Zoe Blake Book Excerpts
Welcome to temptation.
Here you’ll find exclusive excerpts and sneak peeks from Zoe Blake’s dark romance worlds—where power meets passion, and surrender is never simple. Each scene offers a taste of danger, desire, and the kind of love that leaves bruises on the soul. Step closer… and read what happens when good girls crave the wicked.
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!
Sweet Brutality: NSFW Excerpt
Carinna
“Please, why won’t you leave?”
Maxim circled around the chair.
I held the selfie stick up. “Stay back.”
He grabbed the stick and tossed it aside. He then wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me flush against his chest. He placed a hand around my neck and pressed up against my jaw, tilting my head back. “I’m not leaving, and if you were honest with yourself, you’d admit you don’t want me to.”
My lower lip trembled. “You frighten me.”
He gently kissed my cheek, then my lips, then the tip of my nose. “Never be frightened of me, babygirl. I would never harm such a beautiful creature as you.” He ran his tongue over my lower lip. “A beauty like yours is to be treasured, worshipped.”
His mouth teased mine. I breathed in his air, falling deeper under his spell. My eyes half-closed as he lowered his head. At the last possible minute, sanity returned. I pushed him away. “No. I can’t. This is too crazy. You have to leave.”
Maxim rubbed his jaw. Then pierced me with a glare. “I knew it.”
I surveyed him suspiciously. “Knew what?”
Without saying another word, he grabbed me by the back of the head and crushed his mouth to mine. He gave no quarter as his tongue speared inside my mouth, taking ownership. As I struggled in his grasp, he pulled up the hoodie from behind. A cool breeze touched my lower back before the first sharp sting of his slap. The impact drove my hips against him, where I felt the hard outline of his c@ck pressing against his jeans.
He sp@nked me again and again. His mouth swallowed my cries. With each heated sl@p, I was pushed against his hips.
He fisted my hair and deepened the kiss before finally breaking free. “This is what you want. Isn’t it, babygirl? Not sweet words of love, but rough and dirty with a hint of p@in.”
The truth of his words struck at my very soul. Oh, God! “No, no! You’re wrong!”
Using his grip on my hair, he pushed me facedown over the edge of the low chair. For the second time that night, he yanked down my leggings, exposing my @ss. I braced, but wasn’t prepared for the intense, humiliating pain of his palm striking my bare flesh. He sp@nked me again and again. My pussy clenched as the stinging heat pooled between my legs.
He pulled my hair as he pressed his crotch against my ass. The rough denim sent sparks of pain across my tortured skin. He rubbed my right butt cheek, then squeezed it hard. I squealed in pain as I rose up on my toes.
“Tell me you like this,” he commanded.
I buried my face in the back upholstery of the chair. The fabric muffled my response. “I don’t. It hurts.”
“That’s the whole point, babygirl.”
Sweet Savagery: Chapter One
Dylan
Chicago, Illinois
I sat on the floor of my tiny studio apartment staring at the piles of cash around me.
The boxes arrived a few days ago from Russia, sent by my Uncle Harry. Despite receiving a stern email from him warning me not to open the boxes, I didn’t waste any time tearing into them.
I was the weird one in my family. The only one who had chosen not to pursue a life of crime. I rarely spoke to anyone related to me and hadn’t seen my Uncle Harry since my father’s last parole hearing over ten years ago, when I was still a teenager. So when I received the boxes and a cryptic email from my uncle addressed to his favorite niece I was, of course, suspicious.
And judging from the stacks of cash taking up half my apartment floor, I had every right to be.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS!
My uncle had sent me five hundred thousand dollars through the freaking mail.
What was strange was, each box only weighed about six pounds. I totally would have thought thousands of hundred-dollar bills would have weighed more. Although, to be honest, that wasn’t the truly strange part. The truly strange part was that I had freaking FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS strewn about on a ten-dollar, slightly stained throw rug I had purchased from the Salvation Army last month.
Once again, I picked up my cell phone and tried to call my Uncle Harry. I had no idea what time it was in Russia, or even why he was there, and I didn’t care. I wanted an explanation. When he didn’t answer, I tried calling my other uncle, Uncle Frank. If anyone else was involved in this mess along with Uncle Harry, it would be my Uncle Frank. They were two petty criminal peas in a pod. Uncle Frank’s cell number was disconnected. Typical. Tossing the phone aside, I sighed as I surveyed the money.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind this money was dirty, like really, really dirty. Anything anyone in my family touched was always filthy. They wouldn’t know how to make an honest dollar if it slapped them in the face.
What the hell was I going to do?
