Novel & Cerita Reapers Mc

My parents had always held me responsible for Andrea's death, and Steven's heart had always belonged to her. I was the outsider and the disposable one. Reborn, I made a silent oath: I would live for myself and sever all ties with them.

I know how that sounds insane and maybe a little fucked up, but that’s because they don’t know our uncle… Reaper. Once upon a time he was King of the Underworld and I’m not talking about some petty street thug with a superiority complex. No, he ran everything. Guns, drugs, intelligence networks, torture rings, black-market assets. If it was illegal, Reaper had his hands all over it. His face was on Most Wanted lists across three continents. Then Iris happened. He’s her biological uncle, and somewhere between her conception and falling in love with one of Mom’s closest friends, Reaper decided to clean up his act. He cleaned up his empire, legalized everything he could, and become part of the

the Reaper remarked in a sinister drawl. My sigh rattled down the line. “It’s about Claw. He sent a rogue to torch the apartment with me and my mate inside. I want blood, and I want it today.” “Say what?” the Reaper blurted, sounding shocked. I overheard him clambering out of bed and storming through his den. I listened, hearing him muttering an order to one of his henchmen. “I need ya to locate the bear shifter, Claw, and deliver him down to the cage. Kill anyone who gets in yaw way. I don’t care how y'all do it but keep him alive. The Beast wants his pound of flesh, and I want the bastard to suffer.” He swung his attention back to our discussion. “Consider it done. So, what else do ya and

Somehow, I know to avoid its touch. “Careful around reapers. They are souls sentenced to serve the coven by Death. Never interact with them and never touch them. Let them be.” Zane warns as I swallow hard. Great, so not only do I have to live in the creepiest mansion to ever exist in an alternate realm, but now I have to worry about these reaper things. For fucks sake, I better not be in some damn death trap. I move closer to Zane. “Zane, what is with this mansion, and why is it so big?” I inquire, trying to gain some understanding of the new home I find myself in.

I shook my head at him. "So exactly how old are you?" That was the main question nagging at me. "I got my reapers mark at the age of twenty-eight so technically I'm twenty-eight." I rolled my eyes. "You know what I meant. What the hell is a reapers mark though?" "It's the mark we get when we reap our first soul, that's when we stop ageing. And I know what you meant and to be truthful I'm two hundred and fourty." I felt like a child compared to him.

"I think I know who they were looking for. Same shit happened to us. We got jumped on our run. I played dead and hid under the truck. I heard two voices clear as day. One was Malcolm Reeves; I'd know that slimy fuck's drawl anywhere. The other... no idea. Some outsider, maybe. Reeves was laughing and said something like, 'I know Reaper ain't here because I've got a tail on him. But offing these assholes? That'll drag him out.'" The room exploded again. My old man shot to his feet, his chair scraping back. "Reaper? Did you know they were gunning for you specifically?" His eyes locked on mine, shocked as hell. I met his stare, keeping my cool. "I knew Reeves was behind the attacks. Figured it

The old world was dying, its systems collapsing under the weight of its own greed, leaving nothing but the raw, unvarnished truth of the road. I resting my hand over my stomach, feeling the steady, calm rhythm of my own breath. We weren't a project anymore. We weren't a corporate investment. We were the anarchy that had survived the harvest, and as the first thunder of the incoming mountain battle began to echo through the valley, I knew the Queen wasn't going to hide behind the stone for long. The Reaper was in the shadows, but the Montague name was already written in the iron of the gates, and we were going to make sure the dark learned exactly who owned the dawn.

"They cut the hardline." Kael sat beside me. He was vibrating with tension. He had ripped off his tie. His knuckles were white as he gripped the door handle. "How many men?" Kael asked. His voice was a low rumble that shook the seat. "Dorian has a team of four," I said. "But my father would not send thugs. He would send the Reapers." "Reapers?" "Private military contractors," I explained. "Genetically enhanced. Pain resistant. They are the ones who burned our house down five years ago."

Pedro asked, his eyes narrowing. "The very one, Sir," the man confirmed. A sinister grin spread across Pedro’s face. "This just got a lot more interesting. We’re paying her a visit. Get fifty men ready." THE REAPERS Entering The Reapers' main clubhouse felt like stepping into the underworld itself. The air was thick with smoke, whiskey, and a palpable sense of danger. Quiet conversations buzzed in the background, broken by the occasional clinking of glasses and sharp bursts of sinister laughter. Venom climbed off his bike and made his way straight to Godfather Marco’s private room. Marco was smoking a cigar when Venom walked in, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

He has a solid jawline, clean-shaven face, thinner cheeks with just the right amount of plumpness, dimples that would take any normal woman’s breath away, beautiful bright brown eyes with flecks of gold, a tall leanly-muscled build, and short dark brown hair that is always neatly combed to one side, but tufts at the top in a cute way. I give him a polite nod that contradicts the rude way that I shove past him to step inside. I wordlessly pass him the name and photo of my target that came with the job posting, fixing him with an intense emerald-green gaze. He already knows the drill and I’m not one for pleasantries or small talk. He gives a low chuckle at my straight-to-business attitude, “al