Words are funny things. Their meaning, the pictures they paint in the minds of those that hear them: they’re not always the same and to me at least, that makes them meaningless. Take for instance the phrase ‘black widow’. Those words conjure the image of a spider, an eight-legged creature with the red imprint of an hourglass on its abdomen. However, instead of speaking of an arachnid, of the resident of a spindly and dew-laden web, the people who whisper those words are talking about something much different. They’re talking about me. From what I’m told, I’m called the Black Widow because no man I’ve ever loved has survived. Yet, I have no memory of any of it. My new home leads me to the definition of another vague and meaningless word. It’s a place where I’m supposed to seek refuge. A place of retreat and security. It’s a place where I’m supposed to be kept safe because I’m sick. But the definition for this place is wrong and the word becomes meaningless when you’re tucked away and made silent by drugs and pretty white jackets. My name is Alexandra Sutton and this is the story of what happened when I was imprisoned inside an Asylum.

She caught my attention the first day I was seated in her class. Her dark red hair fell in waves down her back and her alabaster skin appeared to sparkle under the lights of the lecture hall. I'd admired her from a distance, never speaking or doing anything to draw attention to myself. Each day that I spent watching her in this room, I noticed how her eyes would flick up to me. She was wary of me - frightened - and she had reason to be. Allow me to introduce myself… My name is Holland Strong and at 21 years old, I'm the youngest Master within a society of wealthy and influential men. Claire Elliot is my psychology professor in college, that is, at least, until I make her my first courtesan. She believes she knows everything about how the mind works… …and I believe I can prove her wrong.

This life isn’t one that I chose for myself.Years spent as a daughter in the Dominion MC left me washed up and struggling to breathe. Life was never flowers and sunshine. It was gravel and dust, the trails of dirt left behind when the brothers tore out, floating up from the ground to hover in front of an angry, red sun.I could never have imagined that a life sitting at rock bottom could get any worse, but it did.Life is funny like that.Just when you think things can’t get any more bleak, a shade is drawn leaving you staggering and blind – lost in a world of heartache and sorrow.I met J.D. Brooks on the road and he swept me off my feet. Literally. But not in the way you might think.He was both an angel and a demon.He was the most vicious storm that ever darkened my life.He was also my salvation.Stripped from the hands that always held me back, I was released into a nightmare that would threaten everything I thought I knew about the crap hand I’d been dealt.I thought I could never hate a man more than the one who stole me from the life I’d known.And in our time together, he would teach me one important lesson:That in the end, it doesn’t matter how our paths intersect, because when it comes down to the basic truth of our lives......we’re all stuck traveling down hard roads

Emma Hart is abducted and becomes the muse of Ethan Cole, the director who wants to make the perfect film. Fighting for her life, Emma attempts to survive in Ethan's cruel idea of fantasy and film.

I’m not sure what I was thinking that day. It was a normal Thursday, nothing new or exciting had occurred in the morning. I’d risen from bed, taken a shower and brushed my teeth. I’d then jumped on the 8:05 bus that ran a short distance between my house and the county library where I worked. The ride took its usual 15 minutes before it left me standing fresh faced in front of a building of gothic construction that was my favorite place in the world. After straightening my knee length skirt, I pushed open the door that led into the interior of the library. It was at that moment that my world would change–impossibly and forever. It was a fateful movement of wood that collided with the shoulder of a man that would alter my very existence. It wasn’t fear that I felt at that moment–more like the feeling of being watched. It was the feeling of knowing that danger lurks - the sensation of the hair standing on end at the back of your neck. Looking back on a moment that happened so many months ago, I now realize that I should have listened to that feeling. As I would later find out, the man standing in front of me referred to himself as Master Lucas… …and I was his next target.