Reapers Mc Novels & Stories

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.

he said, voice low, filled with something that sounded like sorrow—and rage. Light exploded around us and the tomb trembled as if the world itself recoiled and as darkness swallowed me, I heard it, his heartbeat, steady and ancient, thudding in perfect time with mine. That was the night the Reaper woke.

"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."

With a determined glint in his eye, Butcher left, his mind already racing with possibilities. Different cars drove into the pack, filling the grounds with an array of vehicles. MC children and heirs arrived at the Reapers clubhouse, some heading directly to the bar to enjoy themselves, others resting from their travels, and some touring the grounds. The MC’s popularity had soared since Venom and Virus were announced as Alphas of their respective packs.

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

he whispered, hands framing my face, “you are the best thing that ever happened to me. From the moment I took you from that apartment, you changed everything.” I kissed him deeply, pouring every emotion into it. The kiss turned heated, desperate. He took me right there against the cold stone, slow and intense, the snow contrasting with the fire between us. We came together under the stars, whispering vows and promises for the future. Dawn brought the beginning of the end. The original Project Reaper facility was a tomb of concrete and forgotten horrors. Our forces hit hard and fast. Damien led the charge while I stayed back with the children in a secured command post, Elena at my side.

I am Rey Reed Smith, the last of the reaper's hunters and the wielder of the soul nectar. Taking another deep breath, I quickened my pace as the noise of those stupid crowds grew more intense. It was the same sound I'd grown accustomed to; it meant one of their most vicious and important players was about to slay his victims. My plan is simple. I will just brag into the arena ground, slaughter their players, rescue my team, kill the bastard, Ryan, and find my way out. I knew that with my newfound power, I was invisible to any weapons they were welding and that none of their players, not even Ryan, were a match for my abilities now.

The man grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, and a reporter’s voice filled the room. “…breaking news tonight. Sources confirm that prominent attorney Myles Voss is not the man he has claimed to be. Investigators allege that Voss is, in fact, the infamous ‘Reaper,’ leader of the outlaw motorcycle club Hellfangs. Federal agents have launched a manhunt following a deadly fire at a warehouse earlier this evening…” The screen cut to footage around my property. Agents and police swarmed over my lawn, and then came a still photo of Serena, smiling in a summer dress.

Drakon roars, pushing me flat against the sticky floorboards. He rises to a crouch, firing his handgun over the top of the bar. Pop-pop-pop. I scramble to my knees, peering through the gap between the beer taps. The front of the clubhouse is gone. A gaping maw of twisted metal and crumbled brick opens to the night. Through the smoke, shadows are moving. Reapers. They pour out of the back of the truck cab and through the breach in the wall. A dozen of them. Maybe more. They wear skull masks and carry assault rifles.

The man had finally managed to produce a child and he wanted me to stand in a hall and applaud. "Small man," I said. "Large occasion." Gary said nothing. That was the correct response. My throne had been built on the bodies of my father and my brothers, taken in the year I turned twenty-four, held through five years of war that hadn't fully ended. I had killed more men than I could name. The packs called me The Reaper and stayed out of my borders and prayed their treaties held. The elders said Moon Godness herself had cursed me, no fated mate, no heir, no future beyond the violence I was good at.