Dylan's Reaper: Soul Reapers #3

BOOK: Dylan's Reaper: Soul Reapers #3
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Dylan

s Reaper

Soul
Reaper #3

 

By
J.D. Lowrance

 

Text
copyright
©
2015 by J.D.
Lowrance

Cover
photo: Studio10Artur/shutterstock

Cover
design: J.D. Lowrance

Editor:
A.D. Bednego

 

This ebook is intended for adult
readers only. It is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and
incidents are products of the writer

s
imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or
organizations is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other
people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please
purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you

re
reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your
use only, then please return it to the author and purchase your own copy. Thank
you for respecting the hard work of this author.

 

Dear Reader: This is the third book
in the series. Don

t miss out on
Logan

s Reaper (Soul Reapers
#1) and Campbell

s Reaper (Soul
Reapers #2) available at
Amazon.com

Happy reading!

J.D. Lowrance

 

 

 

 

DEDICATION

 

 

 

To
all of my fans out there.

You
are the cream in my coffee,

the
mac in my cheese!

Happy
Reading.

xoxo

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DEDICATION

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

EPILOGUE

 

 

PROLOGUE

 

Dylan

I
was in hell. But that could not be right as I was still breathing, if just
barely. My place of torment was a run-down farmhouse that lacked basic
necessities like running water and electricity. Time ceased to have a hold on
me as my subconscious hid away behind the walls I erected to keep my sanity in
the face of the devil himself.

Hell,
a four letter word.

No
matter how big I built those walls, they came crashing down every time they
took a cigarette to my exposed skin or a lighter to the underside of my breasts
or fingertips. Their fists and feet may break my bones, but flames of fire do
the most damage.

Fire
licked across my skin as a scream ripped from my lungs. I could feel my
tormentor

s harsh laughter fan across my
naked chest from how close he stood to me. My nipples pebbled as a chill ran
through my body. A natural reaction from the momentary relief of pain as my
adrenaline kicked in from my fight or flight reflex.


I
think she likes it,

crowed
the scariest motherfucker I had ever met in my life. The second was the man who
turned me over to my current hell.


Damn,
you

re
right Prez,

and more
murmurings responded to his claim.

Damn,
a four letter word.

That
was me to a tee. Damned to this hell of my own making. I never thought I would
see the day where I said my mother was right. BUT DAMN! Rebecca Price nailed
this one.

Stay the fuck away from bikers.

The
only words of advice she ever cared enough to share in between her long
absences and crazy explorations. And did I listen?

Nope.
Nada. No.

And
my only hope of getting out of here was the same person who said nothing when I
was brought here. Samael, my very own angel of death clad in thick muscle and
leather and two deep dimples. As if one was not enough.
Oh God, Sam! How
could you do this to me?

Another
cry from me echoed throughout the farmhouse followed by more laughter. The
smell of cigarette smoke and burning flesh invaded my nose and turned my
stomach. I gagged, earning me a back hand. Liquor-infused breath blew across my
face as bile rose up my throat. I felt myself choking on it as I fought to keep
the darkness creeping from the corner of my eyes to overtake me as it always
did.


Deep
breath,

my
tormentor advised as his face came level with mine. His one blue eye and one
red eye bore into mine as he continued,

don

t
want you passing out before the real fun starts.

More
laughter.

A
cellphone rang drawing the attention and silence of everyone in the room. My
head hung, too heavy to look at my purse as

Ain

t
Nothing Gonna Break My Stride

filled
the quiet.


What
do we have here?

asked
my crazy-eyed tormentor. He dug through my purse but the phone stopped ringing
right as he went to swipe the screen.

Darn,

the
Prez pouted.

I missed the call. Hope it wasn

t
. . .

as
the phone rang once again.

Hello.

His
velvety voice smooth as if he was not about to just light my skin on fire.


Where
the fuck is she?

Samael

s
voice boomed.


Now
now. It that any way to start a conversation. So rude,

earning
him muffled sounds of approval from his minions.


Crazy
Z if you don

t fucking tell me . . .

So
the Prez was a crazy bastard after all.


Samael.

The
finality in his voice halting Sam

s
rampage in its tracks.

The Hellhounds made an
even trade, a favor for a favor, with the Night Demons. We get your girl in;
you give me the girl I want.

Crazy
Z came back to stand in front of me, wedging the phone between his ear and
shoulder. He took the cigarette from his mouth with one hand, blowing the smoke
directly in my face as the other hand palmed my breast. I hissed from the
contact.


Dylan
was not part of the deal. It was supposed to be her mother.

Sam

s
voice was deadly calm.


We
will leave her in good enough shape to fulfill her deal,

Crazy
Z said as he eyed me up and down.

Plus
your President was the one who informed us of how she was connected to the Soul
Reapers.

