Page 29 of Trip (Sons of Hell MC #11)

C.C.

Earlier that morning...

I didn’t know what had woken me, but when I sat up wide awake, I rubbed my hands down my face and realized the morning sun hadn’t even crested the horizon yet.

Sighing, I quietly got out of bed, not wanting to wake Trip, and quickly made use of the bathroom, before I got dressed for the day.

Heading downstairs, I made a beeline for the kitchen when I heard something funny.

Walking out the backdoor of the clubhouse, I looked around at the vast mountainside and caught sight of Cameron sneaking out of the greenhouse and heading for the club’s garage.

“What the hell?” I whispered as I quietly followed him. It was too damn early in the morning for shenanigans. That kid needed to be in bed, not doing whatever he was doing.

I trailed after him, careful to keep my distance. The last thing I wanted was to be spotted and have to explain my early morning snooping to a seven-year-old. As I rounded the corner of the garage, I saw Cameron sneak behind the large bay door and slip inside.

I crept closer, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Why was he up so early in the morning?

More importantly, what the hell was he doing in the garage?

I peered through the window, trying to get a better view.

That’s when I saw it. A beautiful, fully restored metallic midnight blue 1962 Shelby Cobra, gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

I watched as Cameron carefully ran his finger over the hood of the car, his eyes wide with desire as he looked around before opening the driver’s seat and climbing in. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

The kid caught the bug.

The racing bug, that was.

I didn’t blame him. The Shelby Cobra was a beautiful piece of machinery. Hell, even I had to admit, I was itching to sit behind the wheel and take that beauty for a spin.

I slipped through the side door, careful to avoid the creak in the hinges, and crouched low behind a stack of tires.

Cameron hadn’t noticed me yet, his attention entirely fixed on the Cobra’s dashboard as he mimicked turning the wheel and shifting gears.

I could see the thrill in his expression—a mixture of wonder and determination.

I stood there and watched Cameron fiddling with the steering wheel, his tiny hands gripping it as though he were imagining himself on a wide-open racetrack, and I wondered if I should put an end to his tomfoolery before he tried to hot-wire that damn thing and take it for a real spin.

Which made me chuckle, remembering the day I did just that with my dad’s old truck.

Standing there, I couldn’t help but smile.

There was something pure about the way Cameron’s eyes lit up—the kind of wonder that reminded me of my first encounter with a car that set my heart racing.

Then, a sudden and unexpected crunch of gravel outside the garage pulled me out of my memories.

In that instant, Cameron ducked low, and I turned as Mitch backhanded me across the face before grabbing my arm and pulling me closer, pressing a gun against my stomach.

“You are coming with me,” he sneered.

Breathing through the pain, I glanced behind me but couldn’t find Cameron anywhere. “Mitch? What the hell are you doing?”

Shoving me toward the Shelby, he growled, “Get in the car.”

Mitch’s voice was like a slap of cold water, jolting me back to reality. I turned to face him, my mind racing.

“What’s going on, Mitch? Why are you here?” I asked, my voice steady despite the surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Mitch glared at me, his eyes cold and hard. “You ask too many questions,” he snarled. “Now get in the fucking car. We’re leaving.”

I glanced back at the Cobra, Cameron’s small form nowhere in sight.

Had he run off?

Or was he still hiding, witnessing this bizarre turn of events?

Taking a cautious step forward, I tried to buy some time. “Look, Mitch, I don’t know what this is about, but you can’t just march in here and make demands. This is Sons of Hell property.”

Mitch’s grip on the gun tightened, his finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger. “I said, get in the car!”

I held my hands up in surrender and slowly backed toward the Shelby. As I slid into the driver’s seat, my heart sank. Where was Cameron? Had he managed to escape unnoticed, or was he still hiding in the garage, terrified and alone?

“Drive.”

The command came sharp and unyielding as Mitch jabbed the barrel of the gun toward the windshield for emphasis. My hands trembled as I gripped the wheel. My mind spun with possibilities. Should I stall for time? Try to subtly alert someone?

The engine roared to life. Its guttural purr filled the tense silence. Mitch’s eyes flicked toward the rearview mirror, scanning for any signs of pursuit. “Take the back roads,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I swallowed hard, my palms slick against the leather steering wheel. “Mitch, just tell me—what do you want? What’s this about?” The questions tumbled out before I could second-guess them.

He leaned closer. The cold barrel of the gun brushed against my shoulder. “I want you to shut the hell up and drive,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous.

