Bloodstained Money Farm Novels & Stories

I recognized the official symbol on the weapon used by the dead assassins as the sacred crest of the Blood Thorne pack, the very same mark that Torin had just ordered the blacksmiths to stamp onto our raw iron supply. The head farmer of the agricultural cooperative rushed out from his hiding place behind the grain cart, his face completely pale with a mixture of terror and absolute fury as he looked at the dead bodies. "Why has the prestigious Blood Thorne pack suddenly decided to slaughter innocent, hardworking farmers who have absolutely nothing to do with their political border wars?" the head farmer screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice shaking with a raw, desperate rage that echoe

I nodded my head doing a mental check on all the things I needed to do before leaving, I need my bags, and a shower, I could still smell the blood. The car came to a stop in front of a building, it was an abandoned cabin surrounded by nothing but trees for miles, it had broken windows, and a huge sign with red paint splattered all over it, that looked almost like dried blood, on the one intact window, the fake blood wrote ‘GET OUT’ a mark in the front that almost looked like a gash.

“And while you’re at it, maybe explain why the fuck you thought you could stroll in here without invitation.” The suits didn’t have answers. They only had sweat, shaking hands, and a briefcase full of whatever dirty money or deals they thought would buy us. Too bad for them - we weren’t for sale. At least… not cheaply. The briefcase clicked open. Stacks of cash, neat and green, the stink of laundering all over it. I didn’t even have to sniff to know it came from backroom poker or blood fights. Maddox whistled low. “Looks like somebody had a good night at the slaughter pits.”

"She is laundering the political bribes through a livestock business?" "Exactly," Briar said, leaning in closer. "I sent a spy to inspect the northern property. The farm is a complete ghost town. Hector bought a barren tract of wilderness, dumped a few dozen sick beasts on the land, and hired a half-wit peasant to stand guard. The entire operation is a hollow front. Millions in gold flow through that farm's accounts every cycle, but not a single hide is ever sold." It was a brilliant, ironclad money-laundering scheme. It was no wonder Lord Dorian Wolfhart had hit a brick wall for months trying to nail Hector for corruption.

I tasted blood from where I had bitten through my lip. Pop. The joint slipped right back into place. I slumped against the tree, gasping for breath as I waited for the excruciation of such a strike to lessen to being merely unimaginable. I blundered through forest until I struck a farm. Small place, family owned. A truck was parked behind the barn with the keys in its ignition. I felt temporary guilt about stealing from farmers. But survival did not care about guilt.

March 20th: $12,000. I frown. These aren't debts. These are deposits. I flip the pages. The numbers get bigger. The dates get closer to the day he died. Next to the last entry—May 15th, $50,000—there’s a note in the margin. Two letters circled in red ink. S.R. My blood turns to ice. Savage Reapers. The Wolves’ sworn enemies. The men who deal in guns, girls, and misery. The men Sal warned me never to make eye contact with.

He swung the cleaver high up in the air before bringing it down. "No!" Uncle Steve's right hand was severed from his wrist. Fresh blood spurted from the stump, staining the carpet red. He rolled around on the floor in agony while letting out bloodcurdling screams. Jordan wet himself in terror. His eyes rolled to the back of his head before he fainted. Dominic pulled out a card and tossed it at my feet, saying, "Your 80,000 dollars. Take your money and get out of my sight." I picked up the card and wiped away the bloodstains, saying, "I can't just accept the money, Mr. Langdon."

Such was the aura of the men. “Senor! I’ll have your money in the next harvest. I promise!” The farmer tried again. The thug casually walked toward him and punched him in the gut. The farmer could feel something rupture inside him. He gagged and winced. Sofia and Ell watched through the window and gasped. The brute dragged the old man to a car and pushed him inside. The farmer couldn't resist. The convoy sped away, leaving a cloud of dust and dirt behind it.

“We’re going to be okay. I promise. We’ll start over. No matter what it takes.” The sound of the machines, the distant voices in the hallway, my own heart pounding and refusing to calm started to get to me. And behind it all was nothing. Nothing but Zelda’s smile. Renee’s laughter, sharp and mean—like her curling up on her couch with popcorn to watch me fall apart. The money was heavy in my account. A hundred million dollars. Blood money. Freedom money. Whatever I wanted to call it. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that I had it, that I could walk away.

If someone tried to stick their hand down my pants, they’d get a punch to the jaw. She shuffled the cards then dispersed them onto the table. “I don’t want your money. It’s tainted.” “Tainted how?” “Because of the way you earned it. It’s blood money.” My eyes narrowed because she wasn’t wrong. She moved the cards around until she was only left with three. She examined each one. “Fire. Demon. Death.” I glanced at the cards then looked at her once more. “You picked those cards.”