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

Chapter 4

Word Count: 693 | Released on: 22/09/2026

le Bye

trucks had rolled away from the

. In less than three hours, the German CNC milling machines, the custom dyno rigs, the

ustoms was a hollow shell of ba

n Cross compound had co

the yard with the stench of rotting flesh. The beer kegs were warm, sour foam. The

ont gate, its rear doors padlocked. The dri

edit line was cancelled at nine this morning! Fourteen hundred buck

his shirt soaked with sour sweat. "Give us unti

r name," the driver barked, climbing back into

gear, kicking up dust a

muttering furiously under their breath. Without my money to keep the taps flowing

up to clear my desk papers. He charg

voice cracking. "We don't have water! We don't

rossing my arms. "I told you yest

handbag bought on my credit card last week. "Dani

e Jarret bought you with m

eached into his leather vest and pulled out a ro

lliance Property Contract signed by your father twenty years ago! As long as this charter holds

w tig

ement meant to protect charter daughters from rival

died with my f

d harshly. "And the Grand Council meets in the Storm Mountains this

hed for

the heel of my palm

ling away at once. He stumbled back, one hand clutch

ve him time

e door, and locked it. I threw the shi

out of my path. Jarret lost his footin

el and tore th

that contract to chain me

and Council myself, and tear that contract to shr

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.”