When he showed up with a gunshot wound and asked me to lie to the police, I knew I had a decision to make. I could risk my entire career to protect him, or I could do the right thing and turn him in. The choice should have been easy, but it wasn’t. Not when his brother was my friend. Lines were blurred, and suddenly the morals in my life were tipped upside down. We’d been taught to trust those in uniform, but what if the monster standing before me—swearing to keep me safe—wasn’t the bad guy at all?

I retired from the Army Special Forces, purchased a bucolic little Upstate farm, and intended to spend my winter years restoring the ancient house, away from people. It wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be, but it was too late to change course now. When I got a call from an old colleague, everything changed. A favor was owed. A wounded agent needed a place to lie low and hide out from the criminal organization that was hard on their heels.

Célian Laurent. Manhattan royalty. Notorious playboy. Heir to a media empire...and my new boss. I could have impressed him, if not for last month's unforgettable one-night stand. I left it with more than orgasms and a pleasant memory - namely, his wallet. Now he's staring me down like I'm the dirt under his Italian loafers, and I'm supposed to take it. But the thing about being Judith "Jude" Humphry is I have nothing to lose. Brooklyn girl. Infamously quirky. Heir to a stack of medical bills and a tattered couch.

My parents made a deal with the devil, and now I’m a Hell Fae captive. Enslaved. Owned. Thrown to the Hellhounds and expected to survive. Because only survivors earn their mates. It doesn’t matter that I don’t want to be a bride. I’m a Halfling. Part Hell Fae and part girl-who-doesn’t-give-a-shit. But because of a bargain, he owns me. Lucifer. The Hell Fae King who created this godforsaken realm. Also known as the orchestrator of these deadly bride-trial games.

The Irish Mafia used the Four Art Gallery to launder money. What's good enough for the mob was good enough for us. My organization has sworn to take down the criminal underground. The Greens reigned supreme over my beloved city, and it was time to burn them down. My job is to launder money for our operations, and gather intel. I was never supposed to be noticed. But then I marveled at a painting on the wall... a painting made by a true artist. A master of his craft. It made me gasp, "Who did this?"