Page 96 of Silver Fox Daddies

The ragged breathing comes again. I snap my head around to find the source, and that’s when I see a computer monitor over in the corner, sitting on a rotting wooden desk. There’s a chair.

Is that for him to sit and watch TV?

Immense dread presses heavy on my chest and stomach. My arteries feel like they’re about to convulse. There’s a man on the screen, his hands knotted to two separate pieces of rope. He hangs from the ceiling, looking like he’s waiting for death to take him already. For this torture to be over with.

My breath scratches against my dry throat. I want to look away but I can’t. He rocks back and forth in the ropes like a strung-up pheasant, deep gashes cut all over his bare chest, oozing puss and blood. There’s so much that it splats to the floor—I hear it through the speaker. He’s naked too.

And I’m not quite prepared to see him from the front.

Somebody has dismembered him.

“Oh my god.” I bring two shaking hands to my face, completely horror-stricken. Tears blur my vision, streaming down my cheeks. There has to be an explanation—this can’t be what it looks like.

But it is. The evidence is staring at me, stripped bare.

My father isn’t just the leader of the Reaper Sons—he’s a psychopath.

I always thought that the Venom Vultures were trouble, inhumane for killing.

I was wrong.

Now I can see that the Venom Vultures act with morality. They have a moral compass. They’re still human. It would appear that with the Reaper Sons, there’s more than what meets the eye. There’s something much deeper going on.

I know the Venom Vultures. I know their president. Even though Grizzy resents me for distracting his men and for being Jax’s daughter, I suspect that there’s virtue under that hard exterior.

But my father is evil in its cruelest form.

How does he intend to take territory, exactly?

Another thought crosses my mind, paralyzing me with a new kind of fear. For poisoning hundreds of his men, what punishment does he have in store for Bishop?

A noise falls out of my mouth, half cry, half something else that I don’t know how to define. I look at the monitor, at the struggling man roped up with his dozen infected wounds and disfigured crotch, and I know I need to get the hell out of here. Now.

Grizzly has to know who his rival leader reallyis.They’re gonna have to surrender and give up their clubhouse. It’s the only way.

I go to slip my hand into my pocket to take a photo. Telling them isn’t enough. They need photographic evidence.

Fuck.

I left my phone up in the office.

Too bad. I don’t even have time to come back here and snap a picture of what I’ve found. I have time for only one thing—a very important call to the bikers to tell them to stay the fuck away from Reaper Sons before they meet the same fate as the man from the recording.

I just pray that they believe me.

I turn around to hurry back up, but stop short at the stabbing sound of footsteps.

They echo down the stairs. Before I know it, I’m seeing a leather shoe.

Two leather shoes.

Black suit pants.

I hold my breath. My heart feels like it’s about to fail me.

A pair of hands clap together. Slow, one after the other.

“I knew you would be down here soon enough,” Daddy says, stepping into the light. He flashes me a grotesque smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, heading for me.

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