Recruited: A Reaper Collective Prequel

By Riley Archer

Ellis had thought her life had been a little ... unconventional. But it wasn't until after her death that things really took a turn. 

 

Other than a dark sense of foreboding hanging over my head, that night wasn't so different. I dressed up like a pirate for the shipwreck-themed oyster bar I worked at, insulted some leering customers, and had a drink with friends. I had no idea it was my last night alive. My final memory was of a beautiful angel of death hovering over me. When I woke up, he was still there, and he told me I'd been recruited into Reaper Collective. 

And that was just the beginning. 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Golden Fox Press
• Release date: Jan 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393301721

Book preview

1

The Salty Siren

Ignoring the sense of dread crowding the outskirts of my consciousness, I slid the round tray onto the counter and wiped the sweat from my brow.

A man with a patchy beard and greasy brown hair leaned against the bow of the bar. Two Panty Peelers and a pineapple sangria. He glanced in my direction and winked. Winked.

I gritted my teeth together and attempted something like a smile. It was the kind of smile a kid in elementary gave when getting their school photos taken, which was eons more polite than I’d wanted to be.

Coming right up! We’ll bring it out to your table, said Aly, the bubbly blond behind the shipwreck-style bar. She was far too peppy for someone who was forced to wear a flowy pirate-style blouse, a corset, and a sweaty scarf around her neck. She shot me a sympathetic glance as she popped the caps off two bottles of beer, the label on each depicting a naked woman riding a reindeer.

Unwashed guy gave each of us a head nod before he meandered back to his table. I made a face at his back, and I was a thousand percent sure Aly saw. Which was fine, as long as Billy the manager didn’t see. We’d had more than a few talks about my attitude; I didn’t know if my employment would survive another one.

Thank the heavens The Salty Siren had no liquor license. I barely tolerated the accidentally touchy morons shooting oysters, and I’d likely have decked one of them by now if they’d been shooting tequila instead.

Thanks, Al. I itched beneath my own scarf-torture-device.

This quaint little oyster bar had an overactive heating system, which made me appreciate the frigid Alaskan winter just a smidgen. Even when I knew for damn certain I wouldn’t be appreciating it in thirty minutes while freezing my cheeks off on the way home. Both sets of cheeks.

I’d be able to afford a car one day, but for now, my ten little piggies got me to and from my tiny apartment.

After Aly set the drinks down, she leaned in with an amused glint in her overly large, shimmer-powdered eyes—a feature that made her look something like a sultry cherub. Come out with us tonight, Ellis. It’ll be fun.

By us, she probably meant herself, Jackson the cook, and one or more of the girls