I glanced at the alarm clock and cried out. Damn, I was late for work. Work, another concept my family was completely unfamiliar with. I was the first in our family to attend community college. Now I was scraping money together for a real estate broker license.
Four thousand three hundred and sixty dollars, that’s how much I was in the hole right now. Between the pre-licensing courses, licensing exam, my basic real estate agent license and now the desk fees at the brokerage where I worked to become a licensed broker, I was in serious credit card debt. It had taken me three years of saving some of my server tips just to scrape enough together to cover costs while I took a huge pay hit launching my new career.
I lifted the edge of my Murphy bed and tucked it back into the wall cabinet so I could open the bathroom door, and turned the knob for my shower. The old pipes rattled and clanked. Rusty water spurted from the faucet. I turned the knob to cold so I wouldn’t be wasting hot water and money as I waited for the water to run clear. I turned on the coffeepot and reached for my toothbrush. One thing about being poor and living in a tiny studio apartment, everything I needed was literally within arm’s reach, especially when the kitchen and bathroom shared the same sink. Swishing the mint foam around my mouth as I brushed, I glanced over my shoulder at the money still lying on the floor.
Forty-one-hundred-dollar bills.
Forty out of five thousand one-hundred-dollar bills.
That’s all I would need.
Forty thin pieces of rectangular paper and most of my problems would be gone.
Disgusted at my thoughts, I spit in the sink and shrugged out of my T-shirt before stepping in the shower. My breath seized in my lungs as the icy water hit my chest. I had forgotten to turn the hot water knob. Sidestepping out of the freezing stream, I frantically turned the knob to add warm water, but it broke off in my hand. With a resigned sigh, I inhaled a deep breath and braced myself for the arctic chill as I flipped my long hair over my head and reached for the shampoo.
As I closed my eyes to avoid the suds, all I could see were the neat stacks of cash lying only a few feet away.
Wouldn’t I be doing a good thing by using just a tiny portion of the money for honest purposes? I wanted to have my own brokerage firm one day. A firm where female real estate agents could safely work without having to worry about getting their asses pinched or being told to fetch coffee. It may be the twenty-first century, but in many ways the real estate industry was still living in the 1950s.
In order to do that, I needed money, way more money than I was currently making. It would be at least ten years before I could afford to start my own business, unless — I peeked around the shower curtain at the money.
With a frustrated huff, I finished scrubbing the suds out of my hair and got out of the shower. Wrapping a slightly scratchy towel around my middle, I poured coffee into my favorite chipped mug and added sugar and powdered cream. No daily Starbucks on the way to work for me. I couldn’t afford such tiny luxuries.
I unplugged the coffee maker and plugged in the hair dryer. As I combed through the tangles in my hair with my fingers, I looked in the mirror and once again saw the cash.
It wasn’t like I would use it all, maybe just fifty thousand dollars’ worth. That would be enough to cover rent for a year, office furniture, equipment, and some splashy colorful marketing brochures. If I borrowed just a few thousand more, I could even get a professional website done instead of a basic do-it-yourself WordPress one. The appearance of wealth in this business was essential in getting the higher-end clients. Money attracted money. It was why I spent my rent money on nice dress suits and real-looking pearl necklaces. I would get nowhere in this business showing up in an ill-fitting thrift store outfit.
I leaned over the sink to apply mascara. My gaze traveled again to the cash. Okay, sixty thousand dollars and not a penny more. I would buy myself a decent wardrobe and maybe lease a nice Lincoln Town Car to shuttle my clients around Chicago to different properties for sale.
Sixty thousand dollars wasn’t that much, only six hundred bills out of five thousand. It probably wouldn’t even be missed. I would then donate the rest to charity or maybe play Santa Claus to the other hard-up residents in my building. I could leave little envelopes of cash for each of them to help cover rent and food. I couldn’t go to hell for using dirty money if I used most of it for good, right?
Going to the police was out of the question. I may have distanced myself from my criminal family, but I still shared their aversion to authority. Besides, with my juvenile record, there was no way they would take me at my word that the cash had just arrived on my doorstep and that I had nothing to do with it. And of course there was the bonus that it had arrived in boxes from Russia. Sure, nothing shady about that. My eyes rolled so hard I gave myself a headache.
I tiptoed between the piles of cash as I crossed the room to my bedroom/hall/linen/pantry closet. I selected a deep cranberry red A-line skirt with white flowers and matching white silk blouse that I had gotten a few weeks ago at the Anne Taylor Factory outlet and got dressed. I completed the outfit with a pair of black ballet flats and my favorite fake-but-real-looking pearl necklace.
