As soon as I managed to open the door a sliver, it was wrenched from my hands and slammed shut.
Peter took hold of my shoulders, spun me around, and pushed me against the door.
“You’re such a fucking cock tease.”
The dim lighting threw his face into shadows, contorting his features into harsh lines. His breath had the fetid yeast smell of stale beer from the drink he’d stolen from the bar before the party began.
“What? Why would you—” Confusion scrambled my thoughts.
He clawed at the neckline of my dress, tearing it.
“Peter, stop!”
His palmed my breast, ruthlessly squeezing it. My eyes teared at the searing jolt of pain.
“The saintly Federovs and their virginal daughter. Your family thinks they are so much better than everyone else,” he jeered as he forced his knee between my thighs.
Digging my nails into his wrist, I struggled to break free. “Let me go!”
“I’m tired of hand jobs and dry humps. Come on, Samara,” he whined as he down crowded closer and tried to kiss me.
I stretched my head to the side, avoiding his lips. My mind could not keep up with Peter’s crazy display of emotions. Angry one second, but pleading the next. I knew he wasn’t happy with my decision not to go all the way, but he was insane if he thought I was going to have sex with him at my friend’s birthday party with my mother and father just down the hall.
Craning my neck, I kept pulling on his arm, trying to dislodge his painful grip on my breast.
“Peter, get off me!”
His free hand went for the zipper of his jeans. “I’ll be quick. I’ll even pull out, so you won’t get pregnant.”
This isn’t happening.
Although we could never talk about Nadia’s family business, I knew security guards always patrolled the grounds. Maybe if I cried out, I’d get lucky and one would be in earshot and come help me. With the loud music, there was no chance of anyone from the party hearing me. As I opened my mouth to scream, there was the soft shush of a sliding door opening. The cool rush of midnight air brought with it the acrid scent of cigar smoke.
Peter released his grasp, whirling around.
We both stared as the immense dark figure of a man stalked in from the stone patio running along the northside of the bedroom.
It was him.
Gregor Ivanov.
Nadia’s older brother.
In the barely lit room, he was still deep in shadows, but I knew it was him.
My gaze followed the glowing end of the cigar he must have been smoking outside.
Without saying a word, he stepped inside and leaned against the front of the desk. He took another slow drag from his cigar; the end glowing brightly like an evil, all-seeing eye. When he exhaled, a halo of sweet tobacco smoke encircled him. With slow deliberation, Gregor set the cigar aside, slid open a side drawer… and withdrew a revolver.
My hand flew up to cover my mouth.
Peter shifted behind me.
When Gregor’s chilly voice finally broke the tense silence, my body started at the sound.
“Were you aware that Russians did not invent Russian roulette?”
Flicking the chamber open, he reached into the drawer a second time, then raised his arm. The bright casing of a single bullet caught the moonlight.
“An American author made it up for a short story,” Gregor continued as he slid the bullet into the revolver chamber with a click.
“Who is this guy?” Peter whispered over my shoulder.
“Shut up,” I hissed through clenched teeth, afraid to even move my lips. My body tensed so tightly it felt like brittle glass. I was sure the slightest loud sound or sudden movement would make me shatter.
Gregor straightened to his full height.
Peter and I both gasped, stumbling a few steps backward.
“Still, everyone believes it must be true. Probably because we Russians are so crazy, no?” Gregor said as he took
several steps toward us.
Peter’s fingers dug into my shoulders as he pushed me forward.
My fingers turned to ice as all the feeling left my body. My tongue felt heavy when I tried to form my next words.
“Gregor, it’s… Samara, I’m Nadia’s—”
“I know who you are, Samara.”
My heart lurched at the sound of my name on his lips—at the seductive way he softly rounded the r.
Despite both of our families living in America now, Gregor had been sent back to Russia just over five years ago because of some hastily covered-up scandal at his college. So his accent was thicker, giving his voice decadent darkness that was almost mesmerizing.
My brow furrowed. How could he know who I was? The last time I’d been around him, I was nothing more than his little sister’s awkward friend, barely thirteen years old. He hadn’t known I was alive.
Without warning, Gregor reached out and snatched Peter by the collar, dragging him out from behind me. Peter’s gangly limbs flailed as Gregor manhandled him across the room. He tossed the man into a chair in front of the cold fireplace.
Placing his hands on the armrests, Peter immediately tried to get up. When Gregor raised the gun, Peter fell back onto the seat. His high-pitched voice broke as he stuttered, “We didn’t mean to come into your room.”
Gregor cut his grey gaze toward me.
I hugged myself around the waist, trying to stop my body from trembling. His steely eyes surveyed me from head to toe.
He took a step forward.
With a gasp, I stumbled backward. I couldn’t help it.
As much as the man enthralled me…
He terrified me more.
Always had.
Except now, he was even bigger and scarier with way more tattoos. Even in the darkened bedroom, I could make out the outline of an image on his neck and several more on his hands, making the tailored suit he wore a mockery of civility. The man radiated dark energy and barely leashed anger.
His eyes narrowed. I could tell my reaction displeased him.
Switching the gun to his left hand, he kept it trained on Peter. After giving him a warning look, Gregor returned his attention to me. He raised his right arm.
Instinctively, I moved back again. The hard look on his face stilled me. After holding my gaze long enough to freeze the blood in my veins, his eyes lowered to the torn neckline of my dress.
Glancing down, it mortified me to see the top of my pink lace bra exposed. Despite the low lighting, you could already see the beginning of a bruise on my soft flesh from Peter’s rough handling.
Using two fingers, Gregor pulled aside the fabric, exposing more of my skin to his gaze. Using just the tip of his middle finger, he caressed the outline of the bruise. I hissed in air through my teeth when he touched a particularly sensitive spot.
His jaw tightened. The steel of his eyes turned to molten fire.
Turning his head, he looked at Peter as he cocked back the hammer.
Peter’s eyes widened as he threw up his hands in pitiful defense. “No!”
His plea fell on deaf ears.
Without saying a word, Gregor pulled the trigger.
