Sometimes you need to crash a funeral to experience happiness. At least Kissimmee Singh, aerial artist for Singh Circus, the most sought-after traveling circus of all time, keeps telling herself that’s why she crashes funerals. In reality, she’s lost and confused. Sometimes it’s nice to experience other people’s grief and be reminded that life isn’t as bad as it could be.

Kincaid: Hero complex? Possessive? Not afraid to speak my mind? Check, check, and check. I'm also president of the Cerberus MC, a former Marine, and Emmalyn Mikaelson doesn't have a clue what she's gotten herself into by jumping on the back of my bike. Shadow: I'm no stranger to a woman warming my bed. What's new for me is being the one ghosted. So imagine my surprise when the girl who decided I wasn't enough shows up on my doorstep burdened with the consequences of her own lies and deceit.

I might have been born and raised in a motorcycle club, but until my father and MC prez calls me home, the guitar is my mistress, my band is my temporary family, and fame is my drug of choice. I wasn’t expecting Mallory. She provokes every one of my protective instincts. Anyone who tries to extinguish her spark will answer to my fists. Unfortunately, this is Hollywood where sleazeballs are crawling over each other to tarnish girls like Mallory.

I ran from home to escape heartbreak, only to deliver myself into the hands of a wolf. Henry Wolf, that is. Heir to a luxury hotel chain, infamous playboy, arrogant bastard...and my new boss. Why he wants me, Abbi Mitchell - a girl who lacks experience on every front that would matter to him - as his personal assistant, I cannot fathom, especially when I keep messing up in the most spectacular way. Did I already mention he's a bastard? A beautiful, moody one, who's quick to demand, slow to apologize. And toying with me every chance he gets.

I should have known I was in trouble when I backed my old, beat-up truck into the shiny Range Rover. The driver looked like a gorgeous fallen angel–one who’d been booted right out of paradise for being a giant prick. Good thing I’ll never have to see him again.

Like currency, I’ve become part of a transaction. Blade took me to pay off a debt. I try to tell myself, Eve, you should hate him. He’s a bad guy. But then again, I’m not a good girl. Blade’s the president of the Disciples, the notorious motorcycle club. I should be frightened, yet somehow, he doesn’t scare me. If anything, I think I scare him.

In my world, women are property. Made to be owned. Born for one reason - to be tied to a powerful man, to bear the next generation. That reason is why I don’t want to be married. But women aren’t the only ones with zero say in their lives.... And my bride? Bratva scum.

I can look, but I can’t touch. As the enforcer of The Lost Boys MC, I am used to getting my hands dirty. I’ve always kept my emotions in check. It helps given the position I am in. When I was tasked with watching over our President’s sister, I was ready for it. What I wasn’t ready for, is how that beauty would pull at my heart. I’ve known Ella for years.  

They call me Ghost for a reason. Silent and in the shadows, I don't make my move until I am absolutely sure of everything. Four years ago I was sure about Jenna. My best friend's kid sister had grown up into a spitfire I couldn't resist. One night we stopped resisting. We promised we'd keep it a secret. It was a one-time mistake, but we'd put it behind us. Jenna tried to get out of our corrupt town, but it pulled her back in again. Now she needs help. I'll do all of that for her, if she'll just shut the hell up and let me. She can even keep all of her secrets, except for one.

How to kick off a great summer in the Hamptons: Snag a gorgeous rental on the beach. Check. Get a job at a trendy summer haunt. Check. How to screw up a great summer in the Hamptons: Fall for the one guy with a dark leather jacket, scruff on his face, and intense eyes that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the tony-looking crowd. A guy you can’t have when you’ll be leaving at the end of the season. Check. Check. Check.