Page 90 of Silver Fox Daddies

“That sounds good. I’ll go ahead and book the table for this evening at seven.”

“Thank you.”

“See you later.”

The call ends.

I put down the phone and straighten in my chair, confidence infusing its way into my bones. I don’t care about dinner. The last thing I want is to sit opposite a man who has been lying to me this entire time, exchanging niceties.

I have what I need—I know where he is.

That gives me time to head to Daddy’s house and check out his business.

The business he never tells me about.

I jump up from my chair, texting my manager that I’ve come down with a stomach bug and need to leave early. I grab my keys and take off, popping the car door and clicking the seat belt into place. I step on the gas, lurching forward as the vehicle hits the road at speed.

I make a left at the intersection, heart rate increasing in pace as I near his place.

I moved out six months ago for college and haven’t really been back since. I never saw the point, since Daddy was out most of the day anyway taking care of his precious business.

I wind down the window to let some fresh in, hair whisking around my face. It’s like I’m back on the motorcycles again, feeling the wind comb through my hair. Tasting the air makes me miss them even more, my gut hit with another familiar sting every time I think about how much I let them down.

I have to make it up to them.

But it’s not just about begging for their forgiveness. Sticking my nose into my father’s business is about saving their lives too.

Motivation courses through my veins.

I pull up outside of his house, brakes screeching as I make an abrupt stop. Locking up, I check over my shoulder to ensure I’m not being watched, and pace into the house, thankful that he hasn’t changed the locks.

The house has a strange air to it. I can’t put my finger on it. I just feel iffy, as though something is off. The place feels muggy. Windows haven’t been cracked open for a while.

I stand, listening for any sounds. It’s silent—that’s what I need, but it’s not the peaceful kind. Goose bumps pepper my skin. I cross my arms, a shiver passing through me.

I take careful steps, advancing to his office—the one I have never stepped foot in before. The furthest I’ve ever gotten into the room was the doorway. Daddy always said it was the one place I couldn’t go in the house.

The signs were so fucking obvious, looking back.

I wonder what he thinks of me now, as I take my first step into his office. Another wave of nerves fizzles through me, killed when the anger starts to surface.

He lied about Mom.

He killed her.

Diesel fired the bullet that cut through her heart, but it was Daddy’s fault for bringing her out into the desert.

Did he really plan to ward off Grizzly’s men with her pretty face?

My blood turns cold. He used her to try and slither his way out of murder.

What if he uses me too?

His office, like him, is cold. The room has been fitted with air conditioning that has been left on, sending a low, buzzing sound out into the room.

More goose bumps prick my skin. I want to turn off the air conditioning, but I also don’t want to leave any trace that I was here.

Behind an oak desk is a cabinet full of folders, too many to count and all dated by year. I walk closer, narrowing my eyes, deciding to take out the 2011 folder first to fact-check Diesel’s claim.

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