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

Danielle Byers POV:

Evelyn stepped out of the Lincoln, smoothing down her leopard-print blouse with long, manicured acrylic talons.

Jarret and Dariana came tumbling out of the clubhouse like starving dogs running for scraps. Dariana clutched her stomach, sobbing dramatically as Evelyn caught her in an embrace, glaring across the yard at my shop doors.

I picked up the thick stack of red invoices from my desk, tucked my folding knife into my boot, and walked down the iron spiral staircase.

I hit the button on the control box. The steel rolling shutter groaned as it rolled upward with a shriek of grinding chains.

"Danielle! You have zero respect for the founders of this charter!" Evelyn screeched, ducking under the metal before it was even waist-high. She stormed in, trailing Virginia Slims smoke and cheap floral perfume.

"Respect is earned on the asphalt, Evelyn," I said, leaning back against the steel workbench. "You haven't touched a throttle since your husband wrecked his Shovelhead thirty years ago and left you with forty grand in credit card debt."

Jarret shoved his way past his mother, puffing out his chest. "Watch your tongue! My mother is a charter widow! She came here to protect the Aguirre bloodline!"

Evelyn put on a sweet, poisonous smile. "Dani, darling... we all know you're bitter because of your biological shortcomings. But Jarret is the President. He needs a boy to carry the patch. Dariana is giving this club an heir, and it's your duty as the senior Old Lady to provide for the child."

"Get to the point, Evelyn. My coffee is getting cold."

Dariana peeked out from behind Evelyn's shoulder, her eyes full of petty malice. "Evelyn says... for the good of the brotherhood, you must sign over fifty-one percent of Iron Forge Customs to Jarret. As a trust fund for our baby."

I threw my head back and let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "A trust fund? For a kid conceived in a twenty-dollar motel while Jarret was hiding from cartel debt collectors?"

Evelyn's face curdled into pure hatred. "You belong to this club! Your father died in federal custody, and this club took you in! Everything you built here was done under our patch! That makes this shop club property by blood right!"

"Blood right?"

I picked up the thick stack of red invoices and hurled it directly into Evelyn's chest. Loose pages fluttered across the concrete floor.

"Look at the numbers!" I roared, stepping nose-to-nose with Evelyn. "Three hundred and forty thousand dollars over thirty-six months! I paid your clubhouse mortgage! I paid the property taxes, the electric bills, the food delivery, the bail bondsmen, and the legal fees!"

Two Prospects lingering near the door stared at the loose papers around their boots. A kid named Toby picked up a receipt with wide eyes. "Holy shit... sixty grand to the state tax board last October?"

"Drop that, you idiot!" Jarret lunged, ripping the receipt from Toby's hands and tearing it to shreds. "She faked those books! She's trying to sabotage us!"

I stepped past Evelyn and stopped an inch from Jarret's face. "Every commercial account tied to my name was frozen at eight this morning. The Byers estate is done funding your freeloading charter."

Jarret's eyes went completely wild.

His hand dropped to his waistband. In a split second, he whipped out his Glock 19 and leveled the black muzzle straight between my eyebrows.

"Unlock those accounts right now, bitch."

The whole shop went dead silent. Even Dariana took a terrified step back toward the door.

I didn't flinch. I took one full step forward, pressing my forehead directly against the cold steel of the barrel.

"Pull the trigger, Viper." My voice was a dead, lethal whisper. "Put a bullet in my head in front of four witnesses, and watch the Feds seize this compound for commercial fraud before sunset. Shoot me, or get the fuck out of my shop."

Jarret's hands began to tremble. His knuckles turned bone-white.

He was a coward who hid behind a leather cut.

I raised two fingers, shoved the barrel away from my skull, and turned my back on him. "Pathetic."

Evelyn grabbed Jarret's arm in a panic. "Jarret, put that away! Dani, let's talk—"

I hit the red button. The heavy steel shutter began its slow descent. "Get out before I drop three tons of industrial steel on your Lincoln."

They scrambled backward into the gravel, cursing as the iron slammed down.

I picked up the desk landline and dialed Doc Strickland—my father's oldest mechanic friend.

"Doc. Bring the flatbeds and the boys from the armory. We're clearing the machinery tonight."