“Something’s wrong with the camera,” Joe said.
Ryan frowned. “Oh? Let me look.” He acted like he was doing something behind the door. “Loose wire. All fixed, but we should get some duct tape on that.”
“Did you get anything?”
“Nothing useful, no,” Ryan said. “I’ll take him back to lock-up.”
“I’ll walk Linda out,” Joe said.
“I’m good,” I rushed to say, almost forgetting to use an American accent. “I know my way out.”
Hatch dropped his head again and I reminded myself to verbally spank him when he got home... maybe I’d really spank him as well.
Bloody hell, I was going to go through a few vibrators tonight.
Hatch
Fuckin’ Kitty!
I hadn’t committed Ryan’s notes to memory because I wanted to remember everything about Maisie. Her scent, her lips, her body. But what I do remember from the clues Ryan had written down was Kitty’s name. And if he was anywhere near this, I was gonna fuckin’ kill him.
Kitty had been a thorn in my ass since the day he patched in. Crow assigned him to my crew due to his enormous size and weapons expertise. He was a great soldier and totally loyal to the club, but he had a short fuse and an almost insatiable appetite for just about everything. Kitty was usually either on the prowl for pussy or looking for a back-alley fight, thus his name. Plus, Crow said he reminded him of that big blue fucker in Monsters, Inc.
Once we’d figured out Kitty’s true talent was talking with robots and shit, we plugged him in and tried to keep him indoors and off the streets as much as possible. He’d behave for a while but would eventually “bust out” and tear up the streets of Portland while on an epic bender of sex and violence. It wasn’t his fault, really, it was simply in his nature. He was a giant and everything he did was larger than life.
Unfortunately for Kitty, this included his ability to draw unwanted attention to the club, and Crow eventually had enough. Kitty was the first and only member of our club to be patched out and exiled.
“Wallace!” a guard bellowed, despite the fact I was three feet from him.
“Yeah,” I answered, and sat up.
I’d been in this shithole for more than a week, and other than pushups, sit-ups and running in place, there wasn’t much else to do, so I was flat on my back, reading Catch 22 from the jail book cart, and wishing my woman was there to keep me warm.
“Time to go.”
“Where?”
