Page 94 of Silver Fox Daddies

A key?

But to what?

I take it out and examine it in the light. Why would he keep this padlocked? I stare hard at it. I’m in one of two places Daddy has always forbidden me to enter, the second being the basement…

I jump up from the chair and dash out of the office, key in hand. We have an attic that’s used for storage—that’s where I found Mom’s red dress. Daddy has never had a problem with me going up there, but the basement for some reason has always been out of bounds. He says that there’s nothing down there for me, that before I was born, he and Mom lived somewhere else and never got around to selling the old furniture.

“It’s probably crawling with spiders and rats,” he told me when I asked why it stays locked. “I haven’t been in there since me and your mother first moved in.”

A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, droplets making their way down my face. I steady my hands as I insert the key, trying my best to stop them from shaking. I want to believe him, but since getting my hands on the key, a small voice has told me not to.

This isn’t your father anymore, Melissa. This is a monster.

Air catches in my throat. I’m unable to suck it into my lungs properly, the nerves closing up my throat. Shivers run up my spine.

The key fits.

I turn it with shaking hands, the clicking lock making my entire body shudder.

He hasn’t been down here since he moved into the house with my mother?

Can I believe that?

Slowly, the basement door creaks open, revealing darkness, the dense kind. The sort of darkness that sucks you in as soon as you enter it. I stare at it head-on, my nervous system nagging me to stay where I am, to lock the door and return to Daddy’s office where there’s windows and sunlight.

But I can’t.

I level out my shoulders, nose tipped into the air.Head in the game, Melissa.

It doesn’t matter how uninviting this basement looks. My baby-daddies’ lives are on the line. Things with us are complicated, and I don’t know if that will ever change between us, but if I can save them, I will. I do this for my unborn child, and for myself, to commemorate the innocent, young girl who did everything her daddy told her to do. She deserves a chance at freedom.

I exhale a shaky breath and take my first step inside, hand searching blindly at the wall beside me for a light switch or something.

Instead, something ticklish scurries into my palm.

I scream, scrambling back into the light to see a spider with long black legs scuttling over my hand.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

This is no good for my arachnophobia. Frantically, I shake my hand until the spider is gone, crawling away on the floor into the house.

I wait for my heartbeat and breathing to return to normal before reentering.

What if Daddy was right? Maybe the placeisjust full of rotting furniture and creepy crawlies. I press my hand to the door, taking a breather. Spiders crawling all over my body is how I’m going to die.

Fear rattles my body, making it to my face. A tear obscures my vision, but I power through. Spiders crawling over my body, or Cash, Diesel, and Bishop dead on the floor? Which one will it be?

I go again, stepping foot inside of the basement. I keep the door open so I have a light source, inching my way in. One step gives way to another. I descend, holding my breath.

I make it four steps before something else touches me again.

I tense up, thinking it’s another spider web. But it’s not, thankfully. The string doesn’t break when I curl my hand around it. I pull down and…bingo.We have light…just not very much of it.

A single lightbulb hangs from the ceiling emitting weak orange light out into the room. It’s not much, but I can at least see the surroundings now. The basement is further down than I thought. I’m only about a quarter of the way down the stairs.

I make my way down. It’s steep, a network of cobwebs hanging above. I keep my focus down and try to ignore the wet socks smell. For a place as dry as Vegas, the basement is awfully damp. It feels more like a cave, a droplet falling from the roof and splashing to the floor. The open space echoes each footstep.

Eventually, I hit solid ground. Just as I suspected—no furniture. Not even any rats, unless they’re hiding away in a nestsomewhere. There are stacks upon stacks of something, some kind of medicinal product. I count six pallets, each one piled high, almost as high as the wooden staircase.

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