Page 24 of Silver Fox Daddies

My heart is beating out of my chest, but not the way it does when you’re about to get murdered. Maybe I’m still drunk. I drank alotlast night.

But I threw it all up at the party. As much as I hate to admit it, there’s no more alcohol in my system.

So, why am I acting impulsively?

We pull up to the clubhouse, the afternoon sun reflecting off the windows. Not many of them still have glass. Four have been boarded up, tape crossed over them.

“What happened?”

Bishop goes to open his mouth, but Diesel gets there first. “The wind. It can get quite strong out here.”

There’s a garage next to the clubhouse, the door rolled up. I peak inside as we get closer. Motorcycle parts hang from the walls like trophies, the place full of scrap metal and bits of machinery. Harleys are parked outside, a dozen of them.

“That’s nothing,” says Bishop, following my gaze. “Wait until the rest come home.”

“Yeah,” Diesel says. “But Melissa won’t be here for that.”

I don’twantto be here for that. I don’t think I’d be able to hack the intimidation.

Diesel helps me off the back of the Harley, sliding a hand around the small of my back. “Let’s get you inside. You’ll be thirsty after the ride over here.”

Wood creaks underfoot as I step up onto the veranda. I don’t really know what the fuck I’m doing. I think I only suggested the idea of coming to the clubhouse because I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to them yet. I don’t know why I didn’t propose heading back to the city, to civilization.

Diesel holds the door open for me as I walk in.

I hold my breath.

If I make it out alive, it’ll be an exhilarating story for Natasha and her friends.

The place is bigger than it looks on the outside. Tables and benches fill the room, and a large bar to the left includes arefrigerator with a bazillion different types of beer. Aside from the humming of its fan and our footsteps, it’s silent.

I take a few more careful steps in, still on edge. Somebody could pop out at any minute with a knife. It’s important to note that it’s always a possibility when you’re in places like this.

At the back of the room is a giant stuffed eagle sitting poised on two clawed feet. Thank god it’s dead. None of us would stand a chance if it was alive. I hesitate when I first see it. These guys have expertise in machinery, so they would have no problem turning it into an animatronic.

“Relax,” Bishop says. “It might not look it, but it’s dead.”

Its wingspan looks larger than a commercial jet.

“What is it doing here?”

“Venom Vultures,” says Diesel. “It’s part of our badge.” For some reason, he turns to Bishop when he pats the embroidered logo, as if to make him aware of something.

“And behind that?” I gesture to the black curtain. “What’s through there?”

Bishop gives Diesel a subtle head shake. “Nothing,” he says. “Just storage.” He turns his body fully around and embraces me, two tattooed arms hooking around my waist. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? That dress looks tight. We could help you take it off.”

Diesel shoots Bishop a cautionary glare.

Bishop shrugs in response, keeping his arms around me. His touch sends a tingle up my spine. He feels warm, his skin rough and calloused. My pulse picks up again, a second one startingto develop between my legs. Age is supposed to make somebody looklessattractive, but that isn’t the case here.

The fine lines on their faces show their age. And it’s turning me on.

There’s something off-putting about college boys, with their fragile egos and loud, obnoxious music. They drive cars, not Harleys, and have nothing going for them but grades. Half the time those aren’t even good.

These men have life experience. Their fines lines are result of them riding through the desert all day long, carrying out whatever illegal missions their leader asks them to.

I relax into Bishop’s embrace, a light moan slipping from my mouth. “What is it you do?”