Betrayal: The Reapers Series Book One Read online

  Betrayal

  The Reapers Series Book One

  Bo Reid

  Copyright © 2019 by Bo Reid

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover designed by GermanCreative

  Dedications

  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

  Chapter Thirty

  Dedications

  For the hubs, I would have never done this had it not been for you. Thank you for dealing with my crazy self being glued to my laptop. Listening to my rants, freak outs, and doubts. And thanks for talking murder with me.

  “O little one,

  My little one,

  Come with me,

  Your life is done.

  Forget the future,

  Forget the past.

  Life is over:

  Breathe your last.”

  -Abarat (Clive Barker)

  Prologue

  H ow do you know if you have a soul? I’m fairly certain I don’t, but I’m not sure if I was born without one, or if I was slowly stripped of it. I do know I’m a monster, I take after my father like that. I wonder if my mother saw too much of me in him. Is that’s why she left and didn’t take me with her? Did she already know I was a lost cause? That I wasn’t worth saving?

  I was born during one of the harshest winters our town has ever seen, with record breaking snow fall levels and temperature drops. I always knew my name represented winter and it always seemed fitting for it to be my favorite season I loved the harsh bite from the cold wind.

  I loved watching everything die as the frost moves in I come alive in winter. Fitting that death comes alive when everything else goes to ground. What I never realized is that I would become the full embodiment of my name.

  Death.

  A Reaper – no, The Reaper. The Original.

  Reaping souls and settling debts.

  There is one debt that has yet to be collected on, but I intend to do just that, then I’ll gladly leave the shadows and take my place in Hell.

  There was never a time that I can remember when I liked the heat; the cold was always where I belonged. I never feared the dark, but too much light hurt my eyes.

  Hades belonged in the light, he shined so bright, and I was content in the shadows of his glory.

  ***

  When we were barely eight, I remember Hades falling off his bike and skinning his knees, the blood running down his leg as he cried out in pain. The blood was all I could focus on, his cries and screams like the most beautiful melody. Later that night I sat in my room and dug a sharpened knife into my leg. I watched as the blood ran down, creating a pool of red at my feet.

  I didn’t cry. The tears and screams of agony never came, the blood was just too pretty. But not nearly as pretty as someone else’s. Unaccompanied by screams of agony it just wasn’t the same.

  I didn’t realize then but that was the moment everything changed.

  It didn’t take long for Hades to realize I was different, that something was wrong with me. I knew as much, but he refused to consider that anything was wrong. I was just different - not wrong.

  No matter what he did, what he said I knew normal people didn’t enjoy the pain of others. We kept my secret and anytime the urges became too strong he always managed to talk me down, to keep me sane, before anyone got hurt.

  He was the key that kept my monster in her cage. Until the day they took away my key, broke the lock and unleashed a greater beast than even they knew existed.

  Within the small girl with the angel face resided a devil of evil thoughts, their worst nightmare. There would be no escaping the Reaper, no salvation for the damned.

  Even the Devil was once an Angel, and that’s how you know I’m so much worse than he is. Cause baby, I’ve always been a Reaper.

  Chapter One

  Twenty-One Years Old

  Morana

  I stand in the shadows of the rundown shack, seated deep in the forest, and watch my brothers beat a man for crossing us. Unlike my brothers I don’t care much for the lengths of violence they go through to make a point. I’m all for moving quickly and efficiently, but they’re all about dueling out punishments with their fists. It’s not that I mind the blood, or the pain; I revel in it. It’s just that this takes so long, and I have better things to do with my time then watch this knowing the outcome. But we do this together, as a family.

  A fucked-up family, but a family none the less.

  At first glance my brothers seem to be the ones you would need to be wary of, they’re massive. They loom over their prey like the redwoods that loom over the forest floor outside this shack. While they have violent tendencies, and an encounter with them might leave you bloody and sore for weeks, they’re not the true villains here. I am. We’ve buried more bodies who’s last breaths were taken by my hand then any of theirs combined. I’m efficient, and lethal.

  The people who know us know the likelihood of walking away from an encounter with my brothers is high; you’ll be broken, but breathing. On the other hand, walking away from me? Not likely, if you see me it’s already too late, your fate has been sealed.

  I get up from my place in the shadows about to make my first appearance of the night, my heels clicking on the old wooden floor as the cabin quiets. Leaving only the heavy breathing of the bloodied man in the center of the room. My brothers part and the second he registers me he visibly quivers. He knows us he knows me.

