#thereapers

Prologue

How do you know if you have a soul? I’m fairly certain I don’t, but I’m not sure if I was born without one, or if I was slowly stripped of it. I do know I’m a monster, I take after my father like that. I wonder if my mother saw too much of me in him. Is that why she left and didn’t take me with her? Did she already know I was a lost cause? That I wasn’t worth saving?

I was born during one of the harshest winters our town has ever seen, with record breaking snowfall levels and temperature drops. I always knew my name represented winter and it always seemed fitting for it to be my favorite season; I love the harsh bite from the cold wind.

I love watching everything die as the frost moves in, I come alive in winter. Fitting that death comes alive when everything else goes to ground. What I never realized is that I would become the full embodiment of my name.

Death.

A Reaper – no, The Reaper. The Original.

Reaping souls and settling debts.

There is one debt that has yet to be collected on, but I intend to do just that, then I’ll gladly leave the shadows and take my place in Hell.

There was never a time that I can remember when I liked the heat; the cold was always where I belonged. I never feared the dark, but too much light hurt my eyes. Hades belonged in the light, he shined so bright, and I was content in the shadows of his glory.

* * *

When we were barely eight, I remember Hades falling off his bike and skinning his knees, the blood running down his leg as he cried out in pain. The blood was all I could focus on, his cries and screams like the most beautiful melody. Later that night I sat in my room and dug a sharpened knife into my leg. I watched as the blood ran down, creating a pool of red at my feet.

I didn’t cry. The tears and screams of agony never came, the blood was just too pretty. But not nearly as pretty as someone else’s. Unaccompanied by screams of agony it just wasn’t the same.

I didn’t realize then but that was the moment everything changed.

It didn’t take long for Hades to realize I was different, that something was wrong with me. I knew as much, but he refused to consider that anything was wrong. I was just different - not wrong.

No matter what he did, what he said, I knew normal people didn’t enjoy the pain of others. We kept my secret and anytime the urges became too strong he always managed to talk me down, to keep me sane, before anyone got hurt.

He was the key that kept my monster in her cage. Until the day they took away my key, broke the lock, and unleashed a beast greater than even they knew existed.

Within the small girl with the angel face resided a devil of evil thoughts, their worst nightmare. There would be no escaping the Reaper, no salvation for the damned.

Even the Devil was once an Angel, and that’s how you know I’m so much worse than he is. 'Cause baby, I’ve always been a Reaper.

* * *

Twenty-One Years Old

I stand in the shadows of the rundown shack, seated deep in the forest, and watch my brothers beat a man for crossing us. Unlike my brothers I don’t care much for the lengths of violence they go through to make a point. I’m all for moving quickly and efficiently, but they’re all about dueling out punishments with their fists. It’s not that I mind the blood, or the pain; I revel in it. It’s just that this takes so long, and I have better things to do with my time than watch this knowing the outcome. But we do this together, as a family.

A fucked-up family, but a family nonetheless.

At first glance my brothers seem to be the ones you would need to be wary of, they’re massive. They loom over their prey like the redwoods that loom over the forest floor outside this shack. While they have violent tendencies, and an encounter with them might leave you bloody and sore for weeks, they’re not the true villains here. I am. We’ve buried more bodies whose last breaths were taken by my hand then any of theirs combined. I’m efficient, and lethal.

The people who know us, know the likelihood of walking away from an encounter with my brothers is high; you’ll be broken, but breathing. On the other hand, walking away from me? Not likely, if you see me it’s already too late, your fate has been sealed.

I get up from my place in the shadows about to make my first appearance of the night, my heels clicking on the old wooden floor as the cabin quiets. Leaving only the heavy breathing of the bloodied man in the center of the room. My brothers part and the second he registers me, he visibly quivers. He knows us, he knows me.

He made a mistake tonight. He assumed that because he couldn’t see me I wasn’t here; he thought if he could just hold out through the beating that he would leave here broken but alive. Now that he’s seen me, it’s different. I can see the fear, the way sweat beads along his brow, the way his hands shake as he tries to hold himself off the floor.

I slowly step around his back. He follows my movements with his eyes as much as he can while still facing forward. Once I stop walking the cabin falls into an ominous silence. Just the labored breaths of a dead man, the snap of a tree branch and the rustling of fall leaves as the winds whisper his death sentence. I draw the knife strapped to my thigh. My brothers take a step back, attempting to avoid the coming blood bath. In one swift move I grab hold of his hair wrenching his head back and exposing his neck, bringing the blade across his throat.

