Page 79 of Silver Fox Daddies

The rest of the table laugh.

I stare at the man, done with his bullshit. If the only way he can draw a crowd is at the expense of another, I feel sorry for him.

I slide off the bench for a glass of water.

“He’s getting on my last nerve.”

I turn around to see Snapper intruding on my personal space, large, tattooed arms folded over his chest as he looks at me, pissed off.

“Actually, everybody is starting to get on my last nerve here. Shooting bullseye is not the same thing as shooting for real. Did you see our little crowd pleaser last week? He must have been drunk. There’s no way he missed that Reaper Sons member by that much.” He demonstrates with his hands, falling into laughter. “What’s up with you, anyway?”

I follow him as he comes to stand with me at the bar. I can’t quite figure Snapper out.

“It’s a little rich, don’t you think? Laughing about somebody missing a shot when you’re not even making any.” I turn to face him, leaning against the bar. “What’s your deal?”

“I told you my deal.” His voice turns serious. “I’ve played this game before. The more you shoot, the longer all of this gets drawn out. The Reaper Sons are powerful, not like I’d expect you to understand.”

“And what makes you different?”

“I’m just saying.” He slides closer to me. “I’d hate for anything bad to happen to this club.” He winces. “Sometimes, I feel like we’re out of our depth.”

“What do you mean?”

Another wince. “Grizzly has morals. I don’t think Jax does.”

“So?”

“When you have morals, you have weakness.”

I thank the bartender when he hands me a glass of water, taking a big gulp. “We can’t be totally reckless.”

Snapper stares at me, nodding, flipping the conversation like he often seems to enjoy doing. “So what’s going on with Melissa?”

“That doesn’t require your attention.”

“It does.”

“Okay.” I fold my arms over my chest, mimicking his posture. If he wants to play this game… “What’s going on with you and Gigi?”

A snort rattles out of his mouth. “Gigi? You think I like her?”

I raise an eyebrow, noticing a change in the shade of his face.

“You need to be careful with Melissa.”

“She’s harmless.”

“How do you know?” He flashes me pointed eyes. “Because she’s a young girl, naive to the realities of this world? That doesn’t always make a person innocent.”

After a narrow-eyed stare, Snapper leaves me at the bar, arms still folded over his chest as he sits himself back down at the end of the prospect table, minding his own business.

“I don’t like him,” Bishop says, creeping up behind me.

I turn around, glass in hand. “I don’t understand—why join a social motorcycle group if you’re gonna sit closed off at the end of the table, making no effort to get to know your fellow prospects?”

“Because he’s weird.”

“He won’t even shoot.”

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