Novel & Cerita Better Off Dead: A Jack Reacher Novel

"Eve, can you stop being so stubborn? I've apologized, and I'm willing to pay. What more do you want? Will you not let it rest until I'm in prison?" David nodded. "Exactly. The dead can't come back to life. You need to move on. 20 grand is a lot. A life isn't even worth that much in rural areas."

He doubles over, and I take the opportunity to land an elbow to the back of his neck making him drop to the floor. “Are you ready to die like your friend?” I ask. “Fuck you bitch. You can’t win against our army. Scàthach will triumph and you will all die.” “Ew, can we not do the villain monologue? It’s so annoying and cliché.” I say before I extend my claws and rip his heart out through his back. That was seriously badass and gross, all at the same time. Hey, he’s dead, his friend is dead, and Wyatt is dead. That’s all that matters.

He said gently, "Sadie, let the past die with yesterday. From now on, you will be reborn anew. I hope your days from here on will be filled with joy." Standing on the rooftop, Nemera raised her champagne glass, clinking it against his before drinking it all in one breath. "Now, I have only one regret left," Nemera said softly. "What is it?" Noah asked. Nemera looked at him with a strange smile. "Well, my regret is… that you're still alive." "What did you say?" Noah's eyes widened. Suddenly, he clutched his head and dropped to his knees. "How's the champagne with a little something extra?" she asked sweetly.

Like maybe he was the only thing keeping her from drowning. He wanted to be that anchor. But tonight, he hadn’t been her anchor. He’d been her executioner. And if she ever knew the full truth — the way he’d lost control, the way he’d killed without hesitation — would she still see him as the boy who kept her safe? Or would she see him as another shadow chasing her down? The question clawed at him, deeper than the guilt. ________________ By dawn, Rhett was back on the road, the Harley eating up the miles between him and the clubhouse. The fire in Amarillo would be explained away — another trucker accident, another blaze in a lot no one cared to look twice at.

“I think it’s too late. I’m dead.” Gently slipping his fingers out of me, Jack slid up the bed and turned so that we were face-to-face. His blue eyes were dark, an underlying heat simmering beneath the surface. “I don’t know,” he said, his lips quirking. “If this is what it’s like to be dead, I might just take it.”

He felt safe for the moment, understanding it wouldn’t last. How long are we going to sit here and let this woman take over our lives? Not me, not Jack Barker. The bus gently ebbed the stream of blood down the aisle. A red sliver ran against Jack’s shoe. He wished he could remember where he’d seen the dead man before, connect the dots that drew them together. Out of respect, if nothing else. That bullet could have been for any one of us but he was the one who took it.

,he sighs at my question. "No I think they have a dealer and if not that they are following someone's orders",I nod as I look at Emma. Fuck she is beautiful. "We need to wait till they withdrawl fully and get answers after that we need to kill them",I state and he nods. Jack looks haunted as he looks to the machines in the room. His mate was dying on a bed similar to this one and I can still hear him begging her to hold on for him. She died and he lost it for awhile. He became more closed off but continued to be a great beta. I never saw him with the whores and if she wolves hit on him he ignored them.

When lives were on the line, few would act so recklessly. One of the guards said sincerely, "Mr. Larkin, you must really love your wife." Jayson kept dialing Ariel without looking up. "Yes, I do." When they reached the target zone, the scene was even worse. Gunfire cracked constantly. Jayson stepped out. "Please split up and search. This is a photo of my wife. Her name is Ariel Walker." He sent the team a photo from his phone. "Yes, sir!" Jayson watched the black smoke fill the sky. His expression grew heavier as he moved deeper forward.

Not anyone. She paused at a familiar intersection, the neon lights reflecting off puddles. Her mind replayed the moments leading to her death—Trevon’s knife, his smirk, the sharp pain, the darkness. Rage bubbled under her calm surface. She had thought revenge would consume her, but now, it was a tool. Calculated. Controlled. She would take her time. He would learn that streets don’t forgive, and neither did she. A soft vibration in her pocket pulled her from her thoughts. Dee’s name flashed across the screen. She hesitated, then swiped to answer.

Right after I boiled the water, a loud thud came from behind. I turned around only to be met with Christopher lying on the ground, his face white. Shocked, I said, "You better don't die here, Christopher! Someone, help!"