“Maybe after one more drink.”
Hatch
Goddammit, what the fuck? I’d been stuck in the cell for a hell of a lot longer than twenty-four hours, and I was goin’ stir-crazy.
“Prisoner, on your feet,” a deep voice ordered, and I stood slowly.
What now?
The window popped open and Ryan Lundy’s face appeared between the bars. “Hey,” he said.
Ryan was the father of Poppy’s best friend, Grace, and the husband of Maisie’s late best friend, Ali. He and I’d had a relatively strained past, in that his wife had tried to kill Maisie, and had ultimately shot herself while speaking to Maisie on the phone. Ryan was forced to straddle the line of honoring his wife and protecting his children, which had caused a rift between him and Grace. His son, Merrick, and I had grown close over the years and he was a newly patched member of our club.
I let out a sigh of relief, and gave him a slight grin, meeting him at the door. “Hey, brother. Do you have any idea what the fuck is goin’ on?”
“Not completely. The Dogs are on it, though, and they’ve got Minus working on something.”
“Why the fuck do they have Minus workin’ on it?”
“Don’t know all the particulars yet. As soon as I know, I’ll fill you in.” He slid a pack of Cheetos in through the bars. “In the meantime, these’ll tide you over until breakfast.”
“Did you happen to smuggle a beer or two in as well?”
He chuckled. “That was beyond my ability. Sorry.”
“What do they have on me?”
“Something to do with bomb-making.”
“Trumped up bullshit.”
“Well, yeah,” Ryan agreed. “Booker’s working on hacking in to find out who did it.”
I dragged my hands down my face. “Is Maisie okay?”
“She’s threatening lives and worried sick about you.”