As I pulled out of the garage and turned onto the dimly lit back roads, my eyes darted to the side mirrors, and I searched desperately for any sign of Cameron.

Was he watching from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to act?

Or had he already vanished into the night, leaving me to fend for myself?

As we drove, the tension in the car was palpable. Mitch’s eyes darted around constantly, his finger twitching on the trigger. I knew I had to keep him talking, buy some time, and hopefully figure out a way to escape this situation.

“Mitch, I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice shaking despite my efforts to stay calm.

“Shut the fuck up, C.C., and drive,” he growled, his eyes narrowing. “I need to think.”

As we drove, the tension in the car grew thicker. Mitch’s eyes darted between the road and the rearview mirror, his finger never leaving the trigger of the gun. “Mitch, why don’t you just tell me what you want? We can work something out,” I offered, struggling to keep my voice steady.

“You know I can’t do that,” he replied, his tone bitter. “You know too much already.”

I glanced at him as my mind raced.

Knew what? I didn’t know shit.

“You can’t just keep me here forever.”

Mitch’s jaw clenched, and his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “I’ll figure it out when we get to the safe house. For now, just drive and keep your mouth shut.”

I knew I had to stay calm and bide my time. Mitch was unpredictable, and I had no idea what he was capable of. My mind flashed to Cameron, hoping he had managed to escape unnoticed. The kid had guts, and I prayed he was safe.

I had no fucking idea where Mitch was taking me, but when we crossed the state line into West Virginia, I knew I was in this shit for the long haul. Whatever plan Mitch had, he was taking me along for the ride.

“Goddamn it!” Mitch roared, throwing a mug across the room.

Lounging on a worn sofa, I smiled. “What’s the matter, Mitch? Plan going to shit?”

“Shut up, bitch.”

I chuckled at that. “Wow. And you kiss my mother with that mouth? Better not call her that or she’ll be taking a cast-iron skillet to your head. Rome ever hears you say that, and he’s liable to slit your throat. No. I take it back. Curse away in front of Romeo. I dare you.”

“Would you shut the hell up? My plan is going to shit,” he grumbled, and I smiled.

Yeah, that was never gonna happen. I was so over this shit.

I wanted to go home. I was tired, hungry, cold, and dumbass had made me drive deep into the heart of the Appalachian Mountains.

Not that the last part bothered me that much.

I mean, I’d heard stories of these mountains before, but I figured if I could find my way out of the bayou at night, I could easily find my way out of these here woods.

“Piss poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.”

“Keep talkin’, C.C., and I will shoot you.”

I shrugged and nodded. “Yeah. You could shoot me, but that would just piss me off, and you know how lippy I get when I’m mad. Of course, if you told me what the fuck was going on, I might be inclined to help you out of this mess.”

Mitch’s pacing grew frantic, his boots scraping against the warped wooden floor with every step.

The cabin was silent except for his muttering and the occasional creak of the worn boards.

Outside, the twilight deepened, the shadows stretching long and menacing, though I felt oddly calm amidst the chaos.

“You know, my uncle told me a story once about this area. It’s haunted.

Like really haunted. There is this legend of Spearfinger.

It’s believed this Spearfinger is a witch-like hag who can take on the figure of a sweet old grandmother.

Apparently, the Spearfinger protects certain parts of the Appalachian Mountains, you know, warning off outsiders who don’t belong.

Now legend has it, if you piss her off, she will sing you to sleep after she uses her fingers to gouge out your liver and eat it in front of you,” I said, looking out the window before adding, “I wonder if you’ve pissed her off enough yet? ”

“C.C., you think this is some kind of joke?” Mitch barked, his voice cracking with desperation. “You think I’m playing around here?”

Smirking, I shook my head. “Nope. Never occurred to me. Why? Are you playing around?”

Mitch stopped pacing and fixed me with a glare so sharp it could cut glass. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about me screwing up. This is bigger than you, bigger than me, bigger than all of us.”

I tilted my head, watching him unravel with a bemused expression. “Oh, I get it, Mitch. Pressure’s a bitch, huh? But you’re the one who thought you could handle it. So let’s hear it—what’s the grand master plan now?”

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end like a crow’s nest. Outside, the deepening twilight seemed to press against the grimy cabin windows, as if the shadows themselves were keen to eavesdrop on our sordid little drama.

“There’s no way out,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. The words hung in the air like the scent of damp wood and despair.

I raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the sofa with exaggerated nonchalance. “No way out of what, Mitch? This cabin in the woods or your own damn mess? Gonna need ya to be more specific?” I snarked just as we both heard a twig snap from outside.