Serial Bangers!

The first night he moves in, I meet Raiden Kane through the wall.

Not his face. Not his name. Just the sounds—low, rough, relentless—bleeding through cheap drywall at 2:13 a.m. The headboard keeps time like a jackhammer. A woman laughs. Then another night, another voice. And another.

By day, I’m sharp enough to draw blood and paid handsomely for it. I don’t lose cases, and I don’t lose my temper. Not in public. But this man with the lazy grin and stolen parking spot takes one look at me in the hallway like I’m already undressed, already his next hobby—and my self-control starts fraying in very specific, very inconvenient ways.

He treats our cracked asphalt like a battlefield, our shared wall like a stage, and every smirk like a dare. It would be easy to write him off as a walking red flag with great abs… if he didn’t keep turning up where my real life lives. At my office. In my files. On my cases.

That’s when the noise changes.

Because Raiden Kane isn’t just a neighbor with an Olympic-level sex drive and a talent for getting under my skin. There’s a pattern in the women. A shadow in his smile. A past he keeps wrapped in silk sheets and half-truths.

I intend to strip it all away—his secrets, his control, that infuriating calm—one bad decision at a time.

Lusting after the man next door is reckless. Trusting him could be fatal. And in a game this twisted, misjudging Raiden isn’t just dangerous; it’s how girls like me disappear.