Good.
Let her cut.
Better than watching her crumble.
“You got me there,” I say.
She looks surprised that I admit it.
Then suspicious because I admit it.
Smart.
“I need to get to Hell,” she says.
“You’re on Hell Road, darlin’. You’re closer than you think.”
Her mouth tightens at darlin’, and I make a note. Not that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I pull my phone and call Wildcat.
He answers on the second ring with noise in the background. Clubhouse noise. Men laughing, music low, someone arguing about bourbon like it’s a constitutional right.
“What’d you break?” Wildcat asks.
“My patience. Also maybe a woman’s vehicle.”
“You hit a woman’s vehicle?”
“No. Her panties hit me.”
Silence.
Then laughter.
I close my eyes. “Laugh later. I’m on Hell Road past Dead Man’s Curve. Got a woman, a kid, a flat tire, and a truck full of boxes. Need a cage and a trailer.”
“Dead Man’s Curve?” Wildcat’s laughter dies. “You good?”
“Does everybody in this county think the damn road listens?”
“It does if you talk about it too much.”
“Bring the truck.”
“Who’s the woman?”
I look at Amelia.
She watches me like I might sell her name to the night.
“Possible Welles problem,” I say.
Wildcat goes silent for a beat. “Legend know?”
“Not yet.”
“Jesus.”