Page 69 of Silver Fox Daddies

He’s a good lover, and shivers from the orgasm he gave me still rattle my bones from a few days ago.

But he killed Mom.

That has to be taken seriously.

I flip the document over, but it’s one-sided.

Crashing onto my bed, I stare at the text and let it take hold of my heart, crushing it. Nobody is to blame here but myself for getting involved with this.

But the thought of cutting things off worsens the heartache. There’s just something about them that makes me feel so alive. They breathe life into my lungs. When they’re around, the air tastes sweeter and the desert has more color.

More tears slip from my eyes. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

Also, why did Daddy never tell me the truth? All he said about Mom’s death is that it was accidental. I guess he only said that to protect me from the brutal world of motorcycle clubs.

I look over the text again, smoothing my thumb over the printed Reaper Sons logo. It’s legit—the stamp is exactly the same asthe patch on the back of their jackets, the skull staring at me the same evil way it did when I was looking at it on the back of Daddy’s jacket.

The question is, who planted it here?

I want to believe that it was Daddy, but if he’s chosen to keep this from me for my entire life, it wouldn’t make sense for him to reveal everything now.

I frown, staring hard at the text.

What would this person’s intention be for planting the document outside of my room?

Unable to look at the word DIESEL anymore, I fold the paper in half and toss it onto my desk, crawling back under the sheets to get some sleep.

Of course, it doesn’t come. My mind reels, and I flit in and out of sleep, imagining Diesel shooting Mom. I picture the blood trickling out of a nasty wound in her head, him walking away, because the value of human life is something he just can’t get his head around.

He was inside of me only a couple days ago, and now I’m finding out that he killed my mom…

Granted, I was so young that I don’t remember her, but that’s beside the point.

I slip the pillow from under my head and slam it over my face, muffling the sounds of my frustrated growling.

I hate him.

But I hate myself more, because in light of all of this, I still want him to fuck me.

I wakeup the next morning feeling even more tired than the night before.

As I’m brushing my teeth, I notice dark blotches under both of my eyes, skin paler than normal.

Ping!

A message from Daddy.

Daddy: I’m sorry for lashing out last night in front of everybody. That wasn’t nice of me. I’m just concerned about you, baby.

I clench my jaw.In front of everybody.That’s the only part he’s sorry for? Sure, I’m not the best when it comes to public humiliation, but the fact still stands that he lashed out at me. If we were alone, would it have been okay then?

I toss the phone onto my bed and dress for class, ready for a day of distraction. It’s been a few weeks since I last picked up a pen and thought about something thatwasn’tCash, Bishop, and Diesel.

I pack a bag, swing it over my shoulder, and lock up the room, passing a very hungover Natasha on the way.

“Where have you been?”

“No,” says Natasha. “Where haveyoubeen, missy?”

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