That

s
right.
My long lost family that never wanted me.


I
will come for her,

proclaimed
Sam.


No
you won

t.
Because if you do,

Crazy
Z paused as he inhaled the last of his cigarette before flicking it away. His
movements so fast I could not track them as his hands found my bound wrists
around my head and separated my right from my left. Taking the left one in his
hands, he applied enough pressure to make me howl in pain.


Dilly,

Sam
bellowed.


I
will break her other wrist.

With
a quick twist pain shot up my arm as I screamed until everything went black.

CHAPTER ONE

 

Knox

War
was brewing! It always was when two groups wanted the same thing; each battle a
step closer. Constant retribution was sought after for the losses felt in each
clash.  The memories of them never dying; never allowing us to lay at peace.
The victor of this war, a war of our making, would only be found through
extreme violence. The more savage the brutality the faster the victory.

I
had already come to terms with my role in this war. Baaaa! A member of the
flock that would follow its shepherd blindly anywhere he went. The intel from
Wesson that the Hellhounds were gearing up for a hostile take-over did not sit
well with me or any of the brothers. It was time to take matters into our own
hands and dictate the ending of this war story.

Now
it was time for another battle. I was hoping for something epic, but knew it
would be a smash and grab type of operation. Get in and get out with an alive
Baxter Reed in tow.  As our entourage pulled off the highway, heading towards
where we had to meet Trigger and Rabbit, our bikes roared down the quiet
country road.

Usually
this was my favorite part, the solitude of the ride with a pack full of
brothers surrounding you. Nothing said freedom like an open country road and
the white noise of the wind as my bike rumbled underneath of me.

But
not today. Today was about taking back something that belonged to us. Just as
we pulled off the road, there sat Trigger and Rabbit. The roar of the bikes
came to an abrupt stop and a blanket of silence enveloped us as we all
dismounted and made our way over to them.


Brother.

Trigger
nodded to Colton and then the rest of us.


Any
updates?

Colton
asked as he surveyed the area. I turned slightly to see behind us knowing that
our enemies had eyes and ears everywhere.


Nothing
new,

answered
Rabbit.

No
movement since they carried Baxter into the house.


What

s
the plan?

Tank

s
impatience evident as he cracked his neck from side-to-side.


Trigger,
Rabbit, and Tank take the back. Whistler, Knox and I go through the front.
Shoot anything that moves and ask questions later.


Sounds
like a plan,

Tank said as he
gestured for Trigger and Rabbit to lead the way.

Fifteen
minutes later we were all crouched down watching for any movements from the
house. It was too quiet. There were no guards or lookouts. Nothing! The
Hellhounds were either the stupidest assholes in the world or something was
wrong.


Let

s
split up. Tank wait until you hear gunfire before you storm the back door,

instructed
Colton as Tank led Trigger and Rabbit around the back of the house.


Whistler,
you kick in the door. Knox you cover me as I go in.


Done,

I
responded as Whistler made his way around the front of the house. All three of
us stayed low as we ducked under one of the front windows before reaching the
door. Whistler used his fingers to count to three before kicking in the door.


Oh
shit

and
other cries of alarm went up as my gunfire rained down on what looked to be two
guys in the living room.  Colton ran through the hallway at the same time a
crash and then more gunfire sounded from the back of the house.


I
see two,

yelled
Colton as he took cover behind a pillar in the hallway.

I
squeezed the trigger a few more times before I heard the unmistakable thud of a
body hitting the floor.

I got one,

I
called to Colton as he rounded the pillar firing two more shots. Silence
descended on the house as Colton and I came out from our cover to see two dead
Hellhounds.


Tank,

called
Colton.


Clear,

he
yelled back as I made my way to the back of the house.


That
was way too easy.

I
heard Colton say to Whistler.


How
many up front?

Tank questioned
as I walked into the kitchen to find another Hellhound face down swimming in an
ever-expanding red pool of his own blood.


Two.


Two,
plus this guy here,

responded
Trigger.


What
the fuck? Only three guys? It

s like the
Hellhounds don

t even care.

Tank
said as he paced back and forth. His uneasiness set me to high alert.


I
found Baxter,

hollered Colton
from the front of the house. Trigger and Rabbit rushed out of the room towards
Colton

s
voice.


I

ll
check out the rest of the house,

I
told Tank as I took the stairs two at a time.  Pausing, I lifted my gun before
stepping onto the second floor.  A dark hallway and a musty smell greeted me as
I scanned my surroundings.

Three
closed doors were all that I could see as I inched my way towards the first
one. I quickly opened it, stepping back in case someone fired at me. When
silence continued I stepped into the room to clear it before moving on to the
second door to find an empty bathroom. A soft whimper sounded from behind door
number three. My steps quickened as my adrenaline spiked.

