Page 12 of Trip (Sons of Hell MC #11)

Trip

“Gotta say, brother. Ansel sure knows how to stir up a hornet’s nest,” Gunner said as we all listened to C.C.

rip into Ansel’s ass. The second her old crew left, she marched her cute little ass into Ansel’s office and started reading him from the bible.

The woman gave no quarter. She was relentless and determined to make Ansel know she wasn’t happy.

“It was his idea. I just implemented it,” I said, then added, “Stayed up last night and watched her last three races. She should have won. Instead, she didn’t finish two and came in tenth on the last one. Her crew was fucking off instead of doing their jobs.”

“She doesn’t see it that way,” Enigma commented.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as the tension in the garage buzzed like a live wire and said, “She’s the driver.

Her job is to drive the car. But she can’t do her job if her crew isn’t pulling their weight.

Racing isn’t just about who’s the fastest driver.

There is a lot that goes into winning a race and it starts with a reliable pit crew. ”

But Gunner was right about one thing. Ansel had a knack for walking into a room and igniting chaos like a match struck in a dry field. But whether he was right was another matter entirely.

C.C.’s voice carried through the walls, sharp and unyielding, her frustration spilling into every syllable.

Ansel, to his credit, wasn’t backing down, but it was clear he was outmatched.

The crew might not have been perfect, but they were loyal, and in racing, loyalty often counted for more than raw skill.

Still, loyalty wouldn’t win races if the equipment failed, if the timing was off, or if egos got in the way of precision.

“He’s not wrong, though,” Enigma said finally, his tone measured. “If her crew is slipping, it’s her career on the line.”

“Yeah, but the way Ansel’s going about it?” Gunner shook his head. “How are we going to find out who sabotaging the engines now?”

“King and the others will take care of that. Our job is to make sure she is safe while on the track. Speaking of which, where are Sarah and Banks?” I asked, looking around.

“Tearing apart the engine.” Gunner grinned. “My woman couldn’t wait to get her hands on it.”

“Thought you were going to keep her out of this,” Enigma said.

Gunner laughed. “You try telling her no.”

Enigma chuckled, the sound low and knowing. “You’ve got a point, but we can’t ignore the bigger issue here. Sabotage doesn’t come from nowhere. Someone’s playing a dangerous game, and if we don’t figure out who, it won’t just be the engines that go down. It’ll be her career—and maybe more.”

Gunner’s grin slipped a fraction, his gaze turning cold. “Then we’d better hope King pulls a rabbit out of his hat,” he said, his voice edged with steel.

The silence that followed was heavy, each of us lost in our own calculations. Every wrong move felt like a step closer to the edge of a cliff, and the ground beneath us was cracking.

Then, as if on cue, the sound of boots on concrete drew our attention.

Sarah stormed in, grease smeared on her cheek, her eyes blazing with the kind of fury that could set the whole garage on fire.

Banks trailed behind her, his expression a mask of calm that only barely concealed the storm brewing beneath.

“We’ve got a problem,” Sarah announced, slamming a wrench onto the nearest workbench. “Whoever messed with the engine knew exactly what they were doing.”

“What did you find?” I asked, pushing off the wall as Banks held a small can out to me.

Taking it, I dipped my finger in the can, then rubbed my index and thumb together and cursed, “Motherfucker.”

Gripping the can, I marched straight into Ansel’s office. Ignoring C.C., I slammed the can on Ansel’s desk, and some of the contents spilled over and onto his papers.

“Metal.”

Ansel grabbed the can and, like me before, he stuck his finger inside the can to test the oil himself.

“What?” C.C. gasped, sticking her finger in the can.

Looking at the woman, I said, “Someone put metal shavings in the oil.”

Shaking her head, I watched as her face paled and she slowly backed away.

“I’ve got to call my attorney. Trip, keep me informed,” Ansel said mainly to himself as he gathered his things and quickly left.

Alone with C.C., she just looked at me. Her eyes demanding answers. Answers I didn’t have.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” she whispered, her hands shaking. “Ansel didn’t bring you in just to babysit me, did he? He brought you in to find who is sabotaging the engines.”

Walking over to her, I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her trembling body. “Yes.”

“Am I in danger?”

“I don’t know, C.C.,” I said, my hold tightening around her. “But I’m going to find out.”

