Page 91 of Silver Fox Daddies

There’s all kinds of documentation in here—dates when people were killed, invoices. A lot of the paperwork is bank transactions, printed off for record. Daddy has registered himself to an investment handler, his business name YARMOUTH eCOMMERCE. I type the name into Google and it pops up as a legitimate business that has apparently been rolling foryears, even before my birth.

Just how long has Daddy been a member of Reaper Sons?

Clearly, it’s a shell account that he’s been using to bank all of his earnings from Reaper Sons.

I wet the pad of my finger and turn the page to find a detailed report on my mother’s death. I scan the text, forehead scrunched in a frown. He writes objectively and to the point:

Used to stall Venom Vultures to distract them with a pretty face. Failed.

I swallow thick. That’s it?

No further action needed.

I glue my eyes to the typed text.

That was it? Mom was killed and my father just left it like that?

My hands flex into fists over the page. He didn’t love her. It would appear that he was just using her the entire time. Why? For companionship? For her birthing abilities?

Did he just want offspring? A child in his name?

My breathing starts to thin out. There is not an ounce of remorse in any of these pages. Everything is just business, even the people in his life.

Even me?

I swallow hard and shut the book with abap!

I slot it back into the shelf where I found it and look for something else. I need something that Venom Vultures will be able to use to their advantage.Think.I stare hard at the folders, searching for a year that might have some relevance.

Diesel said something about a decade ago. Things got quiet then, to the point where Venom Vultures assumed the Reaper Sons club had reached an end, the badge no more.

Ten years ago would bring me to 2015, four years after Mom’s death. I frown, thinking what I was doing at the time, nine years old. I’d be in the fourth grade, elementary school. Daddy was always late picking me up, then. I remember most nights being the last to be collected. My teacher used to check her wrist every two seconds, tutting. When Daddy eventually showed, he would explain that he was just working late.

But that wouldn’t have added up—if things were quiet at Reaper Sons, what need would he have to work late?

I reach onto my tiptoes and take out the folder, sitting in the wooden chair at Daddy’s desk to open the binder. This one is thick. I leaf through countless pages of invoices and payments, more bullshit with the shell account. Figures were significantly lower. In the month of April, the total balance dropped to nine hundred bucks.

I turn another page.

TOTAL DEATH COUNT: 215

In red pen is a list of all their deceased members.

What’s even crazier—they lost their lives all on the same day.

This is why they fell off the grid—they were two-hundred men short.

Water supply was poisoned. We are unable to figure out the man responsible, but a Venom Vultures Harley was spotted outside the clubhouse in the early hours of the morning before the first death happened.

Below is a list of possible suspects. I scan my eyes down all of them just out of curiosity, not expecting to come across a name I recognize.

My breath dies in my lungs.

Drug deal was completed to Mr. Gregson four days before the attack. Two days before the attack, Mr. Gregson lost his life due to overdose on sold drugs. Mr. Gregson has a son. His legal name is Ethan, but according to sources, he goes by the name Bishop at the Venom Vultures MC.

I slap a hand over my mouth before the hyperventilating starts. To make matters worse, this suspect is the only one that has been highlighted.

I stare at the text, trying to wrap my mind around everything. Is this true? Is this why Reaper Sons are trying to claim Venom Vulture’s territory—to pay for what Bishop did a decade ago?