Thralled

The last thing Carla Richards needed in her life was the admiration of a pack of lunatics. Between college classes and work and what passed for a social life, her life was crazy enough, thank you very much. And there was no question; the guys living in the house on Joyce Street were complete and certifiable lunatics.
They were smoking-hot lunatics, but they were lunatics all the same.
How else did you explain their pit bull like fascination with her? And their underground warren of training facilities complete with dojo, swimming pool, infirmary and who knew what else. Not to mention their “army” of spellbound women with mad ninja skills. No one had that--no one who wasn’t a supervillain or a lunatic.
They certainly were not a trained unit of refugees from another world across an unseen barrier. That was the craziest thing Carla had ever heard.
Actually, their claim that Carla was one of them was the craziest thing she’d ever heard. Even if she had their weird mystical voodoo powers it would be a crazy notion. But she didn’t.
One thing was for sure--as soon as she could disentangle herself from this bizarre world of abduction and seduction, she was walking away from these guys and never looking back. Really.