Reaper’s Fall is the newest standalone in the Reaper's MC
Series. Painter & Melanie's story is
FINALLY here!
Available at the following retailers:
Blurb
The New York Times
bestselling author of Reaper’s Stand
is back in her “uber-alpha rough world of MCs”* as one woman’s future is rocked
by the man whose hardcore past could destroy her…
He never meant to hurt her.
Levi
“Painter” Brooks was nothing before he joined the Reapers motorcycle club. The
day he patched in, they became his brothers and his life. All they asked in
return was a strong arm and unconditional loyalty—a loyalty that’s tested when
he’s caught and sentenced to prison for a crime committed on their behalf.
Melanie
Tucker may have had a rough start, but along the way she’s learned to fight for
her future. She’s escaped from hell and started a new life, yet every night she
dreams of a biker whose touch she can’t forget. It all started out so
innocently—just a series of letters to a lonely man in prison. Friendly.
Harmless. Safe.
Now
Painter Brooks is coming home… and Melanie’s about to learn that there’s no
room for innocence in the Reapers MC.
My Review
What can I say. I've loved all of Joanna Wylde's books...Horse was my favorite. I remember one summer reading that paperback four times while at the beach. I've read Painter and Mel's story twice in two weeks. I think you can gather who took first price in my Joanna Wylde book category.
From the very beginning I was sucked into this story, how can you not be when it involves Painter. He's always been the one that never commits. Don't worry he still gives Mel a run for his money, but what he doesn't expect is to fall in love with her.
This book takes place over a few years, so you really get the feel for the characters, you develope a sense of really truly knowing them.
I can not wait for more Joanna Wylde books! 5 Stars!!
Excerpt
“You want
to watch a movie or something?” she asked, nodding toward the TV. I had a
decent one, too. Giant-ass flat-screen—homecoming present from the club.
“Sure,” I
said, reaching for the remote. I didn’t have cable, but Ruger had set up some
kind of box thingie for me so I could stream shit. “Whatcha in the mood for?”
“Not
horror,” she said quickly, and I laughed again, remembering that first evening
I’d spent with her at Pic’s house. She’d been so young and scared and
vulnerable . . . I’d wanted to eat her up.
I still
wanted to eat her.
“I can’t
believe that you and Puck were supposed to be watching over me, and then you
put in a slasher movie. That’s not how you make a girl feel safe.”
“No
horror,” I agreed, although the thought of holding her for a couple hours while
she was scared shitless appealed way more than it should. Watch it, asshole.
“How about Star Wars?”
“You like
Star Wars?”
I
shrugged. “Everyone likes Star Wars. You know, I’m pretty damned sure Han Solo
was a biker.”
She
giggled. “You mean, like a space biker?”
“See,
when you say it like that it sounds stupid.”
“I wanted
to be Princess Leia. She’s badass,” she said, taking a deep drink of her beer.
I watched as her lips wrapped around the neck, her throat swallowing. Oh fuck,
that was good. She set the beer down on the coffee table with a clink, then let
loose with the biggest burp I’d ever heard.
“Fucking
hell,” I said, stunned. “I didn’t think girls could burp like that. Shit.
Impressive, Mel. Very impressive.”
She
grinned at me.
“We’re
friends,” she told me. “And friends don’t need to worry about stuff like that.
Let me guess—you’ve never had a female friend before?”
“Not
really,” I admitted. “I’m think I’m a little scared.”
Scared
and turned on, which was weird.
“You
should be. I can do the whole alphabet.”
Damn. I
kinda wanted to see that.
Excerpt
Mel,
You know, I write these fuckin’ letters to you, but
they’re fake. I ask about your friends and your school and whether you’re
meeting people. It’s bullshit, Mel.
Here’s my reality.
Yesterday I stabbed someone before he could stab me. Puck
and I sold some shit to a bunch of white supremacists and we turned around and
sold the same damned thing to some Mexicans. We had pudding with our dinner for
dessert.
Then I jacked off three times thinking about you.
Those
are the highlights. Like a fairy tale, right? Remembering you keeps me going,
which makes no fucking sense at all. I hardly touched you. I still think about
what you smelled like when you sat next to me on the couch, though. You were
just this little thing and you shivered under my arm. I know you were scared of
the movie and I could’ve picked something else, but I wanted the excuse to hold
you.
That’s when I started thinking seriously about us fucking.
I had this vision of shoving you into the cushions face-
first, then ripping down your jeans and pushing so deep you’d feel it in the
back of your throat. That’s the kind of guy I am, Mel, and that’s why you
should stay the fuck away from me.
You give me the chance, I’ll pin you down and keep pumping
no matter how hard you try to get away. I dream about it every night, I jerk
off to it, and today I gave serious thought to killing a man because he has the
same fantasies about you as me. That first night, I promised London I wouldn’t touch
you, but my cock had already been hard for hours. Good thing she showed up when
she did—saved your ass. How’s that for luck?
When I took you to dinner, I was going to be good. Tried
to be good. I know you didn’t understand why I asked you out or what it meant.
They needed you out of the way, Mel. That was my job—to keep you busy. And I
promised London I wouldn’t pull shit on you but she’d been lying to us all
along and I kept wondering if that meant my promise didn’t count anymore.
Pretty damned sure it hasn’t counted for a while now.
You were talking and smiling and blushing. My dick was so
stiff it nearly snapped in half when I tried to stand up. Took everything I had
not to throw you on my bike and ride off with you . . . I want to tie you up
and come in your ass and shove my cock down your throat until you choke. I want
your hair in little-girl pigtails so I can hold on tight while I fuck your
face. I want you to cry and scream and give me everything. I want to fucking
OWN you. How’s that for reality, Mel? You still want my advice about boys?
I’m coming home soon. You should run away while you still
can, Mel. I’ll make you dirty, so dirty you’ll never be clean again. I’ll make
you pay me back the hard way. You think you’re all grown up, but you’re not.
There’s so much I could teach you . . . do to you. Jesus, if you only knew,
you’d never write to me again.
You should move to Alaska.
Change your name.
Good luck,
though, because I’ll find you and take you and—
Fucking
hell.
I dropped
my pencil, wondering why I’d thought this was a good idea. I wasn’t going to
send it, of course. I’d send her some friendly little note and tell her she
should be dating and having fun. But some part of me thought writing my real
thoughts out might fix my obsession. Instead my dick was like a rock. Again.
Still.
Always.
About the Author:
Joanna Wylde
is a New York Times bestselling author and creator of the Reapers Motorcycle
Club series. She currently lives in Idaho.
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