Page 103 of Silver Fox Daddies

Jax doesn’t have strong emotions. All he has is a motive.

And we’re gonna take it away from him, along with his breath.

I feel as though I have superhuman strength. I continue dragging Jax, winning this tug-of-war we seem to be having—my body against his. My muscles aren’t straining, either. They still have so much more to give.

I win, shoving him against a full pallet of fentanyl. Boxes tumble, shattering glass splitting my ears as containers rain down, showering to the floor.

Stalled for a moment, I run to the second staircase—the one Jax was protecting.

“Cash? Diesel? Bishop?”

That’s when one of my heartstrings snaps.

It’s her.

“We’re coming, sweetheart.”

I start descending the second stairwell, taking two steps at a time. When I hit rock bottom, I find myself in a smaller room staring at Melissa’s wounded face.

Terror strikes through me.

She’s been abused by her own father? One of her cheeks has been cut open, oozing fresh blood. It trails all the way down her neck, staining the gray T-shirt she has on.

“Oh my god,” I mutter under my breath, lunging forward to begin untying the zip ties that have been knotted around both her wrists and ankles.

She moves, attempting to break free, but the ties only spring her right back into the chair. She winces, blood dripping down her arm from the zip ties that cut into her.

“Stay still, we’ll get you out of here.”

“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. “Oh my god, this is all my fault.”

“Shush! I don’t want to hear an apology come out of your mouth ever again, unless it’s because you took the final pizza slice from the pepperoni pizza we’ll be ordering when all of this is over.”

She smiles, a soft giggle leaving her lips.

More footsteps pound down the stairs. I spin around, gun at the ready—it’s just Diesel.

“Where’s Cash?”

“Coming,” says Diesel. “Just gashing out somebody’s eye.” He turns his attention to Melissa and folds, running over to help. “Fuck. What has he done to you?” Then, Diesel’s attention is diverted somewhere else.

I follow his gaze to a monitor. It’s a live cam. There’s a dead man hanging, arms pinned to the ceiling by two bits of rope.

“Fuck, what’s this?” I pause for a second, Stanley knife poised in my hand.

“It’s what he does,” says Melissa, her voice shaking. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Yes,” agrees Diesel, getting back to work.

The footsteps continue. I turn around as they grow in volume to see a black pair of trousers.

Cash was wearing jeans.

Fuck.

“Cash!” I call.

Nothing.

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