Reaper's MC: Crowned By Death

Knox’s hand closes around the collar of my cut, tugging me back just enough that I feel the heat of him at my spine.

“You keep looking at trouble like that,” he murmurs against my ear, voice rough and low, “and one day it’s going to look back.”

I tilt my chin, meeting his gaze over my shoulder.

“Good,” I whisper. “I’m counting on it.”

His mouth curves slowly, dark and dangerous.

“Careful, Shade,” he says. “The Reapers don’t play nice.”

“Neither do I.”

I grew up around the Reaper’s MC.
The roar of bikes, the smell of gasoline and leather, the kind of loyalty that runs deeper than blood. It was never supposed to be my world though. That belonged to my brother.
Ghosteye.
He wore the patch. He lived by the Crown. He believed in the club with everything he had.
And then one day… he was just gone.
Everyone says it was handled.
Everyone says the club took care of it.
But something about it never felt right.
So I did the one thing no one expected—I stepped into the Reapers myself.
Prospecting. Proving I belong in a world where men like Knox, Lucian, and my own father rule with iron fists and blood-stained loyalty.
Digging graves. Running jobs. Surviving men who think I shouldn’t even be here.
The deeper I go, the more I realize this club is built on secrets… and Ghosteye was buried with one of the biggest.
But if the Reapers taught me anything growing up, it’s this:
You don’t wear the Crown unless you’re willing to bleed for it.
And I’m ready to burn this entire kingdom to the ground if that’s what it takes to learn the truth.