When I release him, he drops forward onto the cabin floor making gargling sounds as he drowns in his own blood. I grab the rag offered to me and wipe the blood from my blade, stowing it safely back on my person once its clean.

I take a moment to stare at the body at my feet, then at my brothers. Ranger, Nash, and Hunter. They say that blood is thicker than water. Blood is what makes us a family - the blood just isn’t ours. We’re the people your mama warned you about, except worse. We’re Destruction. Chaos. Anarchy. Death.

Lincoln was going about his life, getting Brooklyn up and ready for the day. As things had gotten more serious between December and him, the two of them spent just about every night together. It was odd to call her his girlfriend, because she felt like so much more than that, but in all honesty, it was what December was to him. From time to time she even watched over Brooke when he had to go to work. It gave his mom a break every once in a while. Link knew that Brooklyn loved it too, because Dee not only gave her presents, but they played dress up and the clothes that were in his girlfriend’s closet weren’t anything like you would see on a daily basis in Amesbury. Suddenly, Lincoln heard the soft ringtone going off on his phone. The blond man padded around the house, trying to find just where he’d left that stupid cell phone. 

By the time he’d found it there was a missed phone call from Hank Maddox. The two men worked together at the shop. To say that Hank was like a second father to the young man would have been an understatement. It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with the relationship that Link had with his own father, but Hank was the voice of reason that he needed sometimes. He called the number back and waited for an answer. When the line was picked up and he heard the older man’s voice on the other end Link smiled, some of the nerves in his stomach going away. Hank wasn’t getting any younger and sometimes he worried that something would happen to the man, despite him being in great shape. “Hey, I couldn’t find my cell.” Link admitted with a chuckle, because he was notorious for misplacing the thing. 

“Son, you should come down to the hospital.” Hank’s deep voice sent chills down Lincoln’s spine and his brows furrowed. “What happened? Are you okay? Is Lula okay?” His mind went straight to the fateful night some years ago that he’d been in the hospital for his wife. The prayers didn’t work, because she didn’t survive. He tried pushing those nagging thoughts from his mind though as he focused on what Hank was saying. “Travis was in a bad accident.” Despite what had happened between the two men, Lincoln still didn’t want to see Travis hurt, or to be dead, but when he heard of the accident he half wondered if it was actually an accident after all. Travis had quite a long list of enemies that didn’t always pertain to the club. It always seemed like Travis had his hands in some kind of mischief. “I’m on my way.” Link muttered and hung up the phone without so much as another word. 

Lincoln felt numb as he turned to walk down the hallway to the bedroom to find December. “Babe…” His voice sounded somewhat hollow, and different even in his own head. “I have to go, Travis is in the hospital.” He said simply, his greenish blue orbs slightly wide as he was still trying to process just what was going on. He took a deep breath and tried his best to fake a smile for her. “I’ll see you later, you have Brooklyn, right?” He checked before turning to go. It wasn’t often that Lincoln rode his motorcycle anymore, unless it was for club business, so without a thought he jumped into his little red pick up truck. The vehicle was perfect for lugging around tools and parts for the cars that he worked on both at the shop and at home. It wasn’t anything fancy as it chugged along, making a lot of noise, but not going so fast, but it worked for Lincoln. 

His stomach began to tie in knots as he approached the hospital, because he hadn’t been there in a couple years. He could remember the feeling of hopelessness he’d felt as he walked up the sidewalk to the emergency room entrance, wondering if he would have to say goodbye to his wife in the next couple minutes. That was exactly what he had done, although she was just about gone by the time they’d let him in the room. “Can you tell me where Travis  Davies’ room is?” Link asked at the front desk, surprised he didn’t vomit straight onto the woman glancing up at him as he spoke. “Room 54.” The nurse replied after a couple taps on the keyboard in front of her. “Thanks.” Link replied before he was off, wandering the halls and trying his best not to lose what little was in his stomach this early in the morning. As he found the rhythm of the rooms, with each step that drew him closer to Travis’ room, he felt more and more sick to his stomach. 

A large 54 was written on the room just to his right and the blond man paused outside the door as he took a couple breaths and then pushed the door open. He’d half expected to see Travis and Lula in some inappropriate position on the bed, but before he could even see the bed he heard the beep beep beep of the machines. He caught sight of Lula hunched over in a chair beside the bed, sleeping probably and as Hank got up from his chair in the corner that also caught the attention of the blue eyed man. Only when his gaze fell on Travis in the bed did his brows furrow and the numbness went away, replaced by a bubbling feeling of anger. 

