Page 71 of Silver Fox Daddies

“I’m not playing dumb.” Gigi bats her lashes a couple of times. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you a student?”

“Ew, no,” she scoffs. “You think I’m the type to get myself in a shit load of debt? Not everybody is made of money, you know.”

I gesture to the apartment block behind us. “What are you doing here then? On your way to post another Reaper Sons document under my door?”

She laughs, clearly amused by my accusation. “I’m on my way to work.” She raises her hands, wiggling all ten manicured fingernails at me. “I’m a nail tech. Mobile.” Pushing the bag up higher onto her shoulder, she says, “I make sixty bucks an hour doing what I do. You think I’ve got time in my day to be paying you a visit, planting stupid documents under your door?”

“You certainly had time when you were loitering outside of the tattoo parlor.”

Her features turn hard. “You didn’t scream as loud as I did for Bishop.”

Anger courses through my veins the more I stare at her face. Something is up with her.

“Keep out of my business and pack in the stalking—nobody’s paying you for that. Also—” I cross my arms over my chest. “Word of advice. If you want me out of the club, you’re gonna have to try harder. Stealing from the Reaper Sons archives is child’s play.”

Gigi watches me for a beat, then breaks out into laughter. She moves on after that, sashaying away down the parking lot to cross the road. I watch her go, my gut pricking with uneasiness.

She must have put the document there.

It’s the only thing that makes sense.

But regardless of my words, Gigi succeeded. I’m out of the club. Desires aside, there’s no way I can continue seeing the bikers after seeing proof that Diesel murdered my mom. The worst part about it all is that I can’t even confront him, because if I do that, I reveal my connection to their rival club’s leader.

And that would land me in serious shit.

I press my books close to my chest, inhale a breath of fresh air, and walk to campus, a new leaf turned.

16

DIESEL

“It’s been two weeks, Diesel.”

“She’s just lying low like we told her to do,” I say. “Staying out of the way.”

“For two weeks?” Bishop shakes his head, his beer long abandoned. “Something has happened. We have to go to the city.”

I clench my jaw, staring into my own pint of beer. Bubbles fizz at the surface. I watch them for a while, like a spiritual guru trying to read signs from the universe in random objects. Bishop has a point—we heard from her every single day for three days. Now it’s radio silence.

“Maybe she’s just moved on. Found somebody else.”

I don’t expect Bishop to look so worried about that. He’s no stranger to the idea of replacing girls every two minutes. But what’s strange about Melissa is that ever since meeting her, he hasn’t been interested in anybody else.

A few of the clubhouse whores have come to visit. Another surprise attack came knocking on our door last week, and the club is still picking up the pieces. Two patch members died. One of them had been here at the club for eleven years. Some of the girls came to say goodbye to the deceased that they’d had supposed relationships with. As usual, they started laying it on thick with Bishop, but he gave nothing in return. Not even a quick-witted reply to woo them into bed.

He didn’t even flash any of them a smile.

When Bishop and Cash first expressed their concerns about Melissa’s silence, I told them to chill out—she was probably swamped with college exams and her work at the library. But in the middle of the night, I keep waking up with a sneaking suspicion that something else is going on. I don’t quite know what yet, but that voice in my gut tells me that she’s not being honest with us about something.

I keep telling myself that it’s for the best she hasn’t reached out or answered any of our calls—it would all end in tears if she’s being dishonest anyway.

But I keep thinking about the tattoo parlor.

My mind likes to keep reminding me, painting the most vivid images of her naked body laid out on the adjustable chair. Her huge, round breasts. Her tight, pink pussy. I want to feel the sensation of entering her again. If it was possible to record a feeling, I’d play that moment on repeat, feeling her pussy stretch around my dick, accommodating my size.

“Diesel?”

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