I would rather wear four-inch platform heels to make up for my five foot six inch frame, but I had an open house today and would be on my feet for hours. It was smarter to wear the flats. It was a shame. My life was a little easier when I was taller than the men around me. Especially when one of those men was Larry, my boss. Middle-aged, balding and with a pooch of a belly, he somehow thought he was God’s gift to women.
I stared down at the cash at my feet. It was nice to dream, but there was no way I was going to touch one lousy bill of it for myself. That’s how it would start. Compromising my principles once would make it that much easier to compromise them again, then again. I had turned away from that life when I was a teenager. It had taken years to clean up my act and break free of my criminal family’s binds, and I wouldn’t turn back now. Even if abandoning those principles now made my dream of owning my own brokerage firm a reality, I would always know I had purchased it with tainted money. It wouldn’t be truly mine. It wouldn’t be something I had earned through hard work and determination.
With a sigh, I bent down to pick up several piles of crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. I turned and surveyed my apartment. Where the hell could I hide all this money until I figured out what to do with it? I had precious few options in my studio apartment. There were no cabinets under the sink, and I’d already stuffed my closet full of clothes and ramen noodles. I surveyed the Murphy bed. It would have to do.
I pulled the bed back down to the floor, piled the cash on top and then quickly raised the bed frame back into its upright position. I snatched several wayward bills as they floated in the air and shoved them between the mattress and wall.
With one last sip of my now lukewarm coffee, I raced out the door. I would figure out what to do about the dirty money later after I got ahold of one of my uncles. For now the money, and I, were safe enough. Although we weren’t close, there was no way my Uncle Harry would have shipped the cash to me if he thought someone was actively looking for it, or if it would put my life in danger. Family was
still family.
So, it wasn’t like I had to worry about some big Russian thug breaking down my door for it.
Sweet Depravity: Chapter One
Mary
I had every intention of murdering whoever was on the other side of that door.
Cold-blooded, heartless murder, and I would get away with it too because anyone who pounded on someone’s door at seven o’clock in the morning deserved to get murdered in the worst way possible.
After flicking open the pathetic excuse for a lock, I snatched at the brass chain secured across the door, further loosening the already wobbly screws. Putting the chain across each night really was a useless endeavor. Basically only good for a false sense of security. An asthmatic eighty-year-old man could cough on this ancient door and it would fall open. Such was the life of a penniless graduate student living in a first-floor apartment in a slightly dodgy neighborhood.
With a huff, I threw the door open. “Who the hell do you think you—?”
My mouth fell open.
In a rather ironic twist, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. The man standing on my threshold had come to murder me instead of the other way around.
There really was no other reasonable conclusion. The fact that I had done nothing, at least to my knowledge, to warrant someone wanting to murder me was immaterial. I couldn’t imagine this man being anything other than a murderer or at the very least a violent criminal.
This was all incredibly confusing considering he was also the most devastatingly handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on.
He was insanely tall. I mean, really? Was it absolutely necessary to be that much over six feet tall? All those extra inches did was make a girl feel small and vulnerable, and make her wonder what it would feel like if he crowded her against a wall and did that super sexy lean in move.
The darkly inked tattoos on his hands and neck were in stark contrast to the obviously expensive tailored suit he was wearing. His jet-black hair was wet and slicked back as if he had just showered. I could pick up the hints of musk and jasmine from his aftershave.
Scariest of all were his eyes; they were black and hooded, almost like the demon eyes from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. His head was slightly down as he stared at me, giving him an even more sinister appearance.
My hands shook as I tightened the belt on my leopard print silk robe with the pink trim . Those same demon eyes flashed down to my waist, then slowly rose to my chest, then back to my face to pierce me with a glare. Thankfully, I’d been so tired last night I fell asleep in my bra and panties instead of naked as I usually did. It wasn’t much but at least they were some protection beyond just my flimsy robe.
He twisted his jaw as he gestured to me with his left hand, which seemed weighed down by a heavy silver signet ring. “Is this how you answer the door? Dressed like a woman begging to be fucked?”
It took a moment for my mind to register what he said because of the heavy Russian accent. My eyes widened the moment it did. With an outraged cry, I tried to slam the door in his face. His flattened palm prevented it. I had no choice but to take a step back as he entered the apartment and closed the door. He reached behind him and twisted the lock just above the doorknob. It slid into place with an ominous click.
The air seized in my lungs. Since they’d painted half the windows shut and the other half were rusted shut, there really was no other way out of the apartment. I could scream but I doubted even my next-door neighbor, old Mrs. York, would hear me. The only good thing about the dilapidated brick building my apartment was in was its crazy-thick walls. Well, usually it was a good thing for when you wanted to play your music loud or have a party. When you were being threatened by a possible homicidal criminal, not so much.
