Page 23 of Trip (Sons of Hell MC #11)

Trip

“Why not?” King roared, following the little shit as he walked off with his head held high.

“Because I ain’t a nark!”

“Fine then,” King snapped. “You’re grounded!”

Cameron stopped dead in his tracks, before slowly turning and pinning King with a glare. “You need probable cause to ground me and you ain’t got any.”

Scribe snickered, sitting at the bar. “He’s got you there, King.”

“Goddamn it, Scribe,” King sneered. “I told you to stop teaching him legal shit.”

“Kid’s a fucking sponge, Prez.” The unrepentant brother grinned. “I would be doing him a disservice if I didn’t teach him what I know.”

“You know I can order you to tell me what you’re doing, right?”

Scribe nodded. “Yep, and I can refuse.”

“Refusal means time on the obstacle course.”

Scribe shrugged. “Eh... need to lose a few pounds, anyway.”

King leaned heavily against the bar, his frustration simmering as he glared at Scribe. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Scribe simply raised his glass in a mock toast, his grin never faltering. “And yet, you keep me around. Go figure.”

Cameron, still rooted to the spot, folded his arms and smirked. “Well, Prez, what’s next? You gonna try and legislate the clubhouse?”

King pointed a finger at Cameron, the beginnings of a retort forming on his lips, but the sound of laughter from the others broke the tension. The room was alive with the camaraderie of shared amusement, even if it was at King’s expense.

Taking a deep breath, King straightened up. “Fine. But don’t think this is over. Oh, and the name is Dad to you.”

“Not when you’re acting like a douche!” the little shit snarked as he marched out of the clubhouse, head held high, and Scribe spit his beer across the bar, laughing his ass off.

Sitting at a table with C.C. and Banks, she asked no one in particular, “Is it always like this in the clubhouse?”

Gunner smirked. “Oh yeah. King thinks he’s in charge, but ever since Cameron showed up, we all know who really runs this place.”

“My little buddy is a born leader.” Frank nodded.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Banks muttered.

“Will you leave that boy alone, Nikoli,” Laurel, Banks wife, chastised as she walked past. “He’s only mimicking you assholes. So you only have yourselves to blame.”

“I didn’t do shit, woman!” Banks snarked, walking after her. “I’m innocent as the driven snow!”

“Yeah. Yellow snow.”

The laughter echoed through the clubhouse as Laurel disappeared down the hallway, her sarcastic jab leaving Banks muttering under his breath.

Gunner leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening as he sipped his drink.

“You know, for someone who’s always ‘innocent,’ Banks does tend to find himself in the doghouse a lot. ”

Frank chuckled, shaking his head. “That man’s middle name might as well be Trouble.”

“Did you say something, old man?” Banks yelled from the other side of the room, his voice carrying a playful edge.

Laurel’s voice shot back before Frank could reply. “Stop yelling and actually do something useful, like fixing that squeaky door I’ve been complaining about for weeks!”

The room erupted in laughter again, and King shook his head, muttering, “This place is a madhouse.” He turned to Gunner, his voice low but still laced with humor. “And you wonder why I hide in my office all the time?”

Gunner grinned. “Welcome to our world, C.C. It’s chaos, but it’s our chaos.”

I watched the lively scene unfold, my woman’s gaze lingering on the group of misfits who somehow made this strange, boisterous world feel like home. For all the snark, the jabs, and the chaos, there was an undeniable bond here—a family forged not by blood but by choice.

Grabbing her hand, I leaned over and whispered, “Wanna get out of here for a bit and go for a drive?”

Smiling, she too leaned forward and asked, “Who’s driving?”

Driving through the Shenandoah Mountains in the middle of winter was an experience I wanted C.C.

to see. The Shenandoah Mountains, with their snow-capped peaks, were a stunning sight.

I couldn’t wait to show her the town I fell in love with, the beauty of this place, the quiet majesty of nature—a stark contrast to the lively city of New Orleans.

The sun shone brightly, casting a warm glow on the snow-capped peaks that surrounded us. I led C.C. to my bike, a sense of pride swelling in my chest as I anticipated her reaction to my sleek, powerful machine.

She ran a gloved hand over the chrome, her breath forming clouds in the cold air. “She’s a beauty,” C.C. murmured. “You know I love my cars, but this...” She trailed off, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

I swung a leg over the seat, the familiar thrill of the bike coursing through me. “Hop on,” I said, my voice rough with anticipation.

“Isn’t it unsafe to ride a motorcycle in the winter?”

