Our Scrappy Queen

This Scrappy Queen needs to be controlled...

I’ve been stalked by a guy for months who doesn’t under the words: Not Interested. But once he escalates his threat by putting my coworker in the hospital, I go on the offensive to give the creep a taste of his own medicine. As a self-proclaimed control freak, I refuse to wait for him to come after me. When I sabotage his wooded torture shack, I accidentally blow up the house and the three-month long investigation belonging to the team that’s been watching him. Of course, I don’t know they aren’t his goons when they come for me, so our introduction consists of me running, cursing, kicking, and punching, only to ultimately lose the fight, but not before I give one a black eye.

We’ve been tracking this scumbag for three months, waiting for him to lead us to the big fish-the head of the Difallo human trafficking empire. But when a hellcat blows up our plans, literally, we scoop her up for questioning. She fights us like no woman ever has before, which unfortunately for everyone involved, only turns us on. Her curves are inviting, her tongue is wicked sharp, and her right hook is a thing of beauty-making us want to keep her mouth busy while we tether her hands high above her head.

But when we realize she’s the scumbag’s victim and not an arsonist, our protective instincts roar to life.

She says she’s not interested in our help, but her actions say otherwise, and although we recognize her skill, we can’t leave her to take care of this on her own. Not when we’re already convinced she belongs with us.

With her life on the line, she has to give up control to survive. When she does...

She’s ours to protect, ours to fight for, ours to love.