Maverick.
He was my friend, sort of. He was one person I could tolerate, who tolerated me, and hadn’t he called me a few weeks back?
Wanting my help with something?
I’d been neck deep in my hunt for Katina’s sister, Alessa, so my brain hadn’t been wired right the past few weeks. Just remembering to feed Katina was a fucking miracle.
But yeah… Maverick, and his band of not so merry men, had asked for my help.
They were in New Jersey.
I grunted under my breath.
I’d be crossing more than one pair of state lines if I took Katina out of Ohio, but fuck, I’d committed worse crimes in my life, hadn’t I? Plus, I’d signed up as a foster parent under an assumed name so that would save my ass. No way, under my real identity, would any sane fucker have me as a parent, but I was the best thing for Katina even if the state didn’t recognize that.
Mentally pulling up a map in my head, I calculated that the Satan’s Sinners’ compound was about six hundred miles away.
That was doable in a day.
With a huff, and knowing I would have to let this fuckwit aCooooig—what in the fuck kind of handle was that anyway?—win, today at least, I started packing my shit together as I hollered out, “Katina? We’re going on a road trip.”
Her shriek of glee made me smile, even as I glowered some more at the malware infecting my computer. Then, knowing we were running out of time, I shoved away from my desk, and with my favorite laptop in hand, along with the gear I’d allow myself tucked in a bag that was ready at all times for situations just like these, I hurried up the stairs.
While I could pack in a hurry, Katina was incapable of it, and at the moment, we needed more speed, and both our asses in my Porsche Cayenne as we roared toward the East Coast to the dubious haven that was a one-percenter MC.
Fuck.
Just…fuck.