Wiping Out My Ex's MC: The Mechanic Heiress and Her Reaper King

Chapter 2

Word Count: 819 | Released on: 22/09/2026

le Bye

tting meat, and unwashed bodies. With the main power cut, the d

, the ungreased brass hinges sc

ed possessively over Dariana's bare shoulder. Three unpatched Prospects stood awkwardly by the

hands over her lower belly, letting out a patheti

water is shut off. It was so suffocating in the back ro

"You're out of your goddamn mind, Danielle! You cut the power and wat

, keeping my hands resting casuall

fathered by whichever cartel run

e sofa and dropping her fragile act instantly. "This is Jarret's heir! Y

nila envelope from inside my vest and slappe

spilled across the glass

oss Baja. In several, she was draped over men wearing rival club cuts. None of the

o look, their eyes bugging out before

ist onto the table, sending the pictures fluttering across the rug. "This is bullshi

the county clinic in Riverside right now. Ultrasound

. She grabbed Jarret's wrist in pure panic. "Jarret... she's try

ath hitting my face. "Hand over the master keys to the Iron Forge vault. Right now. Dariana needs

e Byers estate," I replied. "Every

e you wear my fucking colors!" he barked, reach

dn't

st, and drove my thumb deep into the nerve clust

ees buckling until he slammed down on

s off me, Viper

e heavy brass ring of vault keys from my belt loop

rward on the flo

, I hurled the heavy key ring s

side-right into three feet of fester

crambled to the window, staring down

ance? Go dive in the

sofa. Jarret whirled on me, v

ch vote! We're stripping your title and se

rch. Tell your men their President has to beg his wife for g

oor, a beige Lincoln Town C

ther and a self-appointed

Chapter End

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Wiping Out My Ex's MC: The Mechanic Heiress and Her Reaper King

Youran Qianwu Romance

“For three years, I was the backbone of the Iron Cross MC. I hand-built their custom fleet, tuned every engine with my bare hands, and spent a fortune from my private trust to keep my husband, Jarret, out of federal prison. My reward? Jarret rode back from the border with a pregnant roadside mistress on his fender, faking "amnesia" to strip my colors and steal my multimillion-dollar workshop for his unborn bastard. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I walked straight into my shop and yanked the master breaker, plunging the entire compound into pitch-black desert heat. Overnight, I called in a military convoy and stripped the garage down to bare concrete-leaving those ungrateful bastards with nothing but rotting meat, dry taps, and dead beer lines. When I returned only to retrieve my late father's legacy blueprints, the starving, cornered club ambushed me with drawn guns: "Sign over your entire inheritance, or you won't leave alive! The Grand Council will never save a mechanic bitch!" Before the words even left their mouths, the heavy oak doors exploded off their hinges. Clemente "Ghost" Whitaker-the West Coast's deadliest Reaper President-burst in with forty heavy armored cruisers, slamming the Grand Council's official Decree of Absolute Severance into Jarret's terrified face: "Every single dime belongs to her. Touch her, and you die." Cornered and desperate, the mistress staged a bloody fake miscarriage, throwing herself down the stairs. Blinded by rage, Jarret snapped and whipped the heavy steel slide of his Glock across my face, crushing my cheekbone in a spray of blood. Did I break? Not a chance. Wrapped in Ghost's warm, bloodstained sheepskin coat, I wiped the copper from my lips, pulled an encrypted military satellite transponder from my boot, and whispered my final kill order: "Execute Phase Four. Liquidate the compound at sunrise. Leave them with nothing." And as the convoy tore into the night, I caught a glimpse beneath Ghost's open collar: a tarnished brass butterfly tag gleamed against his chest... The exact keepsake I pressed into the hands of a dying boy I pulled from a fire ten years ago. The wolf I saved has returned as the King of the Underworld.”