“It’s definitely colder, that’s for sure, but this area has gotten no snow yet. So the roads are clear.”

“Trip, I can see snow on the mountain peaks.”

“Higher elevation, baby,” I said, leaning against my gas tank. “Didn’t think you’d chicken out so soon.”

“I’m not scared of anything,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Then what are you waiting for?” I challenged.

C.C. narrowed her eyes, then gracefully hopped on behind me.

I kicked the engine to life, the deep rumble echoing through the cool air.

As we rode the winding roads, the sun glinted off the snow-covered trees, creating a magical atmosphere.

C.C. wrapped her arms tighter around my waist, her breath warm against my back.

I smiled, feeling her excitement as we approached the town of Rosewood.

The quiet streets and quaint shops came into view, the mountain range providing a breathtaking backdrop.

I pulled over by the town square, eager to show her my favorite spot. We dismounted, and I watched as she took in the peaceful scene before us—the old brick buildings, the old-fashioned lampposts, and the charming shops as tourists milled around enjoying the sights.

“This is it,” I said, turning to her with a wide smile. “This is where I first fell in love with this place.”

C.C. smiled back, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and delight. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, before taking a step forward to gaze up at the surrounding peaks. “So different from New Orleans, yet equally captivating.”

“Let’s get some hot chocolate,” I suggested, taking her hand in mine. “Then I’ll show you the best view in town.”

Hand in hand, we strolled down the street to Beth’s coffee shop, the warmth enveloping us the second we entered. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled the air, inviting us to linger.

“Hi, Trip!” Beth, Sarah’s mom, waved as we sat by the window.

“Hi, Beth,” I greeted. “Can I get two hot chocolates, please?”

“Sure thing.” The lovely woman smiled. “You guys sit. I’ll bring them to you.”

“This place is like a Norman Rockwell painting,” C.C. muttered as she looked out the window, observing the quaint town of Rosewood.

“Yep,” I said, watching her.

God, she was beautiful. She was everything I wanted and more. Smart, funny and sexy as all hell. Man, could she drive too. I knew C.C. was going places. She had the gift, and I fucking knew, as sure as she was sitting next to me, that she had checkered flags in her future.

I had that once, then everything changed. As much as I loved the circuit, I couldn’t go back. I didn’t want to. I knew that now. After seeing my parents die, then almost dying the same way, I was done. My life was here in Rosewood with the Sons of Hell.

And God forgive me, I wanted her by my side.

“Here you both go,” Beth declared, placing two steaming mugs of hot chocolate before us. “If you two need anything else, just ask.”

“Thanks, Beth.” I winked at the woman.

C.C. blew gently on her mug, the steam curling upwards and framing her face in a soft haze. “I could get used to this place,” she mused, her voice carrying the warmth of the chocolate she sipped.

I leaned back, letting the familiar hum of the coffee shop settle around us. “It’s got its charm, doesn’t it? The kind of town where you can slow down and enjoy life just a little.”

She laughed lightly, her gaze shifting to the families strolling past outside, some arm in arm, others with dogs tugging excitedly at leashes. “I prefer the fast lane.”

Looking away, I cautiously said, “Life isn’t a race, Cosette. It’s meant to be lived.”

“Trip, I didn’t mean—”

Her apology hung in the air, delicate and unspoken.

I knew it was a long shot. Why should she give up everything to spend the rest of her life in some small tourist town when she could have her heart’s desire?

She had been crystal clear with me from the beginning.

Racing was her life. She wanted the adrenaline rush, the cars, the speed that life had to offer, and I didn’t fit anywhere in that. I never would.

“I know,” I said, cutting the tension with a soft smile. “You’re not ready to take your foot off the gas.”

She studied me for a moment, her sharp blue eyes searching for something in mine. “Maybe you’re right,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “Maybe I don’t know how to slow down, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to someday.”

Beth passed by again, her apron dusted with flour, and we exchanged a nod. The rhythm of the coffee shop carried on—a child giggled in the corner, a spoon clinked against a ceramic mug, and the doorbell chimed faintly as another customer entered.

“You can start here,” I said, gesturing to the cozy scene around us. “This town, this little shop—it’s like a pocket of time. No rush, no checkered flags. Just here and now.”

Cosette sighed, a smile teasing at the corners of her lips. She wrapped her fingers firmly around the mug, letting its warmth seep into her palms. “Alright, Trip,” she said, a playful challenge in her tone. “Show me how to slow down.”

I leaned forward, matching her grin. “Thought you’d never ask.”