Page 15 of Trip (Sons of Hell MC #11)

Trip

“So what do we do? Because opening day is a few months away, and I plan on driving in that race.”

I exhaled a shaky breath, my mind racing faster than any car I’d ever driven. “I need to take the engine apart. Completely. Every gear, every bolt. I know it’s asking a lot, but if there’s even a chance I’m right...”

C.C. fixed me with a fierce look, determination burning in her eyes. “Alright, then do it. But if you’re tearing that engine apart, we’re doing it together.”

I smirked. “Together, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She groaned, flinging herself back on my couch.

“Why are you really here, Slick?” I asked, licking my lips.

She smirked. “Not for that. I’ve outgrown you.”

“Really?” I slowly stood. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Jumping to her feet, she huffed. “I’m immune to you. Whatever you say or do won’t work. I’ve moved on.”

“And if I was to say I’m claiming you?”

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

I watched as her mouth opened and closed before her eyes narrowed, and she sneered, “Forget about it. I’ve seen how my brother and cousin treat women. No way in hell will I ever be some biker’s side piece.”

“Oh, Slick,” I slowly said, reaching for her, pulling her close. “That’s one thing I’m sure you’ll never be.”

“I mean it, Trip. Just because the sex is good, doesn’t mean shit. I have a plan, and you are not a part of it.”

“Plans change,” I whispered, leaning close and kissing her neck.

Her body stiffened for a moment, but it wasn’t long before I felt her resolve falter. A trembling breath escaped her lips as she pushed against my chest lightly, not to escape, but to create just enough space to look me in the eye.

“Let go of me,” she said, her voice low but unconvincing.

I didn’t. Instead, I brushed my thumb over her jawline, feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath my fingertips. “You’re scared, Slick,” I murmured. “Not of me, but of what you feel.”

She swallowed audibly, her defiance flickering like a candle in the wind. “What I feel doesn’t matter,” she stated, her voice trembling with something she couldn’t quite mask. “I know where this road leads, Trip. And I won’t let myself be wrecked at the end of it.”

I tilted my head, searching her eyes for the lie she was trying to tell herself. “Maybe,” I said, my voice soft but steady. “But sometimes the wreck’s worth it. Sometimes what’s at the end is worth every bump and bruise along the way.”

Her lips parted, as if she had a retort ready, but no words came. Instead, for the first time, she looked at me without the armor of her sarcasm or the shield of her anger. She looked just like herself—raw, unsure, and impossibly beautiful.

“You don’t fight fair,” she finally whispered, her voice a mixture of accusation and surrender.

I smirked, stepping even closer. “I never claimed to play fair. And you? You’ve been fighting me long enough.” I leaned down, my lips grazing the edge of her ear. “The question is, Slick—are you ready to stop running?”

The silence between us stretched thin, taut with possibilities. Then, just as I thought she might push me away for good, her hand slid up to my collar, gripping it as though I was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

And maybe—I hoped—I was.

“Told ya he’d be here.”

“Yep, you were right, Worm. Seems like those Sons of Hell boys are lazier than we are. Look at him sleepin’ God’s beautiful day away. It ain’t right, I tell ya.”

“Fucker better be wearing his skivvies. Don’t need to see his little tally whacker.”

“Oh come on, boss. He might be packin’.”

“Then you wake him and check.”

“Uh, I ain’t goin’ near another guy’s junk.”

“Says the man who plays both sides of the fence.”

Groaning, I rolled over and sighed. “What the fuck are you guys doing here?”

“My sister let us in.”

And just like that, I shot right up in bed.

Looking around the room, I couldn’t find C.C.

anywhere. Instead, I stared into the eyes of her brother, Romeo.

At his back was Tank, who glared menacingly at me.

And if that wasn’t enough, all of the Bourbon Kings smiled as if this were nothing new to them.

“Tell me, Trip,” Romeo asked, cleaning his nails with a bowie knife. “Did my sister accept your claim before or after you defiled her innocence?”

Gator coughed as Braveheart pounded on his back. “You okay, boss?”

Waving the big guy off, Gator glared at Romeo. “Innocence? Really?”

Romeo shrugged. “What? She’s my baby sister. She’s innocent as the driven snow until there’s a ring on her finger.” Then the fucker leaned forward and sneered, “There better be a fucking ring, asshole.”

I gulped.

Tank cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing ominously in the room. “Romeo, can we just cut to the chase?” he rumbled, his voice as deep as a thundercloud. “You’ve got questions, and I’m guessing Trip here doesn’t have many answers you’re gonna like.”

I raised my hands defensively, trying to muster some semblance of calm despite the sweat trickling down my back. “Look, she’s not a kid. C.C. made her own choice. I—”

Gator groaned. “I wouldn’t finish that sentence, Trip. I promised King you’d be semi-whole when we brought you back.”

“Back from where?”

Donut grinned. “We’re goin’ fishin’!”

An hour later, I walked toward to the water’s edge, then looked back at the men sitting in lawn chairs, halfway to a full-blown drunken bender. I should have known that going anywhere with the Bourbon Kings was a gamble.

Fuckers never took anything seriously.

“Are you sure this shit is legal?” I asked, then added, “’Cause King’s gonna have my ass if I get arrested.”

“Thore’s real friendly with the game warden,” Donut shouted as he popped open his can of beer before reaching into a brown paper bag and retrieving a beignet. “Yer all good!”

