Valentine is 22 and just graduated college with a PHD in Child Development. After her parents died on her birthday and she was thrown into the foster system she developed a passion for kids and their mental capacities. Her life was regular to her nothing out of the normal or too outrageous. She didn't have friends besides her work buddy who was a bit eccentric. She didn't have a boyfriend because of her fear of abuse after her last boyfriend and foster family. She was plain, dull, and simple. Until she met Quincy Quincy was a known felon in the neighborhood. He murdered two cops in a shootout but thanks to great lawyers he got out in 6 years. Then he went back for armed robbery after someone stole from him and he stole it back (in blood) that got him 4 months. His last crime was assaulting a teacher because allegedly the teacher made a threat at his 11 year old daughter. The man barely made it out of a coma and didn't sue or get police involved lucky for Quincy because he was on his third strike anymore and he wasn't coming home. He only heard Valentine's voice once and ever since he'd been keen on making her his.

"You keep lookin' at me like that, I'm finna start thinkin' you forgot this was supposed to be professional," she muttered, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie when he stepped too close-eyes daring him to prove her wrong. He leaned down anyway, voice low and steady, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw like he already knew it belonged there. "You stopped believin' that shit way before I did."

{COMPLETED} just read it

Zhakari doesn't do softness. Doesn't do love. He's the type to make grown men cry, kill without blinking, and trust no soul. But then came Mavi. She didn't know who he was when he first walked into her shop needing a cover-up tattoo for something violent from his past. But she felt it instantly-his storm. The rage, the stillness... and the brokenness buried beneath. Everyone tells her to stay away from Zhakari. He's dangerous. Cruel. A walking red flag with blood on his hands. But when he's with her... he's still. He listens. He breathes. He wants to try. Only she can pull him back from the edge when the rage consumes him. Only she can touch him when he's mid-meltdown. And when he finds out someone from her past wants to harm her? God help the city.

Two fierce souls collide - Jada, a smart-ass, no-nonsense woman grinding hard to get out of her tough neighborhood, and Trey, a ruthless street king who doesn't tolerate weakness or disrespect. When their worlds violently clash, the hate burns hot. But as they keep running into each other - sparring with insults and cold stares - the line between enemy and lover starts blurring. They hate what they see, but they can't stay away.

Jream "Tiny" Mallory is used to being overlooked. At 5'3" with a soft baby voice, small curves, and a heart too big for her own good, she's the sweet nurse everybody loves-but nobody really sees. She spends her nights patching up strangers, never expecting her life to change... until she saves Cassius "Cash" Vale, a cocky underground street boxer with a reputation for breaking jaws and never losing a fight. From the moment he lays eyes on her caramel skin and hears that shy baby voice scolding him, Cash is hooked. She's nothing like the women he's used to-soft, shy, and too good for his world. But Cash doesn't do goodbyes or missed chances. If he wants something, he takes it. And he wants Tiny-all of her. So when Jream tries to keep her distance, Cash makes the decision for her. One night, he snatches her, claiming she belongs to him. What starts as a dangerous game of obsession turns into something deeper as he slowly breaks through her insecurities with his daily compliments, endless worship of her tiny frame, and the kind of love she never thought she deserved. But loving a man like Cash comes with risks. His world is violent, and being his woman makes her a target. When an enemy uses her to get revenge, Cash will have to fight the biggest battle of his life-not just in the ring, but for the woman who stole his heart. A slow-burn hood romance full of cocky banter, obsessive love, and R&B vibes-perfect for fans of Jade Jones and Jahquel J.

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐚 𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝. A harmless Ouija board game turns deadly when they awaken something ancient-something that chooses her. Zane isn't a ghost. He's something older. Darker. Possessive. Twisted. After centuries in the underworld, it's his turn to claim a soul. But he doesn't just want Aria's body-he wants everything. Her friends begin disappearing one by one, and she starts to feel him not only watching... but living inside her. He's obsessive. She's his tether. And he'll kill anyone who touches what's his. But the scariest part? Aria doesn't want to let him go. 𝐀 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬.

𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩-𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐳, 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝. 𝐇𝐚𝐬𝐚𝐧 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞. 𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

Natasha Greers lives off of her daddy's money lavishly but strips on the side for her own enjoyment. One night she notices her new favorite customer by the name of Jackson Whitman, and finds herself in a world she tried to get a break from... Contains: mature language/ drug use/violence/sexual content

"You got three seconds to open this door before I kick that bitch in," a deep voice growled through the wood. Zamara's heart jumped. She wasn't expecting nobody-especially not a man with a voice that rough and mean. "Nigga, who the fuck-" she started, yanking the door open. And immediately regretted it. He stood there like a shadow from hell. Tall. Broad. Tatted. And mad as fuck. A black hoodie hugged his body, revealing a Glock tucked at his hip. "Where. The fuck. Is Kyndall?" he asked low and slow. Zamara crossed her arms over her chest, attitude activated. "I don't know, and I damn sure ain't scared of you standing here mean-mugging like you somebody daddy." A smirk curled on his lips. "You should be scared, ma." Then he leaned in, real close. "But lucky for you... I don't hit women. I just fuck 'em crazy and make sure they don't walk right for three days." Her breath caught, but her mouth didn't. "Boy, please." "You gon' be sayin that from my bed soon. Watch."