So. He’s not how I pictured Prince Charming.

Oh no. The terrifying giant who just kicked in the door of my house is more like the Prince of Death. Or an ogre escaped from a dungeon. His head is shaved, giving the world a perfect view of the scars bisecting his cheek, the crooked angle of his nose. There he stands, ducked below the splintered doorjamb, his lips peeled back in a snarl. Hulk fists curled and shaking. His eyelids are hooded, but the twin slivers of glittering green that zero in on me start my knees knocking.

My brother and his current girlfriend dove behind the couch when the Prince of Death entered the house by incredible force, but I froze. The closest hiding place is the laundry room behind me, but it’s too late. He’s seen me. And I doubt there’s a lock on the planet that could keep this man out.

What does he want?

Very aware that I’m the center of the giant’s intense focus, I cut my gaze toward Roger, my brother. As he peeks over the top of the couch, recognition dawns in his expression, and now I’m really scared. This isn’t just some random robbery; this is yet another person my brother has screwed over. When is he going to learn?

Judging the situation, he might not get the chance. Because we’re all about to be savagely murdered by someone who usually only exists inside nightmares. How unfair is that when I just graduated high school last month? I’ve recently been made a manager at the frozen yogurt shop, guaranteeing I’ll be able to pay for community college classes come fall. My life has barely begun, and now I’m going to be eaten alive.

Figures.

“Are you going to stand up and face me like a man?” The giant roars the question at my brother, but he’s still staring at me. “Or leave this little girl to fight your battles?”

Roger winces, looking to his girlfriend for guidance. She shakes her head and motions for my brother to stay down behind the couch, earning a scowl from me. Oh, real nice. Shows up whenever she pleases, runs up the water bill and eats the food I buy, but now that I’m fixing to get slaughtered, I’m no longer useful.

Resigned to an early death, I figure I might as well go out with some dignity.

“Are you going to pay to fix that door or what?” My voice is shaking, so I lift my chin to compensate. “Our security deposit on this place probably could have covered some cheap funeral expenses. Now the landlord is going to keep the whole darn thing to cover the damage you did.”

Prince of Death’s head tilts so slowly, I swear I hear his neck joints groan. “You’re so sure I’m going to kill you?”

“Well I don’t think you’re here to make me a sandwich.”

Is it my imagination or does the corner of his mouth twitch? “I don’t kill little girls.” He grunts and rests a hand on the broken jamb. Apparently, this is going to be a casual triple murder. “Speaking of which, why are you dressed like a boy?”

Is he trying to make me drop my guard? Seems like a futile exercise since he could snap me like a twig. Glancing down at my navy-blue Dickies work pants and hoodie, I shrug, wishing the ball cap hiding my long, blonde hair was pulled lower so he couldn’t see my self-consciousness. “It’s easier when men come into the shop. They don’t look as much.”

Oh Lord. His frown is so thunderous, my knees start knocking again. In a swift movement, he rips off a chunk of the doorframe, crushing it in his enormous fist, forcing me to trap a scream in my throat. “What. Shop.”

“I’m the manager at Swirly Betty.” Out with some dignity. Out with some dignity. “Best frozen yogurt in the county.”

Nice one, stupid.

“Roger!” the giant shouts. “Why is she working when you stole enough money from me to live comfortably for a fucking decade?”

My brother is now pale as Casper. His girl is definitely contemplating a sprint for the back door. Neither one of them speaks up, though, so once again I fill the silence. “Roger isn’t very good with money management.”

With a look of disgust on his scarred face, the giant scans the living room, taking in the giant flat screen, the collection of gaming consoles, three fish tanks, the lines of cocaine on the coffee table. “I can see that.”

“How do you know I stole your money, Raider?” Roger calls. Finally. “Could be I was just waiting for you to get out of the pen.”

A convict named Raider. Well at least I know the identity of my murderer. Sure, he claims he doesn’t kill “little girls,” but forgive me for being a little distrustful of the devil’s henchman.

“If you had my money,” Raider intones quietly, still watching me under heavy brows. “You wouldn’t be hiding behind a couch right now like a bitch-ass. You’d be handing it over.”

“Look, man. I just need some time—”

“Fine. Two days.”

My brother laughs shakily. “Shit. That was easier than I thought.” Cautiously, he gets to his feet. “Prison has been good for you, Raider. Made you a lot more reasonable.”

“Wrong.” The giant advances into the living room, the floor creaking violently as he approaches me, his muddy boots leaving tracks. My stomach has twisted around in a full three-sixty, my neck already sore from tilting back to keep him in my line of sight. And he’s still ten feet away. Maybe he’ll spare me if I show respect. Bowing down isn’t my usual MO, but this monster is a far cry from the rowdy teenagers I kick out of the shop sometimes.

No, I’m way out of my league, so I bow my head, clasping my hands together and whispering the word please on an endless loop.

When the Cowboys hat is ripped off my head, allowing my hair to spill out, all the way down to mid-thigh, I beg harder. “You said…please, you said two days. I have a savings account, and you can have it all. Just don’t hurt me or my brother.” I pause. “Do whatever you want with his girlfriend.”

“Hey!” the person in question says across the room. “You little c—”

“Watch it,” Raider growls, whipping his head in the couch’s direction, thus taking his attention off me for the first time since kicking down the door, giving me time to run eyes over his at least seven-and-a-half-foot frame. His black, short-sleeved shirt looks ready to burst open from the pressure of keeping his bulk contained. Tattoos rip down his deeply tanned biceps and forearms, culminating on his bashed-up knuckles. He smells like sweat, cold metal and leather. But none of those details make me whimper.

No, it’s the wicked hard-on jutting against the fly of his jeans that makes me stumble back, a mixture of curiosity and fear tumbling in my belly. The walls in my room are thin, and since I can remember, I’ve been listening to my brother and his friends moaning in the other rooms, especially during parties. Springs squeaking. Women crying out. Headboards rebounding.

Roger and his buddies might be drug dealers with broken moral compasses, but they look out for me. They’re protective and caring toward their “little sis,” even if I’ve caught Roger’s friends watching me with open speculation lately. That protectiveness, and my busy work schedule, mean I don’t date. Fantasies have been springing to my consciousness more and more, however. My first sexual experience is something I’m looking forward to. A lot.

I thought my first partner would be sweet, though. Prince Charming with a respectably sized penis. Raider’s manhood is almost inhumanly large. Oh God. Oh God. Is he going to…use it on me?

My question is answered when Raider pinches a strand of my blonde hair between two dirty fingers, lifting it to his nose for a long, groaning inhale. Then, with a gruff, desperate sound, he fists a large section of the golden mass and rubs my overly long locks against his crotch, daring me with green eyes to make him stop. That barrel chest shudders like a storming ocean, and I swear, for a second, I think he’s going to drag me down onto the kitchen floor. Going to have his way with me, then and there.

“Come on, Raider.” Roger takes a few steps our way, bristling but still cautious. “I know you just got out and…you probably need a woman. But she’s my little sister.”

“Not right now, she ain’t.” His upper lip curls, dark promises moving behind his glazed eyes. “For the next two days, she’s my collateral.”