After
two quick breaths, I turned the knob and stepped into the room, gun pointed
straight ahead as I surveyed the room. No blinds on the window allowed the
moonlight to cast shadows throughout the room. It was bare except for ropes
that hung from the ceiling and a mattress in the corner. A few feeble noises of
what sounded like pain came from the corner as I slowly approached it. There
lay a naked body of what appeared to be a woman. Her skin so pale it caught and
held the moonlight. I knelt down next to her, taking in the dark marks that
blemished her body. My gun no longer needed found its way into the back of my
pants as I reached out and touched her.
Still warm, thank God.


No
more.

Her
words shredded me.

Please leave me alone,

she
mumbled. I put a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, only to
have her flinch and whine in response.


Shhh,

I
soothed.

Come on, let

s
get you out of here.

I
shrugged my cut off so that I could give her my long sleeve shirt to put on. As
I lifted her head to put my shirt on her, her hair fell away from her face
revealing eyes so swollen she could not even open them. I boiled on the inside
at what was done to her as I calmly said to her,

What

s
your name sweetheart?

My
question was met with silence as I gently put her head through my shirt. She
screamed in pain when I grabbed her left hand to try and guide it into the
shirt. The girl went limp in my arms as she passed out.


Fuck,

I
yelled. I gingerly turned her hand over and saw that it hung at an odd angle.
They broke her fucking wrist. My slow simmer boil turned into a raging inferno
for this poor girl. Did the Hellhounds do this for shits and giggles or was
there a purpose behind this needless violence? I carefully finished dressing
her before scooping her up into my arms.

Although
marks marred her skin, you could tell from the creamy complexion that she was a
sight to behold. Her body long and lean as I folded her into my chest, being
sure that my shirt covered as much of her as possible. The beauty in my arms
whimpered once again as I descended the stairs.


I
got you sweetheart.

And
I did. A protective instinct I never felt before reared its head as my words
sunk deep into me. No matter what happened next I would take care of her. I
knew this as fact from the deepest part of me. Nothing and no one would hurt
her again.

 

Dylan

Pop.
Pop. Pop-pop-pop. Sounds pulled me from my safe haven of oblivion as I tried to
get my bearings. The musty smell of the farmhouse and my aching body brought
everything crashing back as I tried once again to open my eyes. More of what
sounded like gunfire. Gunfire? Oh shit, maybe Samael really did find me.

Silence
and then muffled voices could be heard downstairs. My heart lurched as the
steady sound of footsteps could be heard on the stairs.
Oh shit.
 Whoever
those steps belonged to was either going to save me or kill me. I felt that
truth in the depth of my soul.

The
trepidation was too much and I tried to sit up so that I could at least face
where I thought the door was, but the pain was too great and I cried out. The
footsteps stopped again.
Shit, they heard me.
My heart thundered in my
chest as I felt the storm of the last few days coming to a head. A quick turn
of the knob and I heard the door fly open as heavy footsteps moved closer and
closer still. I held my breath as if no movement on my part would make me
invisible, but I knew whoever it was could see me. There was nothing in this
room but me and the decrepit mattress my body rested on. I wished my eyes were
not swollen shut so I could at least see my fate before I met it blindly.

A
body knelt next to mine. My lungs burned with the need for oxygen. I willed
myself not to move, even as my self-preservation kicked into high gear. I drew
in a breath very slowly taking in a scent that was all male and open road,
right as I felt a finger poke my shoulder.


No
more.

My
voice did not even sound like my own; hoarse and brittle.

Please
leave me alone,

I
begged. The stranger put a hand on my shoulder. I whimpered in pain as I tried
to shrink away from him.


Shhh,

came
a deep baritone voice that reached inside of me and took hold. I found
immediate comfort in that voice; so much so that I wanted to turn into him and
bask in that comfort.


Come
on, let

s
get you out of here.

There
was what sounded like a shuffling of clothes, which should have concerned me,
but between the pain I was in and his freely spoken words of comfort I could
not find any. My head was lifted as I felt cotton fabric against my body. My
hair fell from my face and I felt my rescuer cringe, knowing he saw what they
had done to me.

A
moment later in a voice I did not recognize but would never forget again, he
asked,

What

s
your name sweetheart?

My
past experience told me that them not knowing my name was my biggest advantage,
but could ultimately be my downfall as it had been with the Hellhounds.  I
remained silent hoping against hope that he would drop it. God finally listened
as he began to dress me, putting a shirt over my head. I dreaded what came next
knowing that my broken wrist would have to be put into the arm of the shirt.
Knowing and being prepared were two totally separate things as he grabbed my
left hand. I screamed at the pain, at the fury the pain brought, at the pit of
darkness that once again swallowed me alive as I fell into it.

BOOK: Dylan's Reaper: Soul Reapers #3
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