Reaper (Boston Underworld, #2)

by A. Zavarelli

I’ve never believed in fairytales. There is no white knight in my story. Only me.

Damaged souls have their own beauty. A dark, terrifying beauty. The same type of beauty I recognize in Ronan.

One thing I know for certain is that this killer—the Reaper—isn’t my white knight. In fact, in this story, I very well suspect he may even be the villain.

I’m one big hot fucking mess wrapped in pretty lies.

He isn’t at all sweet. But if I wanted sugar, I’d eat a fucking cupcake.

Always Ronan.