Page 66 of Silver Fox Daddies

Maybe he never arranged dinner because he wanted to take an interest in my life.

Maybe he’s always arranged it to make sure I’m focusing on work and staying out of trouble.

Maybe he doesn’t know what’s going on with me.

Perhaps he’s just here to check in.

I stab another small piece of chicken and chew, mulling over what to say next. “How come you’ve been so busy with work?” I ask, feigning innocence. I keep my features neutral. “How have things been going lately?”

“Things have been going well.” Daddy nods his head. “At the moment, we’re in the middle of a little situation, but I’m hoping it will be resolved shortly.”

By chopping off the heads of all the Venom Vultures members?

A wave of nausea passes through my stomach, causing me to put a hand to my mouth. I mask it by going for my glass of wine.

“You’re not pregnant are you?”

“No, Daddy, of course not.”

He looks unconvinced.

“I’m just—” I pretend to hiccup to play the part. “Still unwell from all the alcohol, I think.” I set the glass back down on the white tablecloth, returning to my chicken and hoping that my stomach won’t have a problem with seasoned onion and herbs this time.

I put the flatware down for a moment, taking a sip of water.

But as I wrap my hand around the glass, my vision plays tricks on me. It’s not the glass I’m clutching—it’s the edge of the table, back in the tattoo parlor. My breathing changes, losing its rhythm.

“Are you sure you’re alright, darling?”

I’m jolted from my thoughts by the sound of shattering glass. A sharp pain cuts down my palm, so I lift my gaze to investigate. It’s only then I realize thatIwas the one who smashed the glass,and now every single table in the restaurant is staring my way, silently debating what mental disease I have.

They can let me know when they find out.

Silence fills the atmosphere, the smooth jazz music playing to itself.

“It’s alright,” Daddy says, spinning around on his chair to address the restaurant. “As you were.”

I press a finger to my palm to contain the pain, blood trickling over the skin. When the chatter slowly starts to resume, Daddy yanks my hand and wraps his napkin around my palm, applying pressure.

Maybe too much.

“Ow!”

“What’s gotten into you?” he mutters under his breath, flatware clapping on the plate as he leans forward. “Hm? Why are you acting strange?”

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “It’s like I said, I’m just stressed with exams.”

Daddy draws his brows together, my answer still unsatisfactory. “Why? There’s no need to be. You’re passing with flying colors.”

His gray eyes turn a new kind of cold, more icy than a winter’s night out in the desert.

I take my hand away from his side of the table, massaging the cloth further into my skin to alleviate the bleeding. I concentrate on the trickling line of blood to keep myself from looking at my father. It drips onto the plate, mixing with the tomato sauce, the same shade of red.

CRACK!

I’m under the bed again, shuffling myself away from the blood that’s oozing across the floor, flowing from one of the Reaper Sons’ mouths.I’m just dreaming,I remind myself. The crack reverberates, ringing louder than it did in the moment.

I wonder if Daddy knows he’s leading a bunch of rapists.