Page 19 of Silver Fox Daddies

We all tend to stay out of each other’s way.

But to be honest, I brought this storm cloud upon us.

I know exactly why Reaper Sons want us gone.

Ten years ago, they sold my vulnerable father fentanyl, killing him in an instant. He was all I had left. The only family member alive on this earth I still cared about. I was fuming. Couldn’t sleep at night.

The thing about Reaper Sons is that as long as they make bank, they don’t care if somebody dies.

I wanted them to pay.

So I bought something from one of the Italian mafia groups in the city. To this day, I don’t know what it was. All I knew is that the chemical was toxic, and it would burn my enemies’ throats in seconds.

I charged over to their clubhouse in the dead of night and poisoned their water supply.

I don’t know how many were killed. Sometimes, Venom Vultures members discuss the rumors amongst themselves. Some reckon hundreds.

Of course, I keep the information to myself. If the truth ever gets out, I become public enemy number one, taking over Reaper Sons on the list of people Grizzly wants killed.

They used to be the most powerful club in Nevada. Everybody seeking dirty work used to give them a call. They were a go-to club before I poisoned their members.

Now, I hear they’re reclaiming their power, more bloodthirsty than before.

I still want them gone. If they’re harboring fentanyl, I dread to think what other dangerous drugs they deal with.

I never met their prez, but after overhearing some of the boys’ conversations, I gather that he’s still alive. He goes by the name Jax.

I’m disrupted from my thoughts by anotherping!

Sexy Librarian: Meet me in Flamingos. 1 PM, sharp.

4

CASH

Sexting a hot librarian isn’t how I thought my first week at Venom Vultures would go.

But life is full of surprises.

I head outside with the other two and jump on the Harley. Engines rev, dust flying everywhere. I’m still getting used to the smell of gasoline, but I think it’s becoming one of my favorite fragrances.

We head away from the clubhouse, off-roading for a few miles before we make it onto the road. The sun sits high in the sky, spilling light all over the desert. I shield my eyes from dust particles and sunlight, admiring the surroundings. There’s something magical about open spaces. So much freedom and opportunity to be whoever you want.

I came here because I wanted to reinvent myself.

I love working in IT, but sitting behind a desk all day gets boring. New to the city, I also wanted to make some friends. I expected to be hanging around with other prospects, not the road captain and sergeant at arms.

Some of the other prospects are a little weird, like Snapper, if I remember his name correctly. He strikes me as being a bit strange, sitting at the edge of the prospects’ table, tattooed arms folded the whole time, keeping to himself.

People do that here. Like Diesel, for example, but he’s been here years—it’s different for him. I guess some people don’t join for friendship.

Some have a lot of built up trauma and resentment they want to let loose, and what better way to do it than in the Venom Vultures, where you’re tasked to ride out and shoot people who deserve it every day?

We make it into the city, slowing down as we hit traffic. We weave in and out of the lanes, gas pedal to the floor as soon as the lights hit green.

Motorcycle riding does something to your soul that you can never get from driving a car. It’s nice to feel the desert air on your skin, to hear the whistling wind, smell the engine fumes. You also don’t have the same rules and regulations restricting you, like you do for a car.

So far at the club, I’ve been enjoying myself.