Slowly the tall, lean man made his way over to the side of the bed opposite Lula to gaze down at the man he’d spent countless hours with for as long as he could remember. This had been his best friend growing up. They had gone hunting together, and Thomas Davies had taught Link how to skin and gut a deer when he was about 10 years old. That seemed a lifetime ago with the way things had gone as they’d grown into men. It was around that time in fact that Travis began to drift away from the kid he’d always called his closest friend. The fairer sex became just that much more important to the man that now was laid up in the hospital bed with tubes and wires all over the place. Even then, they’d go fishing and ride their bikes and go four wheeling for hours on end. Some nearly twenty years later, Lincoln couldn’t tell you who Travis spent most of his time with besides the ever present Lula Maddox. 

Here he was though, standing over the man that had had an affair with his wife, then killed her when she found out she was knocked up with his kid. This kind of man didn’t deserve to live in Lincoln’s book, but all in the same one, it was his friend. There was some obvious torment going on with Lincoln as he stared down at the dark haired man and Hank woke Lula to see if she wanted anything from the cafeteria. Lincoln silently watched the interaction and then his gaze fell upon Lula as she realized that he was standing there silently. The three of them went back to when they were in diapers, so it hurt to see Lula crying, even if it was over a man that treated her like shit. He wasn’t expecting the words that came out of her mouth, but they stunned him to the point that his heart skipped a beat. “Bo….Walker?” Lincoln confirmed, his eyebrows knitting together even more, causing his head to ache. “How do you know?” Link’s mind was racing, one of his hands coming up to run through his hair to push it back from his face. 

Bo was their enforcer. The man was obsessed with rules, and rightfully so. He was the one to make sure everyone was following those rules. For him to go as far as to try and kill their president was almost too far fetched to believe. There wasn’t time enough for Lincoln to stick around for the reasoning though, because he knew Bo would be on the run, at least for a while. Until he could explain himself to the club. With enough reason they would be forgiving after all. Lincoln began to step back slowly and then he turned to head for the door. “I love you, Lula.” He said softly to her, his eyes as clear and focused as they had ever been before he turned to go down the hall to retrace his steps. The blond man ended up back in his pick up, wishing he’d brought his bike this time around. Speed was not on his side, but he took the roads as quickly as he could until the paved roads ended about fifteen miles outside of town, and his truck crunched over the gravel path that took him up a rather steep incline that eventually flattened out into a large grassy field. His truck bounced across the greenery until he parked in front of a small cabin that was tucked between a grouping of pine trees. 

The house was little more than a one bedroom cabin, perfect for camping, or hunting. That was exactly what the group of men linked to the Reapers used it for. Right in front of the steps that led to the front door was Ian “Bo” Walker’s bike. No one in town had a bike quite like Bo, and in fact many people could pair the two together in a lineup because it’s outrageous decor just suited the also outrageously tattooed man. Link gave the back tire of the bike a small kick as he passed it and went boldly into the cabin without so much as a knock on the door. Bo was sitting there, waiting for him, though his well groomed brows rose when he saw just who it was. Lincoln was the last person in the club he would have expected to come after him. The two men were not equally built either, so Bo settled into his seat with a bit of a smirk while he holstered the gun he’d had trailed on the door. 

“Lincoln.” The man spoke through his large beard with his chocolate hues trailing the blonde man that paced in front of him. “You know it was a long time coming.” Boy, did Lincoln know those words to be true, but this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go down, and he showed his distaste for those words with a slow shake of his blond head while his boots thudded against the wooden floor of the cabin. “It’s not your place.” Link muttered, blue eyes trailing along the floor in front of him before he came to stop straight in front of the older man. “He is supposed to be mine.” Link growled, eyes narrowing before he began to pace again as that burning anger began to bubble up in the pit of his stomach. “He killed my fucking wife!!!” Lincoln then screamed, although he knew killing Travis wouldn’t make him feel even the slightest better, and it sure as hell wouldn’t bring back Bethany. 

Bo stood up, trying to make himself look as big as possible because he didn’t appreciate getting yelled at, even if it was by his vice president. Lincoln glared at him. “You gonna try to kill me too?” He snapped to which Bo’s eyes grew wide. “Try? The fuck you talking about, man. There is no way he survived that.” Lincoln laughed, stepping further into the cabin, near the simple kitchen with little more than a spot for a propane fueled stove top. His oil stained hand reached out and he flicked on the switch to one of the burners and a small whoosh could be heard as the propane tank opened, though no flame showed up because Link didn’t hold his lighter up to ignite it. “You stupid idiot, he is still alive, barely, but he is alive and this lands on me now.” He explained to the other man standing behind him. “Our enforcer can’t be trusted, and who does it always fall to? I have to pick up the pieces.” Lincoln sounded like he might have been on the verge of tears now as he spoke, but in a movement Bo hadn’t been expecting, Lincoln turned and pulled out the handgun that was tucked in the back of his pants. 

