After leaving the Big Apple and her bad memories for Tennessee, November starts working for her dad at his strip club doing the books. The one time she’s allowed there during club hours she runs into Asher Mayson. He’s perfect until he opens his mouth and makes assumptions. November wants nothing to do with him - but too bad for her - fate has other plans. Asher Mayson has never had a problem getting a woman - that is, not until November. Now all he can think about is making her his and keeping her safe.

Charming, captivating, seductive—and a cold-blooded killer. I married the Pakhan of the Russian Bratva anyway. I had to, it was part of the deal. Now, I’m faking marital bliss as I tremble with fear, and I cannot wait to be out of the clutches of this ruthless man.

When he invited me to join him for a drink, I thought Alessandro was an ordinary guest at my family's hotel. I didn't know I belonged to him until he told me right there in the restaurant. I thought I had a say in the matter. But when I stood up to leave, it just earned me a sore bottom for the plane ride to New York, where our wedding was already planned for the next day. But I was soaking wet for him before he even walked me down the aisle.

I shouldn't have remembered him. He was just a guy who walked through a restaurant. I didn't know his name. We never made eye contact. There was no connection between us at all. But I could feel him. The tingle down my spine. The command in his presence. The snap of tension in the air around him. That was the first time I saw him, and I was captivated.

My bride. The daughter of my enemy. She's nothing more than a part of my revenge. I'm the one who holds her life in my hands. As well as her body. And soon, her very will. Yet, she refuses to break. This woman disarms me, not with weapons but with words. And not with a fist, but with a simple kiss. But a match made in hate can have no other ending except war.

Our first meeting was at a nightclub, and it was something straight out of my most romantic fantasies. My ovaries exploded at the sight of the Russian God. And by God, I mean he was ripped, tall, dark, and deadly attractive. There were enough sparks between us to light up a city. Then an explosion blasted through the nightclub, and we got trapped together for three hours, sharing our most personal details...everything but our names. Two years later, our second meeting is the complete opposite of the first. It's clear Misha Petrov, a Russian enforcer for the bratva, despises me.

It was supposed to be a harmless kiss at a lavish debutante ball. A clandestine moment with a handsome stranger. But unlike his namesake, my Romeo isn’t driven by love. He’s fueled by revenge. To him, I’m a chess piece. Leverage. His rival’s betrothed. To me, he is a man deserving of poison. A dark prince I refuse to marry. He thinks I’ll accept my fate. Well, I plan to rewrite it. And in my story, Juliet doesn’t die. But Romeo? He perishes.

Wes Silver wasn’t looking for love, but when July Mayson literally knocks him on his ass during their first encounter, his world is turned upside down by the quirky blonde, and every moment with her makes him more determined to protect her. July Mayson doesn’t understand the pull she feels toward bad-boy biker Wes Silver, but she knows being with him is like nothing she’s ever felt before. Now all she has to do is tell her overprotective father, Asher Mayson, that she’s found her boom.

One minute you’re a struggling graphic designer in L.A. who's finally coming to terms with being single forever, and the next, you're flying to New York in a private jet to get engaged to your ex-boyfriend’s older brother. At least...that’s what everyone thinks. Forced to clean up his playboy image in order to protect his company, Beckham Sinclair, the city’s most eligible billionaire bachelor, wants me to be his fake fiancée and personal assistant. Now I'm spending every spare second with a man I thought I’d never see again.

Running away from home at 17 wasn't easy. Let's face it, though, nothing before or in the ten years since has ever been easy for me. And I'm doing okay—sorta. I just need to keep scraping by, living under the radar. Staying out of people's way, off people's minds. When a man walks through my open patio door, stepping boldly into my home and my life, I should be scared, frightened, terrified. I must be more broken than I realized because I'm none of those things. I'm intrigued—and I'm wondering if the way to take control of my life is by giving in to him.