Page 16 of Trip (Sons of Hell MC #11)

C.C.

The second I heard the vehicles roll up, I jumped from Trip’s bed and quickly dressed. I was jamming my foot into my boots when I heard them knock. Plastering on a big smile, I flung open the door.

“Good morning, boys!”

My brother narrowed his eyes as everyone else stood slack-jawed, unable to form a coherent word.

“Shirt’s on backwards, Sis,” Romeo sneered, pushing his way inside. “Where is the fucker?”

Well shit.

“Already caught, girl. Might as well fess up.” Juju smirked, leaning against the doorframe, shaking his head.

“He’s still sleeping and as much fun as this”—I waved my hand in front of all of them—“will be. I need to get to the track. If Trip makes it through the day, tell him I’ll see him tonight at dinner.”

Grabbing my bag, I rushed for the door as my brother shouted after me. “And you better not be late, either!”

Jumping into my car, I started it up as I watched Trip’s front door close. A small part, a very tiny part of me, thought I should at least send him a warning text, but then I thought better of it.

My family was harmless.

What’s the worst thing that could happen?

Instead, I pulled away and headed for the track. I knew Ansel would be in his office, and I wanted answers. I wanted to know why he turned his back on Trip right after the accident, and why suddenly he believed only Trip could fix this mess.

I pulled into the track parking lot, the roar of engines and the tangy scent of burning rubber already filling the air.

My pulse quickened as I slammed the car door shut, marching toward the office.

Inside, the air was thick with tension. I spotted Ansel hunched over a desk, papers scattered around him like a storm had passed through.

He barely looked up as I walked in, but I wasn’t about to let him brush me off.

“Ansel,” I snapped, shutting the door behind me. “We need to talk.”

He sighed, setting down his pen, his face drawn and tired. “If this is about Trip, I don’t have time for—”

“Make time,” I interrupted sharply. “You owe him that much. You owe me that much.”

For a moment, his jaw tightened, as though he was deciding whether to push back. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” I said, my voice low but resolute. “Why you shut him out, why you think he’s the answer now, and what the hell you’re planning to do about it?”

Ansel ran a hand through his graying hair. “It’s complicated,” he began, but I wasn’t having it.

“Uncomplicate it,” I shot back, stepping closer. “I’m not leaving until I have the truth.”

“Me either.”

Turning, I saw King, the president of the Sons of Hell, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at Ansel.

King’s presence shifted the energy in the room, which was now heavy with unspoken tension. Ansel gestured to the empty seat near his desk but said nothing, his expression guarded. King didn’t take the seat; instead, he remained stationed at the door, his stance as immovable as a mountain.

“This is where you tell me everything, or I’m going to beat it out of you.” King’s voice was low, deliberate, the kind of tone that demanded answers without raising its volume.

Ansel let out a long sigh, finally meeting my eyes, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of vulnerability beneath his hardened exterior.

“I take it Trip told you,” he said, looking at me. “And let me guess, he painted me as the bad guy?”

“No, all he said was you told him to leave it alone. But that’s what worries me, Ansel. You know, better than most, to listen to the driver, especially after what happened to you.”

The man sighed, rubbing his nonexistent right leg before saying, “He’d just won Talladega.

It was a big win for us. Major. Because of Trip, he proved to the investors that our engine worked.

It was everything we worked for. After the race, when Trip told me about his fears, I admit I ignored him.

That all I cared about was the bottom line.

But when Bill and Mary died, I knew he was right.

I wasn’t dismissing his concerns. I was pissed but not at him. ”

“Why?” King growled.

“Because it meant our engine wasn’t infallible.

More importantly, it meant that someone fucked us over.

I was with Trip before the race, King,” Ansel said, looking at King.

“Cal, Trip, and I went over that engine with a fucking white glove. Checked every damn nook and cranny. That engine was fucking perfect.”

“Until it wasn’t.”

Ansel nodded. “And Bill and Mary died because of something we missed.”

“Who had access to the car that day?”

Sighing, Ansel ran his hands down his face and moaned. “The entire crew. After the pre-race check, Trip drove the car out to the track. During the race, everyone from the jackman to the crew chief had hands on it.”

“That’s a bare minimum of eleven men,” I muttered.

“Exactly.” Ansel nodded. “And that’s not including anyone else who was around that day. I’ve gone over all the films so many times my head hurts. No one was out of place. Everyone did their jobs that day.”

“He’s right, King,” I added, turning to King. “I saw the films myself. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and after Trip left the circuit, there were no other incidents until I started driving for Ansel.”

“Trip’s been out of the game for close to ten years now. That’s a long time to hold a grudge. Who drove the car after Trip left?”

Sighing, Ansel leaned forward in his seat. “Jake Stevens, Chase Nevers, and Andy Holmes.”

“Where are they now?”

“After losing at Daytona, Jake quit, then started driving for Marco’s team. He’s been driving for them ever since,” Ansel sneered, and I smirked.

Yeah, I knew Ansel hated Jake.

There was no love lost between those two men.

“Andy left after the medical scare with his wife. Last I heard, he was farming somewhere in Kansas,” I added.

“And the other one?”

Ansel groaned. “The night before his first race, he got a call from home. Something about a family emergency. Fucker just left. Hopped on his fucking bike and left.”

“Wasn’t Chase from East Tennessee?” I asked.

Ansel nodded. “Yeah. Some Podunk town in the mountains.”

“Three drivers in nine years?” King questioned.

“Until C.C.” Ansel smirked, then winked at me.

“Best thing I ever did was put her ass behind the wheel. She was born to drive. Ain’t seen the likes of her since Trip.

Look, King. I don’t know what you want me to say here.

All I know is, everything was fine until it wasn’t, and as much as I want C.C.

to snag her first checkered flag, my company can’t afford another loss.

