by Katie Ashley
“So we’re pretty much fucked, huh?” Bishop said beside me.
Raising my head, I shot a hard glare at Bishop. “Maybe for the moment, but we’re not letting Breakneck down.”
“Glad to hear you say that,” Undertaker replied.
I cut my gaze over to him. “What do you mean?”
With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Undertaker replied, “I mean, we’re going to help you guys go in and get your girl.”
I cocked my brows at him. “You’re serious?”
“Fuck yeah.”
Shaking my head, I replied, “While we appreciate it, we can’t ask you to do that.”
Chulo snorted. “And we’re not asking for your approval. Besides, we have our own reasons.”
“He’s right,” Ghost said before I could argue any further.
“What reason could you all possibly have for going up against the Diablos and the Rodriguez cartel?” I countered.
Ghost eased back in his seat. “For the last six months, the Diablos have been putting the heat on clubs throughout Texas and Louisiana to patch in with them.”
“I guess I can assume that you all don’t want to patch in,” I said.
Ghost’s blue eyes narrowed at me. “We would die first before we wore any other patch but the Raiders.”
“Trust me, I can understand. But at the same time, I have to remind you what you’re committing to.”
“We’re fucking aware,” Undertaker replied.
I surveyed the stalwart expressions on the faces of the three men, and I realized then there was nothing I could do or say that was going to change their minds. Finally, I smiled at them. “Then I have to say I’m very grateful for your help.”
Beside me, Bishop shifted in his chair. “Since Rev and I are fucking clueless about what to do, I sure as hell hope you guys have a plan as to how we’re going to get into Mexico and go up against some second-in-command cartel lord.”
Ghost chuckled. “Yeah, we have a plan.”
“It better be some old-school A-Team or SEAL type of shit,” Bishop countered, his expression saying he wasn’t convinced of the El Paso Raiders’ abilities.
Rising from his seat, Ghost narrowed his eyes at Bishop. “Trust us. We have a fucking plan.”
TWO
ANNABEL
TWO MONTHS EARLIER
With a chart in my hand, I hurried down the hallway. As I opened the waiting room door, heads jerked up and anxious eyes met mine. “Herschel Greene?” I said after glancing once again at the chart.
An elderly woman in a faded pink polka-dot dress rose from her chair. At her feet, a pudgy American bulldog grumbled at being roused.
I smiled at the pair. “Come on back.”
Mrs. Greene returned my smile, and then she and Herschel followed me down the hallway to one of the examining rooms. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you here before. You must be new,” she stated as her heels clicked steadily on the tile.
It wasn’t the first time I had faced that question from one of the regulars since being hired at AMC (Animal Medical Center) in College Station. Each time I had to answer it, I felt a little more homesick. After all, I’d spent twenty-four years practically in the same place and among the same people. Mainly it was my group of friends I missed the most.
Back home in Virginia, I had never faced scrutiny for being a newcomer simply because everyone knew who I was. It’s almost inescapable when your face is plastered all over campaign literature from the time you’re a baby. Annabel Lee Percy, granddaughter of Hamilton Mullinax—former two-term governor, and daughter of Emmett Percy—current incumbent senator.
Pushing my homesickness aside, I replied, “You’re right. I am new. This is my third week. I’ve just moved here to attend veterinary school at Texas A& M.”
“Oh, how lovely.”
I closed the exam room door behind us. “And what seems to be the problem today?”
With her lips turning down in a frown, Mrs. Greene gazed adoringly at the bulldog. “My Hershie is terribly sick. He can’t seem to keep anything down.”
As I started to make a note in the dog’s chart, something caught my eye that made the rising apprehension fade and had me biting back a smile: “Mrs. Greene needs to be reminded that Herschel should not be fed high-fat treats like cake. Otherwise, no gastrointestinal problems can be found after extensive barium testing.”
Glancing up at Mrs. Greene, I nodded. “Let me get Herschel’s temperature and weight, and then one of the doctors will be in to see you.”
“Herschel sure does like that Dr. Jenkins.”
I smiled as I prepared the rectal thermometer. “Yes, Dr. Jenkins has a great bedside manner.” After I realized that I sounded partial, I quickly replied, “Of course, doctors Santini and Baldwin do as well.”
“Yes, but Dr. Jenkins is awfully handsome, isn’t he?”
Her words caused me to freeze just before I violated Herschel with the thermometer. When I looked up at her, she gave me a knowing smile and then a wink. “Um, yes, I do suppose he’s handsome.” I quickly focused my attention on taking Herschel’s temperature, which earned a yelp from the bulldog. Once the reading had been made, I said, “One hundred and one on the dot.” When I met Mrs. Greene’s apprehensive gaze, I smiled. “That’s absolutely perfect.”
She exhaled a relieved breath. “I’m glad to hear it.”
After getting a reluctant Herschel on the scales, I recorded his weight. “It’ll just be a moment for one of the doctors.”
“Thank you, Miss . . .?”
“Percy. I’m Annabel Percy.”
“A lovely name for a lovely girl.”