“Who’s got the poles?” I asked.

“Don’t need a damn pole.” Tank glared, daring me to disagree with him. “Unless you’re plannin’ to use your dick!”

The fuckers laughed.

“I wouldn’t suggest that, little fella.” Braveheart smirked. “Gator tried that once and, well, the fish loved his bling. Took us damn near an hour to get that cocksucker off his dick.”

“Still haven’t found that one piercing, yet,” Worm said, never looking up from the book he was reading.

Gator growled, “Just stick your damn hand in the hole and pull the fucker out.”

I eyed the murky water, unsure if I wanted to wade in.

The thought of sticking my hand into some dark hole to pull out a fucking fish wasn’t my idea of a good time.

I knew what these fuckers were doing. They wanted to see if I was strong enough to handle C.C.

Well, I had a newsflash for them. I wasn’t, but they didn’t need to know that shit.

No one could handle Slick and walk away unscathed, let alone me.

Still, I refused to back away from this challenge.

I liked living on the wild side of life.

A little noodling couldn’t be that bad.

What could go wrong?

I crouched by the edge of the water, rolling my sleeves up past my elbows.

The guys watched me like vultures circling a wounded animal, their smirks lighting up the murky dusk.

Braveheart leaned on a battered log, chewing on a blade of grass, his eyes daring me to back out.

Tank cracked open another beer, the hiss of carbonation sounding like a countdown.

“You just gonna sit there?” Gator barked, his voice sharp enough to cut through the humid air. “We ain’t got all day, Trip.”

The water rippled as shadows shifted ominously beneath the surface.

I forced a cocky grin, though my stomach was doing backflips. “Relax, old man,” I shot back. “I’m just deciding which hand to sacrifice.”

Their laughter exploded like a shotgun blast, echoing into the thick woods around us. It was exactly what they wanted—a show of gumption, to prove I had what it took to be considered part of the family.

And damn it, I wasn’t about to disappoint.

I plunged my hand into the water, the sudden chill biting through my skin. The mud sucked at my arm like quicksand as I groped for the promised “hole.” Every nerve in my body screamed that this was a terrible idea, but I shoved the doubt down deep.

My fingers brushed something solid, and then it moved.

Fast.

“What the—” I yanked, but whatever was down there had other plans. It clamped onto my wrist with a force that could crush bones, its grip stronger than I expected. Pain shot up my arm, but I held on, gritting my teeth as the guys roared with approval.

“That’s it!” Tank hollered. “Pull the bastard out!”

The thing—a fish, I prayed—thrashed violently, sending waves splashing over my boots. I dug my heels into the mud, the strain making my muscles burn. My free hand clutched at the bank for balance, but the damn thing was winning.

“Don’t let it punk you out!” Braveheart shouted, his voice thick with mockery.

“It’s biting me!” I shouted, trying to dislodge my hand, to no avail.

“Well, duh,” Donut groaned, munching on a beignet. “It’s what they do.”

“Stop whining and yank it out already!” Tank barked, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip.

The pressure on my wrist intensified, and for a split second, I considered giving up.

But then I thought of their smug faces, their taunting laughter that would echo in my head for years if I failed.

No way was I letting this thing get the best of me.

Pulling as hard as I could, I managed to get my elbow past the surface of the water and well.

.. that’s when I screamed like a little girl and didn’t give a flying fuck who heard.

“It’s an alligator!”

“Oh, shit!” Thore dropped everything and came running as Gator and Romeo fell out of their chairs, laughing like a pack of hyenas.

“GET IT OFF!” I screeched loudly, the sound causing a flock of birds to take flight.

Tank sprang into action, grabbing the nearest stick—a hefty branch—and waving it like a sword.

“Hold still!” he bellowed, as if wrangling an angry alligator was a simple two-step process.

Meanwhile, Braveheart doubled over, tears streaming down his face, gripping his knees as he howled with laughter.

Thore wasn’t far behind, clutching my arm like a lifeline as I flailed in the mud. “Quit moving, you’re making it worse!” he yelled.

“It’s eating my arm!”

“Here, gator, gator, gator,” Donut cajoled as he tried to proposition the damn thing with a beignet.

“Don’t you dare feed it!” I shouted, my voice breaking as I wrestled with the beast. “It’s not a damn mascot!”

“Relax, Trip. The little fella is just curious,” Donut said, holding out the sugary bait like we were at some twisted reptile petting zoo.

Suddenly, there was a splash, and the gator released my arm with a startling jerk. It wasn’t Tank’s stick or Thore’s grip or even Donut’s absurd attempt at bribery that scared it off—it was Romeo, who had somehow conjured a bucket out of nowhere and hurled it straight at the reptile’s face.

The gator blinked, stunned, then slid back into the murky depths with an air of casual indifference, as if it had simply grown bored with the chaos.

Silence descended as we all stood frozen, staring at the rippling surface.

“Is it gone?” I whispered, clutching my arm like it might suddenly vanish, too.

Tank tossed the branch aside, shooting Romeo a look of grudging respect. “I think you scared it off. Nice aim.”

“Scared it?” Romeo smirked, puffing out his chest. “I don’t think so. That gator knew it couldn’t handle all this.” He gestured to himself grandly, earning a chorus of groans and mock applause from the others.

Thore helped me to my feet, slapped me on my back, and said, “If at first you don’t succeed, try again.”

Excuse me?