  He made a mistake tonight. He assumed that because he couldn’t see me I wasn’t here; he thought if he could just hold out through the beating that he would leave here broken but alive. Now that he’s seen me, it’s different. I can see the fear, the way sweat beads along his brow, the way his hands shake as he tries to hold himself off the floor.

  I slowly step around his back. He follows my movements with his eyes as much as he can while still facing forward. Once I stop walking the cabin falls into an ominous silence. Just the labored breaths of a dead man, the snap of a tree branch and the rustling of fall leaves as the winds whisper his death sentence. I draw the knife strapped to my thigh. My brothers take a step back, attempting to avoid the coming blood bath. In one swift move I grab hold of his hair wrenching his head back and exposing his neck, bringing the blade across his throat.

  When I release him, he drops forward onto the cabin floor making a gargling
sound as he drowns in his own blood. I grab the rag offered to me and wipe the blood from my blade, stowing it safely back on my person once its clean.

  I take a moment to stare at the body at my feet, then at my brothers. Ranger, Nash, and Hunter. They say that blood is thicker than water. Blood is what makes us a family - the blood just isn’t ours. We’re the people your mama warned you about, except worse. We’re Destruction. Chaos. Anarchy. Death.

  We’re The Reapers.

  Chapter Two

  Sixteen Years Old

  Morana

  S itting in our large den off the entry way of our old Victorian mansion I stare out at the driveway and lush green lawns, down to the tall wrought iron fence contemplating my purpose in the grand scheme of things.

  I’m lost in thoughts of the past, and those who we have lost when I hear the knock at the front door. I hadn’t even noticed the banged up old model Camry parked outside our home. Making my way over to the front door, I see a man in his mid-forties, already balding standing on our front porch in an ill-fitting suit. My father wouldn’t be caught dead in something that looks so cheap and unkempt.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, as I rest a hip on the door frame and study the strangers in front of me.

  “We’re here to see Mr. Valdis.” The man says without looking up from his clip board. Silently I wait for an explanation. If he honestly thinks I’m letting him in my house without more information, he doesn’t know where he is. As he flips the pages on his clip board, I read words like “Problems with authority.” “Anger issues.” “Juvenile detention.” And “Adoption.”

  When the man finally looks up and registers, I’m not the help, he swallows, stuttering.

  “I’m Mr. Dasher and this is Ranger.” He gestures towards the boy next to him, “His social worker, we have a meeting scheduled with Mr. Valdis, your father?” he says but the last part comes out as a question.

  Satisfied with his answers I step aside and gesture them to enter the house. I lead them down the hallway to my father’s office. He welcomes Mr. Dasher with a winning, but fake smile, and tells me to take Ranger into the sitting room.

  “So, what’s your name?” Ranger asks.

  “Morana.”

  “Morana. Interesting name. Where does it come from?”

  We enter the sitting room and take seats on opposite couches. It means death. In Slavic mythology it was the name of the goddess of death and winter. I was born during one of the harshest winters our town has ever seen and in time grew into the embodiment of my name, but since I don’t know why he’s really here I keep all that to myself.

  “What can I say, my parents are… interesting.” I say instead. It’s not an outright lie, they are interesting.

  Aeron Valdis is a man of many talents. He runs our town of Sanorah California. Our town is peaceful, because we make it that way. The residents look the other way about our less than legal activities because the biggest problem they want to face is if their perfectly manicured lawns meets HOA requirements.

  My father has a winning smile and friendly personality he uses to cover the darker parts of his nature. Namely the parts that leave someone in a shallow grave. He’s tall, easily six foot two, and fills out a suit like the mob boss he is.

  I take after him with my dark hair, bright green eyes, and a smile that hides our dirty secrets, but that’s where our similarities end. Where he is tall, I’m short, barely coming up to the middle of his chest. Where his features are hard, his jaw chiseled, mine are soft and delicate. But that’s where my power is, hidden beneath my doll-like features and soft skin. No one sees the blade coming when it is being wielded in the hand of a small girl with bright sparkling emerald eyes and a cheeky smile.

  I study Ranger, making no move to hide it as I take him in from head to toe. Tall, tanned, with more muscles then a teenager should have. If Jason Momoa and Dwayne Johnson had a baby, I’m pretty sure that baby would be Ranger.

  The office door creaks open. I watch the entry way for Mr. Dasher. He walk past the sitting room. The front door opens and closes. I guess he won’t be taking Ranger with him.

  “Morana, Ranger come here.” I stand, Ranger follows my lead and we walk back to the open door leading to my father’s office. We enter and stand behind the chairs seated in front of his desk, waiting for him to look up from the paperwork he’s pretending is more important than us. It’s a power play and, I’m used to it. He’s subtly showing Ranger that whatever his bullshit paperwork is in front of him, it’s more important than us. When he finally does look up, he takes a long moment to appraise Ranger.

