The Line Walkers

My pretty little Puppet dreamed of monsters and things that go bump in the night. She ached to forget about responsibilities and expectations long enough to let a faceless predator chase her through the woods. So I gave Peyton Everett everything she ever dreamed of. Once I hired her as my housekeeper, I brought her to the middle of nowhere to maintain my estate, and then I anonymously contacted her through the website she only visited when she was alone.

My pretty little Storm didn't want a knight in shining armor to save her from captivity. Which was good, because my reputation wasn't built on being prince-like to damsels in distress. No, it was built on being a psychotic menace who often played surgeon with my targets before I eliminated them. That was precisely what I did to the men who harmed Olivia Everett before I saved her from the Velvet Cage. I stalked them. I hunted them. And then I delivered their missing pieces to her on a silver platter. Piece by piece, I healed her brokenness with those souvenirs. But I had to do it quickly.

I bought a club in Boston to start over, to drown out the screams of my past with thumping bass and dim-lit pleasures. It was supposed to be simple—remodel the mess, retrain the staff, and open the doors. Then she took the stage. Now, we're locked in a battle of wills, and I can't decide if I want to pin her against the nearest wall or make her beg for mercy. Either way, she's under my skin. Every time she flashes that defiant smile, I feel the world tilt on its axis, and I'm not sure if I'm falling for her—or falling apart. The more I push, the more she pulls.