Page 15 of Silver Fox Daddies

“I betcha she fell asleep,” says Cash.

“Maybe we pushed it too far last night.” I wince. “She’s gonna wake up this morning with a pounding head, full of regret.”

“Probably,” Bishop says, stroking his mustache. “But she should know better than to sext bikers. I think she wants us. All booze, no bullshit. You know how it goes. The truth comes out when you’re drunk.”

Cash sits back in his chair.

I follow suit.

The last thing any of us need on our mind at the moment is girls.

Cash only started as a Venom Vultures prospect last week, so he can’t afford to let the opposite sex distract him. Bishop and I, on the other hand, have lots on our hands.

Especially since we’re under attack at the moment.

“Ah,” comes a voice from behind us.

Grizzly sticks his head in between ours, eyeing the phone over my shoulder.

Hastily, Bishop reaches over to switch it off.

“Women. What kind of introduction were you giving our newcomer last night, hm?” The Prez folds his arms over his chest, reaching full height. We call him Grizzly because he’s as tough as the animal. He could swallow us whole if he wanted.

“Don’t worry, Grizzly,” Bishop says. “It was nothing.”

“May I remind you, we have twenty new prospects for a reason—to increase our line of defense.” He takes a step back, surveying us from above. It’s ironic that we happen to be seated for this,our leader the one standing. “I didn’t invite half a dozen new prospects into the club for you to line them up with whores.”

“Don’t worry, that’s not what’s going on here,” Cash says.

“I hope not,” Grizzly says. “The last thing I want my members to be doing, especially those that hold powerful positions”—he eyes Bishop and me—“is to be plaguing their minds with girls.” He narrows his eyes. “Women or war? Which one are we trying to win?”

“War, Prez,” mutters Bishop.

“Exactly. So, I suggest you all keep it in your pants and get your head in the game.” He takes one more cautious look at us and then moves on.

“Fucking hell.” Cash releases a breath. “He’s intense.”

And he’s right. The term “war” might be a little extreme. But he’s not lying.

Lately, a rival motorcycle club has been onto us. They want us gone so they can claim our territory and make the desert their own. So far in the past two weeks, we’ve endured four surprise attacks. Thankfully, nobody has been shot dead—not yet, at least—but if this continues, it’s only a matter of time.

“How are you getting on with the manual?” I ask Cash.

He gives me a look. “How do you think?”

“You haven’t read any yet?”

“Of course he hasn’t,” says Bishop. “He was too busy sexting the sexy librarian last night with us. Look.” He swivels around to face Cash. “Fuck the manual. You know the basics of riding a motorcycle, right?”

Cash nods.

“And you used to shoot deer? So you know how to hold a gun?”

Another nod.

“Then you’re all set.”

I hope he is. Because we’re not dealing with a bunch of kids here.

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