A few hours later, I walked into my dad’s old house to find King and the others waiting for me, along with C.C.’s brother Romeo. Looking at me, he asked, “Where is my sister?”

“Dropped her off at home,” I said, slamming the front door shut. “I take it you heard what happened?”

“The whole parish heard, Trip,” King informed. “Cat’s out of the bag now. Gator’s not happy.”

“Good, then maybe we can figure out who this fucker is before they kill someone.”

“Gunner told us what Sarah and Banks found,” Priest said as I opened the fridge and took out a beer. “Gotta say, brother, this shit doesn’t look good.”

“You should have seen her face, man. The second she felt the shavings, she knew. Ansel’s pissed, and I’m talking really pissed. Haven’t seen him that angry since he lost his leg and learned he couldn’t drive anymore. It’s not him.”

“You sure about that?” Scribe asked, looking around the room. “Just because he lost his leg doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of sabotaging his own cars.”

Shaking my head, I took a seat and sighed. “Ain’t him, Scribe. Ansel can be an asshole when he wants, but he couldn’t fake that reaction. He looked sick to his stomach.”

“So what’s the plan?” Enigma asked.

“My sister is not going near that car until it’s safe,” Romeo firmly stated, and I agreed, nodding my head.

“She’s not,” I muttered. “I am.”

King pushed off the wall as Priest whispered, “What?”

Looking at King, I reiterated, “I’m getting behind the wheel.”

King glared at me but said nothing as Scribe piped up, “Trip, that car isn’t safe. Whoever is trying to bring Ansel down isn’t going to care who’s behind the wheel. We just got you back, brother. Not losing you again because you need to prove something.”

I scoffed. “There’s nothing to prove, Scribe. Not gonna let C.C. get behind the wheel knowing someone is tampering with the engine. Woman is a damn good driver, but I’m better. You all know it. So does Ansel. That’s why he brought me in.”

“My sister may have something to say about that,” Romeo challenged.

“She can get over it. Not gonna risk her life because she’s got a lead foot.”

King narrowed his eyes as we all heard a motorcycle pull up. “Tell him the real reason.”

Looking at my Prez, I groaned. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

“Did that all on your own, brother. This is me saving you.”

Romeo stiffened, crossing his arms over his chest and snarked, “What the fuck is going on?”

Just then, the front door opened and in walked one of the tallest men I’d ever seen in my life, and that was saying something because Frank was six and a half feet tall. Yet, when this guy walked in the front door, he actually had to bend his head down.

“Tank?” Romeo gasped. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Prez sent me to sit on you.”

“Why?”

King cleared his voice. “Now would be a good time, Trip.”

Turning to Romeo, I stood and clearly said, ‘I’m claiming your sister.”

Romeo stared blankly at me, blinked a few times, then a large smile appeared on his face as he asked, “Does she know that?”

“Not yet.”

The fucker laughed and slapped me on my shoulder. “Good luck with that. You’re gonna need it.” Turning away from me, he walked over to Tank and said, “Come on, brother. Let’s go to The Bourbon Bar and get drunk. This shit just got interesting real quick.”

Tank growled, his eyes squinting as he looked at me, but said nothing as he followed Romeo out of the house.

The sound of their heavy boots against the wooden floor echoed long after they left, leaving an unsettling silence behind. King leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed, watching me like a hawk and shaking his head.

“Trip, you better be sure about this. Claiming another brother’s sister isn’t just a fun weekend decision—it’s a vow, and in the biker world, vows hold weight,” King said, his voice steady but edged with warning.

I nodded, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “I’ve never been more sure, Prez.”

King studied me for another moment, then gave a curt nod.

“Then you better make damn sure she knows it, and soon. You don’t want Romeo or Tank on your ass if they think you’re fucking around.

Their Prez didn’t send Tank just to sit on Romeo.

Tank’s here to ensure you do right by her, according to biker law. ”

Now it was my turn to grin. “She’s it for me.”

His expression softened, just slightly, before he pushed off the wall and headed toward the kitchen. “Well, don’t screw it up. And remember, you’ve got your club watching your back—and watching you.”

I sank back into the chair, the weight of King’s words settling over me. It wasn’t just about claiming her; it was about proving to everyone—and to her—that I wasn’t going to back down, no matter what came my way.