My phone!
My phone was in my purse on the sofa.
Keeping my gaze trained on him, I took a few steps back. The sofa was in my peripheral vision. I needed to get to the other end to my Loungefly embossed skulls and Hello Kitty black and pink purse. The man surveyed my apartment with a mixture of disgust and shock on his face. As he turned his attention to the locks on the door behind him, I made my move. I lunged over the back of the sofa and stretched out my arms to grab my purse. My hand slipped inside and grasped the rounded edge of my cellphone. Dragging it out of my purse, I swiped the screen with my finger and moved to tap the emergency button on the lower left-hand corner when a pair of warm
hands wrapped around my hips.
His legs pressed against the back of mine, making me painfully aware of the short length of my robe. With me bent over like this, it barely covered my ass. His entire body leaned over mine as his right hand slid up my outstretched arm and pulled at the phone in my grasp. I clung to it tightly, as if it were my only lifeline. His other hand tightened on my hip, an unmistakable warning.
His breath teased the skin on my neck as he breathed near my ear, “You won’t be needing this.” With his accent, the you sounded like a low purr, and the won’t sounded more like the scary villain von’t. Instead of putting the inflection at the end of the sentence, he put it in the middle, which strangely emphasized the force of his command.
He pulled the phone free and tossed it out of my reach. Not willing to give up so easily, I started screaming, “Hey Siri! Call the police!”
Don’t Stand So Close to Me by The Police played.
Oh great. Hey Siri, please play my Perfect Songs to Get Murdered To playlist.
Shifting my hips, I placed my weight on my left foot and tried to break free of his grasp. I was spun around and pulled flush against his body by a powerful arm wrapped around my waist. My head tilted back to stare up at his uncompromising face. Caught between him and the back of the sofa, my hips ground against his. Something hard and long, really long, pressed against my abdomen.
Oh. My. God.
The handsome criminal quirked an eyebrow, the right corner of his upper lip rising with a satisfied smirk. He had the audacity to not show the least bit of chagrin. Meanwhile, my cheeks flamed scarlet. Grasping at the open neckline of my robe, I scrunched the fabric near my collarbone in my fist as I lowered my head to avoid his arrogant scrutiny.
Raising my chin with a finger, he asked “Is this the apartment of Emma Doyle?”
Once again, his Russian accent was so thick, I had to focus on the words as he rolled his R’s and made my roommate and best friend’s name sound more like Eeema than Emma.
It finally clicked.
He was a big fucking scary Russian dude and my roommate was dating a big fucking scary Russian dude. This could be bad. Either this man was a friend of Dimitri’s — or an enemy. Until I knew which, I couldn’t possibly endanger my best friend.
Twisting my head to break his grasp on my chin, I dug my fingernails into my palms to keep myself from shaking. Inhaling a hesitant breath I said, “I don’t know who that is.”
The tip of his finger traced over my cheekbone, down the side of my face and under my jaw to stop at the base of my throat. “Your beautiful throat flutters, right here, when you lie.”
I licked my lips and watched as his dark gaze zeroed in on my mouth. “I’m… I’m not lying. I’ve never heard of anyone named Emma Doyle.”
His hand moved quickly to grasp me around the throat just under my jaw. Dropping my grip on my robe, I wrapped my fingers around his
wrists and tried to claw at him, but my short red nails did nothing to force him to relent.
He leaned in low, the scent of coffee and peppermint on his breath. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Don’t you know it is dangerous to lie to a man like me…
Mary?”
My body jerked as if someone had slapped me.
He knew my name.
I swallowed. “What do you want?” I rasped.
He shifted back slightly and looked down. With his free hand, he slipped two fingers inside the neckline of my robe and pulled it open.
I whimpered, but his grip on my throat held me in place.
His hooded gaze flicked up to mine. “Shhh, krasotka. Ne dvigaysya. YA prosto khochu prikosnut’sya.”
I had absolutely no idea what he was saying, but it sounded both scary and sexy as hell, which was so beyond twisted and wrong that it would take half a bottle of tequila for me to even start analyzing what I was thinking right now. There was just something about his heavy Russian accent. It was so deep and low, a somber purr that was hypnotic.
His fingertip traced the red ribbon which ran in and out of the lace outline of my black bra. “It was wrong for you to open the door dressed like this, krasotka. There are many dangerous men out there who would take advantage of a beautiful woman such as yourself… who’s all alone.”
“Dangerous men, like you?”
He rubbed the pad of his thumb over my lower lip. “Exactly like me.”
I rose on my toes to try to loosen his grip. “I’m not alone. My boyfriend will be back any second now.”
