Page 6 of Trip (Sons of Hell MC #11)
C.C.
“Cosette Celine DuBois!” my mother shouted from downstairs. “Don’t make me come up there. I don’t care if you’re some fancy-smanchy racecar driver. I will still take a switch to your hide, little girl. Now, you get your butt down here and help me make these Christmas cookies!”
“She means it too,” I heard my brother Jasper say.
Looking out from under my pillow, I grinned, then squealed loudly, jumping from my bed and into his arms. Hugging him tightly, everything just felt right once again. It was almost as if the chaos of my life had centered, even if it was just for a moment.
It had been years since my brother Jasper left home and joined the Silver Shadows Motorcycle Club in Arkansas. Oh, we talked all the time on the phone, texted, even FaceTimed at least once a month, but there was just something about seeing him in person.
Stepping back, I slapped him on the chest. “When did you get in? Mom didn’t tell me you were gonna be here for Christmas.”
“Well, after she walloped me with her purse before Uncle Jack’s wedding, I figured if I didn’t show my face, she’d make good on her threat to visit me in Nebraska if I didn’t come home soon. I’m here in the hope she forgets.”
“Not likely.” I smirked, then asked, “Speaking of Nebraska, how is the handsome loveable Tank doing these days?”
My brother growled. “No, and for the last time, he ain’t for you.”
“Oh, really?” I challenged, then asked, “And how is my good friend Amber these days?”
Yeah, I knew my brother hooked up with Amber occasionally.
It wasn’t anything serious. At least that’s what she said, and considering the club called him Romeo, she was probably right.
It didn’t take a genius to know why either.
My brother was damn fine to look at and if the rumors running around our former high school were true, then my brother had broken a lot of hearts.
Jasper narrowed his eyes and quickly changed the subject. “I looked for you after the wedding,” he stated, leaning against the doorjamb. “Where did you run off to? Thought we’d at least get a chance to have a drink and catch up.”
“Yeah, about that.” I grinned, turning away. “I kind of ducked out after the ceremony.”
Groaning, my brother rubbed his forehead. “I swear to God, C.C., if you tell me you hooked up with one of the Sons of Hell, I will lose my fucking mind.”
“Not a biker,” I blurted, then grinned, wiggling my eyebrows. “At least I don’t think he was. There really wasn’t a lot of talking involved.”
“No. No. NO!” Jasper moaned, shaking his head. “And on that note, I’m outta here.”
As Jasper stormed out, I couldn’t help but let a mischievous giggle slip as I headed into my bathroom for my morning business, taking a moment to savor his exasperation—it was one of the small joys of having a big brother who cared far more than he’d ever admit.
But my amusement was short-lived when my phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up with a text from none other than Amber.
Amber: You guys talking about me yet? ??
Rolling my eyes, I quickly typed back.
Me: You wish. But thanks for making yourself the topic of every awkward sibling conversation ever.
Amber: You’re welcome! Anyway, you owe me details about YOUR mystery man.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling too wide. Amber and I had become fast friends shortly after my brother and his club moved to Nebraska, when she inadvertently answered his phone one night.
And as they say, that was all she wrote. Amber and I hit it off and my brother hated it, which only made our friendship even better. Amber was relentless in prying into whatever scrap of gossip she thought I had, but the truth was, I wasn’t quite ready to spill.
Not yet.
Whoever the guy was—or wasn’t—hearing Jasper lose his mind about it was enough entertainment for the day
Me: How R things in Nebraska?
Amber: King is losing his shit, but what else is new?
Me: U still locked down?
Amber: Yep, but it’s not so bad. The girls here are gearing up 4 Xmas. There is a bet going 2 see how long it will take 4 King to lose his shit and call it all off.
Me: LOL. He can’t call off Christmas.
Amber: He can try
Me: Well, keep me updated. I’ve gotta go bake cookies. TTYL
Amber: Bye, girl & Merry Xmas!
Me: U 2!!!
After quickly showering, brushing my teeth, and getting dressed for the day, I raced down the steps and hurried into the kitchen to find my mom, along with Auntie Marabella, elbow deep in flour as they jammed to the sounds of Fleetwood Mac.
Both women didn’t look a damn day over fifty, and they were still as pretty as ever as they laughed and drank mint juleps while rolling out cookie dough.
God, I loved winter in New Orleans. The weather was perfect and though we didn’t get snow like those in the north, we still celebrated the holiday with true Louisianian flare!
The warmth of the kitchen was alive, not just with the heat of the glowing oven but with the laughter and vitality of two women who knew how to make the simplest moments extraordinary. I grabbed an apron hanging near the pantry and tied it around my waist, ready to jump into the fray.
“Morning, sleepyhead!” Auntie Marabella teased, her Southern drawl as sweet as the sugar dusting the counter. “We were beginning to think you’d skipped out on cookie duty.”