It wasn’t a fatal wound, but just one to disarm the other man almost completely, because he had little, if any use of his right arm. His left arm reaching across for his gun was a much slower movement, and Lincoln was an excellent shot. The younger man took a few steps towards the older man as he stumbled and sat back down in his chair. Blood was pouring from his arm and it wasn’t looking good if Lincoln just drew this out long enough. “You should have said something, Bo.” Link muttered softly, his brows furrowed again. This was the last thing he had wanted to do, but he couldn’t let the club see him as the weak one anymore. He’d been in this club damn near as long as Travis, and he had done nearly as much. This had to put him at least in the top rankings for the club. He held up the gun again, aimed straight between Bo’s eyes and the older man knew he wouldn’t miss. “Please….” Bo shifted, though he wasn’t reaching for a gun, or begging for his life, he was asking for a different method. The older man held out a small blade that he’d carved and sharpened himself as a young boy. “Use this.” 

Link stepped forward and took the wooden handle of the blade that was offered and then he flipped the knife in his hand for a moment. “You’re a good guy, you know that Bo?” The older man gave a nod of his head and offered a sad smile. “I’m ready to see my sweetheart. I’ve missed her a lot.” Lincoln pursed his lips and gave a solemn nod of his head as he raised the blade above his head and slammed it down as hard as he could into Bo’s neck. The blade made a loud thud when the hilt connected with his skin and the blade wedged against his collar bone. Lincoln gazed down at the large man as the light slowly began to leave his eyes. It was a sight that wasn’t completely unfamiliar to Lincoln, because he’d been hunting his whole life, but this was the first time he’d watched the death of a person. He stepped back slowly, eyes filling with tears as he then turned back to that damn propane stove. It had been the bane of his existence when he’d been hunting as a kid, so he was going to be glad to see it go. 

Link turned on the other three burners so the propane was being pumped right into the room as quickly as it could be. It was a decent sized tank that they had sitting under the counter too, so Link knew this would do some damage. The blond man took one last look at Bo sitting there in his chair with blood seeping from his neck and his shoulder. “I’m sorry, ol’ man.” Lincoln said softly as he stepped out into the early morning sunshine. He hadn’t realized just how much the cabin smelled like blood until he’d gone out into the fresh air. He took a deep breath and steadied himself against the railing on the porch as he finally hurled right into the well maintained bushes. After wiping his mouth on his shirt Link walked out to his truck and got in and looked around for some rope. There was a hank of rope just waiting for him underneath the passenger seat. The blond man snatched it up and began to untwine it until he had about enough to cover the field and lead right up to the door. That was exactly how Lincoln laid the rope out, tipping a bit of gasoline from the near empty gas can in the back of his truck onto the rope every couple feet. 

I have a deadline for my edits. I'm a little worried... but excited and suddenly a little stressed. April 20 is when I need to hand whatever I have over to my editor. Tomorrow I need to kick my butt in gear!

Yikes.

Jordon Hastings dies a horrible death. Then, his afterlife as a Reaper begins.

The first chapter was difficult to get into and took me forever to read. By the next chapter, it picked up.  In the third, a character was introduced that reminded me of Obi Wan Kinobi. Then, I wanted to see where this would lead.

So I followed Jordon down the rabbit hole and watched him wander through the afterlife. And I do meaan wander. The afterlife unfolded before me and I learned about it right along with Jordon. But, there did not seem any purpose to the story until about halfway through. Then, the plot comes together and the previous wanderings begin to make sense and show their purpose. 

This book has two things going for it. The first is the world building. Jordon, the main character goes into the afterlife and sees where souls go. He also visits different underworld realms similar to in the first book. If you are at all curious about that sort of thing, how it all works would be interesting to you.

The second is the lack of romance. For some readers that's a negative aspect because they only read romance novels. However, if you're like my husband and looking for something other than romance, your options may be slim to zilch. In fact, this is the third book I have read since I started reviewing that was completely without a lick of romance. If you are tired of love stories and want to read something different, this may be the book for you.

This second installment of the series was more polished than the first. The writing was colorful and beautifully complex. My advice to the author would be to present the main conflict of the plot early on, preferably within the first or second chapter. It's difficult to maintain interest without it.

who did you kill omg