He smiled — and it was terrifying. “I hope for his sake you are lying to me again. I hadn’t planned on killing anyone today, but if a man were to walk through that door and try to claim you as his own, I would shoot him between the eyes.”
Claim me? What was I, a piece of luggage on an airport baggage carousel? Who talks like that? Had he really just said he hadn’t planned on killing anyone — today? Meaning on other days that option was up for grabs?
He released his grip and took a step back. He flicked open the button on his suit jacket and opened the flaps to reveal a shoulder holster with a gun in it. Wrapping his fingers around its handle, he pulled the weapon free. It was gold-plated and massive, like something out of an action movie.
He leveled the gun at the door and pulled back the hammer. “So which is it, krasotka? Are you lying or do I shoot the next person who walks through that door?”
My shocked gaze raced between the gun, his thin-lipped, determined expression, and the closed door. This couldn’t be happening. Of course there was no boyfriend. There hadn’t been a boyfriend in ages, but there was my best friend, and she could return home at any
moment.
Raising my arms, I waved my palms. “Stop! Stop! There is no boyfriend. Please put the gun down.”
He uncocked the hammer and set the weapon down on the side table. Curling his hands into fists, he leaned in and rested them on the top of the sofa on either side of my hips, caging me in with his body. “So you were lying to me… again.”
What the hell was I supposed to say? My mind went blank. “I… I….”
He shifted and pressed his lower body against mine.
I stilled at the threatening press of his hard shaft, afraid to even breathe. Everything about this man screamed danger, run away, from his demeanor to his intimidating height, from his arm and chest muscles to his tattoos. He wasn’t tall with lean muscle like someone who worked out at the gym or played sports. He had that bulky, brute strength kind of build. The kind that said gyms were for posers, I’d rather just get into bar fights and flip cars to keep in shape. With his dark looks and arrogant smile, he also screamed bad boy trouble. Which is of course why my nipples were hard and pressing against the scratchy cheap lace of my bra, and my thighs were clenched.
My brain was shrieking homicidal criminal psychopath, run! While my body was ready to lay back and scream take me now, make it hurt!
With a single finger he started to circle one erect nipple through the silk of my robe. His voice was deceptively soft and low. “What kind of punishment do you think you deserve for lying to me?”
My cheeks flamed as he continued to caress the curve of my breast. Humiliated he had even noticed my involuntary response to him, I swallowed past the dry fear in my throat. “I know what you are trying to do and you don’t scare me. I’m not telling you anything.”
He ran the back of his knuckles over my stomach. “Your bravado is admirable but unnecessary. Dimitri Kosgov sent me. We are business partners. He is concerned about the lack of security in your apartment. He wants to make sure you and Emma are safe.”
There was absolutely no reason why I should, but I believed him. It sounded like precisely the type of thing Emma’s new overbearing and overprotective boyfriend would do.
Slipping that single finger into the knot at my waist, he tugged, loosening the belt. As my robe fell open completely, exposing my bra and bare midriff, he continued, “And trust me, krasotka, scaring youis the last thing I want to do to you right now.”
My knees buckled. I reached back to grasp the sofa behind me to stay upright. I had to force myself to breathe, feeling every shaky breath that entered and left my lungs as I tried to focus on his intense gaze. “Who are you?”
“My name is Vasili Lukovich Rostov, but you may call me Vaska.”
“Why are you doing this?” I was no longer referring to why he was in my apartment asking about Emma.
He shrugged. “Because I can. In my world, nothing is off-limits. If I see something I want,” he paused and ran his heated gaze over me, “I take it.”
I blinked. I wasn’t expecting such raw honesty. “In my world, a man asks permission first.”
He chuckled and responded in his heavy Russian accent, “Then I guess it is a good thing we are not in your world.”
“We are in my apartment,” I boldly fired back with more moxie than I felt.
“True, but it is still my world, and in my world, I make the rules and decide the punishments for those who break them.” His fingertip traced the top of my panties.
This had gone way, way too far. There was allowing myself to get lost in a dangerous bad boy fantasy for a moment and then there was the reality of a dangerous man with a gun standing in the middle of my living room threatening to punish me.
My shrieking brain finally won out. I ducked under his arm and desperately ran across the living room. Crossing the threshold to my bedroom, I turned and slammed the door shut, locking it. I backed away and frantically scanned the room looking for something to prop against the door. The room was too small for anything more than a double bed and a rickety vanity with two loose table legs.
I could hear his measured footsteps on the other side of the door.
I backed away as I tightened the dangling robe belt around my waist and braced for his angry shouts or pounding fist.
Vaska did neither.
Without warning, he kicked the door open and stalked into my bedroom.
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.