That car is all I have left. I’ve already got someone sniffing around. ”

“Who?” I asked.

Ansel shrugged. “A former investor, Black Ryder Investments. They are out of Mobile.”

King scoffed, his piercing gaze fixed on Ansel. “Black Ryder Investments,” he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with an edge of suspicion. “And you trust them to handle your car? Your future?”

Ansel let out a sharp bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Trust? Hell no. But beggars can’t be choosers, right? They’ve got deep pockets, and right now, I need their money more than I need my pride.”

King’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “Pride’s a dangerous thing to lose. Once it’s gone, it’s hard to get back.”

Ansel shifted uneasily under King’s scrutiny, but his smirk returned, albeit weaker. “What’s your play here, King? Sympathy? Advice? I’ve got enough on my plate without a sermon from you.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to figure out if you’re smart enough to keep C.C. and that car out of the fire,” King replied evenly, his voice low and deliberate.

Ansel grunted, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I don’t need to be smart. I just need one good win. One miracle.”

King shook his head, his presence towering over the room as he walked forward, resting his hands on Ansel’s desk. “Miracles don’t come cheap, Ansel. You’d better make damn sure the cost isn’t more than you’re willing to pay.”

He turned on his heel, leaving Ansel staring after him, a mix of defiance and desperation flickering in his eyes.

Running after King, I caught up to him as he walked out of the garage. “King. Wait up!”

Stopping, the large man turned as I blurted, “Look, Ansel is under a lot of strain. This shit is costing him millions.”

“Money won’t bring you back to life if that engine blows during a race, C.C., and you know that.”

“That’s why he brought in Trip. To make sure I’m safe.”

“You don’t get it, girl,” King sneered. “There is no fucking way in hell Trip will ever put your ass behind the wheel of that car unless he believes it is safe. And even then, he will still have reservations.”

“It’s not his choice.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” King slowly grinned and leaned closer to me. “Trip wants to claim you, C.C. If he does, that means you’re his.”

I stood there and said nothing as King walked away.

What the hell did he mean by claim me ?

Claim me as what?

Still, the way King said the words made it seem that it was a forgone conclusion, a finality. That there was nothing more to say on the matter.

I didn’t claim to know the inner dynamics or lingo of the biker world. I knew Romeo was a brother in the Silver Shadows. One of my closest friends lived in the clubhouse. Hell, my cousin was the president of his own club, but none of that had anything to do with me.

What I did know was that the Sons of Hell had their own rules, their own code, and it was a world that operated on loyalty, power, and unspoken bonds. Trip claiming me—if that was even true—seemed more like something out of a twisted fairy tale than reality.

I refused to stand around and let someone else dictate my life, no matter what King or anyone else thought.

So I squared my shoulders and decided I needed answers.

Not half-truths or cryptic biker lingo, but straight-up facts.

If Trip thought he had something to say about me, he’d better be prepared to say it to my face.

Heading for my vehicle, I saw Crane pull up. Leaning against the driver’s side door, he smiled. “Hey, C.C.”

I hated what Trip did to Crane. He was a good mechanic. Been around the circuit his whole life. He knew his shit, and I trusted him.

“Crane. What brings you by?”

“Thought you and I could talk.”

“About what?”

“Trip.”

Sighing, I looked around the track when I heard, “Ms. C.C.!” as a small boy came running toward me.

Looking past the kid, I saw King leaning against a truck, arms crossed over his chest, watching with a grin on his face as the kid came to a screeching halt before me.

Switching my gaze to the kid, I remembered Bailey and the other women talking about a precocious boy named Cameron.

Hands on my hips, I smiled. “You must be Cameron.”

“The one and only!” He smiled up at me.

“And what can I do for you?”

“Nuttin’.” The kid grinned. “My dad said I was to stick to you like glue until Trip got back from his fishin’ trip.”

“Huh?” I muttered, and my eyes snapped to King, just as he saluted me, got in his truck, and drove away.

What the fucking hell?

I wasn’t a damn babysitter!

“So what are we gonna do?”

“C.C.,” Crane butted in. “We really need to talk.”

“Back off, Jack. She’s mine,” the kid sneered, puffing out his chest. “Go find your own damn girl.”

Crane growled. “Big mouth there, kid. How about I close it for you?”

“Try it. We fucking dare you,” Trip’s club brother Scribe clearly said, just before he and several others of the Sons of Hell MC walked out of the shadows as Cameron smiled brilliantly.

“Meet my boys, douchecanoe. Mess with me, and they will rearrange your innards and shove them right up your—”

“Cameron,” one of the brothers growled.

“Wasn’t gonna say it, Priest,” the kid piped up fast. “I swear!”

I crossed my arms and took a long, measured look at the chaos unfolding before me. The kid beamed like he just won the lottery as his so-called “boys” formed a protective semi-circle around him.

“Alright, everyone, chill the hell out,” I snapped, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “I don’t have time to play referee.”

Cameron’s smug grin faltered, and Crane’s jaw worked like he was chewing on the words he wanted to spit out. Scribe, however, didn’t even flinch. His cold gaze locked on Crane, daring him to make a move.

“Crane, you got something to say. Say it. Otherwise, take a walk,” I warned, my patience wearing thin.

Crane scowled, but finally nodded with an annoyed grunt. “Fine. But this isn’t over, C.C.,” he stated, shooting a warning glance at Cameron before speeding off out of the parking lot.

“Now, as for you, kid,” I said, turning to Cameron. “If your dad thinks sticking you with me is his idea of parenting, we’ve got bigger issues than your lousy attitude. Stick close, but don’t push your luck, got it?”

Cameron gave a mock salute, clearly amused. “Got it, boss lady.”

I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath, “This day just keeps getting better.”

Little did I know, it was only the beginning.