Page 110 of Silver Fox Daddies

Then, a thud, as her father collapses to the ground.

Melissa’s breathing hitches. She’s coughing, but it’s worse than before. She puts a shaky hand over her mouth, gun falling to the ground.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

I struggle to the top of the stairs, Bishop and Melissa on each of my arms.

I tug the handle, so close to fresh air that I can almost taste it.

“It’s locked,” says Diesel, matter-of-factly.

“It can’t be.”

Diesel takes over, banging.

I don’t expect the door to suddenly spring open. We all fall out, panting, collapsing into a pile of barely breathing bodies on the floor.

Somebody is watching us.

Slowly, I lift my head, gasping for oxygen.

“Snapper? What are you?—?”

I don’t get to finish the sentence. He slashes me across the face. Then, I receive a kick to the head, darkness quickly taking over, consuming what little consciousness I have left.

“You killed him?” Snapper asks.

“Yes,” Diesel answers for all of us.

The next hit goes to Diesel. He takes it, too weak to retaliate.

“What is this?” I ask, squinting. The light stings my eyes, the sun rising outside. I try and force my eyes to register what’s happening, but everything feels hazy, dreamlike.

Snapper has been on the Reaper Sons’ side this entire time?

Bishop figures it out before me. “You were spying this whole time?”

Snapper waggles his brows, a smile sliding onto his face. It’s short-lived, his eyes flicking back to the basement door. Smoke plumes out, filling the room. It’s only a matter of minutes until fire takes the house.

“I heard a gunshot.”

We all keep silent.

“If he’s dead, you’re going with him.”

I’m closest to the door, so he grabs me first, holding on to my cut. My body is too weak to fight—it’s all I’ve been doing down there. My muscles are hopeless.

Sirens crescendo outside. Then we have company, bodies barging into the house protective gear, hoses being dragged across the floor as masked men disappear downstairs to take care of a fire I fear has already gotten out of control.

Next, paramedics flood the scene, escorting us out into separate vans. From the back of the truck while they check my airways, I watch thick clouds of smoke exit the house, filling the atmosphere.

What comes next is a long sequence of sirens, smoke and fire as it engulfs the roof, eating all parts of the infrastructure.

Cops pull up, taping off the surrounding areas with police tape to prevent neighbors from getting too close. A whole crowd has gathered, watching the house go ablaze.

Melissa sits next to me, staring out the window, her face frozen in shock. She opens her mouth, following paramedic instructions, produces her arm for them to take her blood, but apart from that, it looks like a piece of her passed away in that basement.

She doesn’t speak until the paramedics return to the front of the vehicle, leaving us alone to rest.

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