Now it was my turn to say thanks. Then I told her, “Be right back.” Just as I started out the door, I literally ran into Dr. Jenkins. “Oomph,” he muttered as I slammed into his chest.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
He chuckled. “It’s okay, Annabel. I was actually coming to look for you.”
My brows shot up in surprise. “You were?”
“I have a potential sedation case for vaccines. I was wondering if you could work your magic.”
“Um, I can try.”
“I would appreciate it, and I’m sure the owner would as well.”
As I followed him down the hallway, I couldn’t help feeling slightly empowered that Dr. Jenkins had sought me out. At the previous place where I’d worked, they jokingly called me the Pet Whisperer for my ability to calm animals down. Although I was often asked what my secret was, I wasn’t actually aware of anything special that I did. I just seemed to connect with them when they were afraid or in pain.
When I entered the exam room, a kind-looking golden retriever was backed into the corner. At the sight of Dr. Jenkins and me, he bared his teeth and growled. Without another word from Dr. Jenkins, I went over to the dog and crouched down on his level. When I met his wary but aggressive gaze, I held it. Silently, I willed him to be calm, to relax, and to trust the doctor.
As the dog continued holding my stare, Dr. Jenkins picked up the syringes on the exam table and then slowly walked around to the dog’s back flank. He was able to administer the shots without a growl or even a whimper from the animal. When the doctor was done, the dog backed away.
Tentatively, I reached out my hand. After the dog sniffed it, I started to pat the top of his head. His tail wagged appreciatively. “There. You’re all done.”
“That’s amazing,” the owner said, wide-eyed.
Dr. Jenkins smiled. “It certainly is. I’ve never seen anyone with such a gift.”
Like a true redhead, I wore my embarrassment on my cheeks. “I’m just glad I could help.”
After seeing a handful of four-legged patients, it was time to leave for the day. Grabbing my purse, I headed to the door, only to find Dr. Jenkins blocking my exit.
He gave me a genuine smile. “Annabel, I just wanted to say thank you again for today. You have become such an asset to this practice.”
I fought hard no
t to start blushing again. “Thank you, Dr. Jenkins. It means a lot to hear you say that.”
“Josh,” he said. “You can call me Josh.”
With a smile, I replied, “Thank you, Josh.”
We stood in an awkward silence as we seemed to tiptoe along the line of whether to continue being professional or shift into more personal territory. It had been this way almost since the day I first met Josh Jenkins. He didn’t look at me the same way the other doctors did, and to be truthful, I looked at him differently, too.
Dr. Jenkins finally cleared his throat and stepped aside. “Well, uh, have a good evening.”
“Thank you. Same to you.”
Once I escaped through the door, I had to fight the urge to skip out to my car. All my life I had dreamed of becoming a veterinarian, much to the disapproval of my parents. Coming from a political family, they didn’t see how being a vet could benefit my father’s career or my future husband’s. It went without saying that said future husband would come from one of the finest social circles. My parents would have found my interest in Dr. Jenkins appalling.
I hadn’t been groomed for future political office like my older sister, Lenore. After graduating top of her class from Harvard Law, she would be the next senator or political representative from our family. Conversely, I was the pretty face whose soft-spoken charm was considered far more Jackie Kennedy than Hillary Clinton. In my parents’ eyes, my one goal in life should have been to marry well and offer support to my future husband’s political career.
But while they had always underestimated my talents, I had silently pursued them. After graduating with a 4.0 in biology from the University of Virginia, I shocked my parents by going through with graduate school applications in veterinary medicine. While I had originally been accepted and begun coursework at the University of Virginia, I found myself itching to spread my wings and be independent. At first my parents would hear nothing of the sort. The only way I had finally convinced them to pay for my continued education away from home was to appease them by going to Texas A& M. Their choice had nothing to do with the fact that it was one of the top ten veterinary schools in the country. No, it was about what a politically important state Texas was.
As I slid into my car, my phone began to ring. Glancing at the caller ID, I groaned. “Speak of the devil,” I muttered. It was the one person sure to kill the happy buzz I was feeling. “Hi, Mother,” I said, forcing myself to sound pleased to talk to her.
“Hello, darling. I just wanted to call and check in. Daddy and I were wondering how Texas was treating you.” Regardless of the miles and miles between us, I could still register the fake concern in my mother’s voice. Considering that she had yet to call me to see how I was doing after the move, I knew there was a more self-serving purpose for her call—one that involved my plans for the evening.
“You mean you just wanted to call to make sure Preston Bradford and I were still going out tonight.”
My mother’s trill of a laugh grated on my last nerve. “Okay, fine, you caught me. I was dying to know if it was still on.”
My parents, along with their close friends the Bradfords, who lived in Houston, relished the fantasy that Preston and I were going to get married, not only uniting two political powerhouse families but also producing the marriage of the future president and first lady. I’m not sure how they had made the quantum leap from Preston and me merely talking to wedding bells, but if it kept them off my back for any length of time, I was willing to indulge them.
“Yes. He’s picking me up at seven.”
“That’s absolutely wonderful. I knew there was a spark between you two at the Bradfords’ Fourth of July party.”
