As I digested this new information about Sarah’s capture, I momentarily had to cradle my head in my hands. This was way beyond anything I had ever experienced as a club member, least of all as president. Not even Preacher Man or Case had ever come up against one of the cartels. They’d rationalized that the risks outweighed the benefits and steered clear of anything involving drugs.

“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.”