Redemption Road (Vicious Cycle #2)(32)

Breakneck reached in the pocket of his cut and pulled out a bottle of pills, which he handed to me. “Those are some painkillers in case she needs them.”

“Thanks. I’ll make sure she gets them.”

“There’s enough for both of you in there.”

“I’m fine.” With a smile, I offered him a joke from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. “’Tis just a flesh wound. I’d hardly admit to being shot when I barely got hit.”

Breakneck gave me a no-nonsense look. “You still need to take care of yourself. I know you’re going to be busting ass to get out of Texas, but you’re going to need to stop and stretch your leg some.”

“Okay. I will.”

Breakneck gave a slight nod before sliding his helmet back on.

“See you guys back home sometime this week,” I said.

Bishop nodded. “Be safe, brother. Let us know where you are and how it’s going.”

“Sure thing.” Then I slid into the driver’s seat, where I was blinded by the reflection from a set of sequined dice. “Jesus,” I muttered before removing them and throwing them in the glove box.

“Not exactly your style?” Annabel questioned teasingly.

“Smart-ass.” She smiled at me as I put the car into drive.

We had about a thirty-minute trip to the border. While El Paso and Juárez were separated only by the Paso del Norte bridge over the Rio Grande, both Mendoza’s compound and the hospital had been tucked far away from the city.

At first we drove in silence. When Annabel started to fidget in her seat, I asked, “Nervous about the border crossing?”

She nodded. “A little.”

By the way she was acting, I could tell her obvious fear was about more than just the border. “Tell me what else is bothering you.”

With a grimace, she replied, “It’s just little flashbacks of coming over with the Diablos.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay. Guess it’s to be expected.”

“Yes, it is.” When she continued wringing her hands and crossing and uncrossing her legs, I asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Part of me does and the other part of me is afraid to. Like once I let go a little, I’ll just be opening myself up to emotional chaos.”

“It’s a bad metaphor, but a Pandora’s box of sorts?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Cocking her head at me, she said, “I hope this doesn’t sound snobby, but it surprises me to hear you speak of metaphors.”

“Because I’m supposed to be a dumb biker?”

Her face flushed. “I’m sorry. I hate when people have preconceived notions and end up stereotyping, and here I am doing it myself.”

I chuckled. “It’s okay, Annabel. Most bikers spout metaphors all the time, but they have no f*cking clue what the actual term means. For me, I’ve always been an intellectual. I’ve been a reader as far back as when I was a kid, but after the rape, I seemed to enjoy escaping into fictional worlds more and more. Then, as I got a little older, I started wanting to read about history—presidents, soldiers, kings, and emperors. I figured I could learn something from them.”

“How fascinating,” she replied, with true sincerity.

“Most of my family wouldn’t share your praise. They think because I got a two-year degree from community college and can spout off quotes from literature, I’m trying to be above my raising.”

“But they’re so wrong.” She shook her head. “You’re truly a Renaissance man. As for me, I don’t know anything but math and science.”

“That’s what you needed to know to be a vet.”

She gasped. “How did you know . . . Oh, right, I told you in the hospital, didn’t I?”

I nodded. “Actually, I had already found out a lot about you through your missing-persons information.”

“Oh, I see,” she murmured.

“Don’t worry. It was nothing embarrassing.”

She laughed. “I would hope not.” Turning slightly in her seat to face me, she said, “Quote something for me.”

“What?”

“You said you could quote literature. I would love to hear something.”

“Seriously?”

Her face brightened. “Yes, please.”

“Okay, then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Once again, the sweet peals of her laughter rang in my ear.

“ ‘It was many and many a year ago, / In a kingdom by the sea, / That a maiden there lived whom you may know / By the name of Annabel Lee.’ ”

Annabel’s green eyes widened in delight. “You know Poe’s ‘Annabel Lee’?”

“I do. I know ‘The Raven’ as well. Poe’s a personal favorite of mine.”

“I was named for Annabel Lee.”

With a grin, I told her, “I had a hunch.”

“My sister is Lenore from ‘The Raven.’”

“Your parents must have a love for Poe as well.”

“My mother majored in English in college.” Annabel rolled her eyes. “Mainly she was there to get the all-important MRS degree, but she managed to snag my father and finish college.”