  “Morana,” he says slowly, “meet your new brother.”

  I still ever so slightly, unwilling to let my face betray my confusion. I simply wait in silence for someone else to speak first. Silence is power. When I see my father shift slightly, I know he’s looking at me to attempt to gauge my reaction to this news. He won’t find his answers there, he’s taught me too well. A corner of his mouth rises.

  -“Be a dear and show Ranger to the rooms in the East wing, then show him around.” He dismisses us.

  I nod once and leave the room. Towards the stairs that lead to the East wing. Never once looking back to make sure he’s following me. I hear him trailing behind me on the stairwell, footsteps echoing. At the top I turn right and walk down the hall opening doors as I go, not stopping to give instructions. When I’m at the end of the hall and the last room is open, I turn around.

  “Take your pick.” I say and motion to the open rooms.

  Ranger keeps his face stoic like he’s unaffected by what just happened, but I know better.

  “So, what the fuck is going on here?”

  I don’t say anything.

  “I think things aren’t quiet what they seem.” He studies me. At least he’s perceptive. That might save his life one day. Instead of answering him I make my way back towards him. When I don’t slow my stride, he moves aside, allowing me to pass.

  “You look like him but are you really his?” He asks as I pass reaching his hand out as if to grab my arm but pauses, lowering his hand.

  “Yes, he’s really my biological father.” I turn to face him, “I’m not sure what his plans are for you, but I’m sure he has one. Aeron Valdis never does anything without a plan. So, I suggest you think long and hard about what purpose you might serve.”

  ***

  I knock on my father’s office door after showing Ranger to the rooms he could pick from and offering a quick tour of the house. Apparently he was expected by everyone but me. Lucinda already had an array of clothing in various sizes and styles for him to pick from.

  “Come in.” My father calls.

  Slipping into his office I sit in one of the chairs facing him. He stops what he’s doing and turns to face me-no need to pretend I’m not important. He casually leans back in his chair, resting his elbows on the arms lacing his fingers together. I wait him out, and after a few heartbeats he smiles at me.

  “Foster. With a record. Smart kid, stupid decisions. New family, but most importantly,” his smile broadens, “the first of your new crew.”

  I take a moment to think over everything he just said. So, he essentially adopted Ranger to expand our business ventures. Interesting way to acquire new hires I didn’t think we were that hard up.

  “What do you mean my new crew?” I finally ask.

  “You know your place in all of this don’t you Morana?” He asks, motioning around the room to encompass ‘all of this.’

  Without hesitation I answer.

  “Death, death is my place in all of this.”

  He smiles at me, showing teeth.

  “You’re The Reaper Morana, and now you have a new Reaper.”

  Oh, I get it. Not just new hires, not new muscle, more hands to steal souls from the damned.

  It’s surprisingly hard to find someone willing to be the embodiment of death, without the crushing weight of guilt dragging them down.

  I guess he thinks if
he finds someone young enough, desperate enough, he could mold them into whatever he wants. I don’t think it works that way but what do I know, I’m just the Original Reaper.

  “Does he know?” I ask never taking my eyes off his face, making sure to study each and every tick.

  “Not yet, but he will, soon enough” I chuckle darkly mostly to myself.

  “Oh, I see” I say, and my father cocks his head to the side to study me.

  “Do you now?”

  “I bet he’s never lived in a home that costs what your car does, and now you bring him here?” I ask motioning around the room, “this place must seem like a castle to him. You’re buying him with shiny things, before he even knows his soul is for sale.”

  He smiles, and I know I hit the nail on the head.

  “And I bet at his first job he won’t even know what he’s apart of until it’s too late.” I say and lean back in my chair, bringing my hand up to casually study my nails.

  My father uses his paper work to show someone their insignificance. I prefer to pretend my nails are far more important than human interaction.

  “I bet that once he understands exactly what this all is, he won’t be able to do a damn thing about it without implementing himself as well, yes?”

  “Well done my dear. Very well done. Now make sure he’s happy for the time being.” He dismisses me with a wave of his hand.

  “Will there be more?” I ask as I stand up.

  “I have two others in mind. Let’s see how well you do with Ranger first.”

  So, it’s up to me. If I fail with Ranger, I might be saving others. But if I fail with him, chances are I’ll be digging his grave.

  As much as I don’t feel like dragging others into the dark, for the first time I don’t feel like death is the answer.

  Chapter Three

  Morana