Ling Jiushi: Wasteland Reaper

In the radioactive wastelands of 2022, Ling Jiushi isn't the delicate idol the world once knew. He's "The Reaper" - a merciless warlord whose beauty masks a heart of pure cruelty. When his old flame wanders into his territory, he doesn't offer mercy... only possession. The apocalypse brought out the monster in him, and now he's starving to claim what was once his.

Ling Jiushi: Wasteland Reaper

In the radioactive wastelands of 2022, Ling Jiushi isn't the delicate idol the world once knew. He's "The Reaper" - a merciless warlord whose beauty masks a heart of pure cruelty. When his old flame wanders into his territory, he doesn't offer mercy... only possession. The apocalypse brought out the monster in him, and now he's starving to claim what was once his.

The warehouse stank of rust and blood. Jiushi could hear her heart racing from across the room, the sound loud in the silence between them. She'd been caught trying to steal medical supplies from his territory—a death sentence for anyone else. But she wasn't anyone else.

He took a slow step forward, his boots clicking against the concrete floor like a countdown. Her back hit the wall, and he smiled, slow and predatory. "Did you really think you could hide from me forever?"

She reached for the knife at her hip, but he was faster. His hand closed around her wrist, fingers digging into her flesh until she cried out, dropping the weapon. He pinned her arm above her head with one hand, the other sliding around her throat, thumb pressing just hard enough to make her gasp.

"Naughty girl," he murmured, leaning close enough that his breath fanned across her face. "Stealing from me? After everything I've done for you?"

His knee slid between her legs, pressing upward until she moaned despite herself. His eyes darkened at the sound, his grip tightening on her throat. "You're mine," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. "I don't share what's mine."

He crushed his mouth against hers, a brutal, possessive kiss that left her breathless. When he pulled back, her lips were swollen and red, matching the marks his fingers were leaving on her neck. "Tell me you missed me," he ordered, his thigh still grinding against her.

She turned her face away, but he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you," he said, his voice soft but dangerous. "Tell me how much you've thought about this—about me."

His free hand slid under her shirt, cold fingers brushing against her skin, making her shiver. "You can deny it all you want," he breathed, "but your body remembers who owns it."

He pressed his palm flat against her chest, feeling her heartbeat racing beneath his hand. "Feel that? That's fear—and desire. You missed this. Admit it."

When she remained silent, he nipped at her earlobe, hard enough to draw blood. "Admit it, or I'll take what's mine right here, right now, regardless of your answer."

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his own dark with hunger and something darker. "Choose wisely, love."