I snorted. “The only spark between us at the party was when he accidentally caught my bathing suit cover-up on fire.” If Preston were ever elected president, he would probably outdo Gerald Ford in the clumsy department. It had been far too early in the party for him to use the excuse of being drunk. Instead, he could only blame himself for tripping over a chair and collapsing on a table, which knocked off a candle that hit the hem of my caftan. The only reason I hadn’t entirely written him off that day was because of how sincere he was when he apologized and how kind he was by looking after me for the rest of the party.
“For goodness’ sake, don’t mention that tonight. He gets enough teasing from his family about his clumsiness. The last thing he needs is to hear it from a date.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “I wouldn’t dream of it, Mother. You know, I do know how to carry on a meaningful conversation with a man. You do remember sending me to summer finishing school, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I just don’t want you saying or doing anything to turn him off. He’s already so accepting of the fact you plan to have a career.”
“I will have a career,” I corrected.
My mother’s exasperated sigh told me she was maxed out with me being “petulant,” as she called it. “Yes, well, just have fun. Okay?”
“Thank you. I’ll try.”
“And let Daddy and me know how it went as soon as you can.”
“Mother, I’m twenty-four, not sixteen.”
“Annabel”— my mother’s voice rose an octave—“just humor us, okay?”
“Fine, fine,” I muttered, feeling the onset of the usual headache that accompanied talking to my mother.
“Good-bye, then.”
“Good-bye.” I hung up and tossed the phone onto the seat.
I battled rush-hour traffic across town to my apartment, then hurried inside to get ready. After a quick shower, I stood in front of my closet, trying to decide what to wear. Normally a first date called for something sexy, but in this case I didn’t figure Preston and his overly conservative background would appreciate it. I decided on a pair of jeans, a dressy green top, and heels, and had just finished with my makeup and hair when the doorbell rang.
When I threw open the door, Preston, looking preppie and polished in a polo shirt and khakis, gave me a beaming smile. “Annabel, it’s so good to see you again.”
Returning his smile, I said, “It’s good seeing you again, too.”
His blue eyes surveyed me apprehensively. “You know, after our first disastrous meeting at my parents’, I was afraid you might not want to ever be seen with me again.”
I groaned inwardly but managed to wave my hand dismissively. I had to wonder how socially inept he was to even bring that up. “That was nothing. I’m glad to have a chance to get to know you better.”
Preston seemed to appreciate my well-thought-out answer. “Let’s go to dinner, then. I was thinking Pacey’s.”
I was a little surprised at his choice, but I didn’t let my expression reflect it. Pacey’s was a college bar and hot spot right off campus. It didn’t exactly scream romance, but I guess it was a safe bet for a first date. He knew his way around campus since he was a political science major.
“Sounds great.”
Once we got to Pacey’s, a waitress led us to a somewhat secluded booth. Just as I picked up my menu, I felt a prickly sensation run up my spine that someone was looking at me. When I glanced up at the bar, I locked eyes with a drop-dead good-looking guy. His jet-black hair was cut short, highlighting his chiseled jaw, covered in scruff, along with a pair of full, highly kissable lips. Even though he was sitting down, I could tell he was impossibly tall by the way his legs folded on the barstool. His chest muscles bulged under the white T-shirt he wore.
Over the shirt was a leather vest of some kind. I think they were called cuts. I had seen them before on television but never in person. The cut, with its sewn-on patches, was something bikers wore. Before I could stop myself, I licked my lips. My reaction caused a sexy grin to stretch across his face. When he winked at me, I quickly ducked my head and went back to examining my menu.
“What sounds good?” Preston asked. And it was then that I had the reality check that I was ogling some strange man not five feet from the man I was out on a date with. I
vowed then and there to keep my attention on my date.
But as soon as the appetizer came and conversation between us became stilted, I found my gaze returning to the stranger at the bar. Each time I looked at him, he was looking at me. The more I took in his bad-boy appearance, the more I couldn’t help thinking about what it would be like to kiss him.
When it came to men, I’d always played it safe. I’d dated the good guys—the future-husband types. But deep down, I’d never really been satisfied by those types. The number of sexual partners I’d had could be counted on one hand—and none of them had ever made me lose my mind in the bedroom. The one thing I fantasized about was having one uninhibited sexual experience so that in years to come, I could look back on it with a blush on my cheeks and a rush of warmth between my legs.
As dinner progressed, I realized Preston would never be the one to deliver that mind-altering sexual experience. So I was more than a little relieved when the waitress brought our check.
“Yo, Preston,” a booming voice called behind us.
Preston whirled around and his face broke into a wide grin. “Hey, guys.” He rose to do the manly hug/backslap thing with the three guys standing there. “Perfect timing. Annabel and I just finished dinner.”
My brows furrowed at his statement. “I’m sorry?”
A slight flush tinged Preston’s cheeks. “Oh, um, you don’t mind hanging out a little longer to watch the game, do you? The guys and I kinda have a Monday-night tradition.”
Nibbling on my lip, I fought the urge to either laugh maniacally or burst into tears at the situation I found myself in. Instead of having an actual date, I had been worked in to accommodate Preston’s schedule. If I had had any ideas about Preston’s and my romantic future, they would have fled in that moment.