“Not a chance,” I replied with a grin, grabbing a rolling pin. “You know I live for this.”
Mom chuckled, brushing a wisp of flour off her cheek. “Well, you better hurry. These cookies won’t roll themselves, and we’ve still got pralines to make.”
The scent of vanilla and cinnamon mingled with the music, creating a symphony of holiday joy.
Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” swept through the air, and the three of us couldn’t help but hum along as we worked.
Outside, the magnolias gleamed under the faint winter sun, and somewhere down the street, the faint melody of carolers added to the festive vibe.
As I rolled out the dough, Auntie Marabella leaned closer. “So, honey, any plans for New Year’s yet?”
I shook my head. “Not yet, but don’t worry—it’ll be something fabulous.”
The room erupted in laughter, the kind that warmed the soul and filled the cracks left by long, hard years. It was moments like these that reminded me that the true magic of the season lay not in the gifts under the tree but in the love and laughter shared with those who mattered most.
“C.C.,” Jasper said, walking into the kitchen, snagging a sugar cookie as Auntie Marabella tried and failed to smack his hand. “Ansel’s on the house phone in the drawing room. Told him you were busy, but he said it was important.”
Dusting the flour off my hands, I quickly said, “I was hoping he would call. Maybe he’s going to give me my Christmas present early and tell me he ain’t bringing in Calvin Hall.”
I untied my apron, tossing it over the back of the chair before glancing at Auntie Marabella and Mom. “Save me some dough to roll out, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Don’t keep us waiting too long!” Auntie Marabella called out, her voice tinged with mock sternness as Jasper grinned and stole another cookie.
I brushed past Jasper, rolling my eyes as he winked. The house phone was cradled in the drawing room, its vintage rotary dial a relic from another era. Ansel’s voice greeted me as soon as I lifted the receiver, a familiar mix of calm and urgency that always made me listen closely.
“C.C.,” he started, his tone clipped yet warm. “Sorry to bother you, but we need to talk.”
My breath hardened as I snapped, “You better be calling to tell me you’re not bringing in Calvin Hall because if you are, then I have nothing to say to you, Ansel.”
Ansel sighed deeply on the other end of the line, a sound that carried the weight of something I knew I wasn’t prepared to hear.
I leaned against the antique desk, my fingers gripping the edge. My pulse quickened, but I willed my voice to remain steady. “Spit it out, Ansel. What’s going on?”
There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched so long it made the air around me feel heavier. “C.C., Mitch is out. He just resigned.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. “What do you mean, resigned? Who’s gonna be my new crew chief?”
Ansel hesitated before responding, his voice dropping an octave as if to shield the gravity of his words. “Calvin Hall.”
I swallowed hard, the air in the room suddenly too thick to breathe. “Ansel, if this is some kind of sick joke—”
“It’s not, C.C.,” he interrupted gently but firmly.
“You know Mitch wasn’t happy with how things were running.
I guess he thought walking away was the best move.
But that leaves me in a tight spot, especially with the accidents lately.
I need someone who knows the car inside and out and, honey, there isn’t anyone better than Calvin. ”
My grip tightened on the receiver, the faint static of the line buzzing between Ansel’s words and my strained breaths.
Calvin Hall wasn’t a name that stirred confidence—it conjured memories of reckless decisions that damn near rocked NASCAR.
But Ansel was right about one thing: Calvin knew the car like it was an extension of his own soul, a skillset honed from years of obsession that bordered on unhealthy.
“Ansel, you’re asking me to trust someone who killed two people before he turned his back on the track,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence, sharp and unforgiving.
“I’m asking you to trust me,” he countered, and for the first time, his voice faltered.
“Look, C.C., I wouldn’t do this if there weren’t real stakes.
Mitch’s resignation has everyone panicking.
The sponsors are already breathing down my neck, and I need to stabilize this before it spirals.
Calvin might not be perfect, but he’s the best shot I’ve got right now. ”
I closed my eyes, the weight of his words pressing against my temples.
Ansel had a way of navigating chaos that bordered on miraculous, but this?
This felt different. “Fine,” I muttered reluctantly, my resolve cracking just enough to let him in.
“But if he screws this up for me, I’ll make your life a living hell. ”
Ansel chuckled weakly, clearly relieved by my begrudging acceptance. “I’d expect nothing less, C.C. I’ll keep you posted.”
The click of the line going dead left me staring at the phone, the warmth of Ansel’s voice replaced by a cold void. I set the receiver down as if it weighed more than I could bear.
“How do you know Trip?”
Looking up, I saw my brother standing in the entryway to the drawing room, arms crossed over his chest with a resolute look on his face. “I asked you a question, C.C.”
Frowning, I leaned back on the desk and questioned, “Trip?”
“Calvin ‘Trip’ Hall. He’s a brother in the Sons of Hell MC.”