he’s with us, he’s out. If he delivers information that puts us behind bars, his record is wiped. No parole, no nothing. We boot him? He goes back to prison.”
“Explains why he never thought twice about...” Right. Mad Dog already knew that. If he isn’t a cop then he wouldn’t worry about beltin’ and fuckin’ a few cunts. “We votin’ this one?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Squatch brought him in. Squatch will handle it. I’m tellin’ you because you’re the one who picked up on it. You want in on revoking his status as prospect?”
That last part was code for cancelling the bastard. I clenched my fists and breathed to try to calm my inner warrior owl. The motherfucking prospect was trying to trade his freedom for ours. Fuck yeah, I wanted in on it. “When?”
“Get with Squatch. In person. No comms.”
We talked another ten minutes, and I went to my room in the basement and looked it over, considering what I’d need to do before I invited Shy. We hadn’t been moved in more than a few weeks when I found Shy again, so I hadn’t done anything in here. The room was as bare-bones as you can get. Cheap bedframe with a mattress, a dresser, and an upside-down box beside the bed standing in as a night table. The bed was sheets. No blanket. A single pillow. Nothing on the walls. I should get a TV, maybe. Probably some better towels for the tiny bathroom. I’d brought a few from home, hadn’t bothered to even go shopping.
The artist in her wouldn’t be happy. At all.
I sighed and called Matty in Chattanooga, told him money was no object, and that I’m dating an artist and I’d like to at least put something on the walls. He had me spin in a slow circle and take video, and then walk into the bathroom. Matty’s an interior decorator who belongs to one of my brothers in Chattanooga. Yeah. A gay biker. Surprised the fuck out of me, too, but Matty’s okay. He’s earned respect in his own way, and it works.
“That is seriously bad, Frost. Give me a little time to work something up, and I’ll send you some ideas.”
“It has to be stuff I can just go out and buy without help. I only have a few days. No time to order shit.”
I left the compound and went down the street, to my office at the construction company. We were headed into fall, and I couldn’t wait for cold weather. Not that it gets that cold in Alabama, but summers are a bitch for arctic animals.
I’d just settled in and started looking through change order requests when Matty called me back.
“Dude, you need more fabrics, and maybe some plants, but you’ll need a grow light on a timer for live plants. Go to a garden store and buy a big plant – I’ve sent pictures of ones that will work. Just go for that general shape, and put it in the corner. That’ll make your owl and her cat happier.”
“Maybe. What else?”
“You need a headboard, for starters, but then whatever else goes in needs to fit your personality. Harley stuff, or nature stuff, or kinky shit, but it has to reflect who you are. It has to be chosen with purpose. You might get away with putting a huge throw rug in the room, bigger than the bed, and centering the bed in the middle of the floor, then you won’t need a headboard. You’d need a too-big comforter or spread that comes down on all sides.” He sighed. “Tan walls? Fuck, Maybe a deep brown rug and other fabrics, with light tan and green throw pillows? Oh, who am I kidding? You aren’t going to fuck with throw pillows. Let me play with colors if you want to go that route.”
I thanked him, and then I got to work again.
Chapter Nineteen
Cheyenne
The motherfucker brought me catnip. I smelled it in the back of his truck from fifty yards away.
The cat wanted to roll in it.
The human woman wanted to cram it up the biker’s ass.
“What have you done? Must you insist on being a motherfucking asshole?” I asked when he pulled to the end of the driveway and shut his truck off.
“You can smell it under the tarp?”
I didn’t bother answering. Of course I could.
“I had to pick something else up at the garden center, and I saw it. Did you know it’s a legit garden plant?” He pulled a