Page 12 of Trip

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 borderedon 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.”

Chapter Five

Trip

Sons of Hell clubhouse, Christmas day...

I sat at the bar watching all my brothers and their families enjoy the holiday merriment and for the life of me, I just couldn’t bring myself to celebrate. The thought of getting on a plane tomorrow and flying to New Orleans to step back into a life I walked away from bothered me greatly. What I really wanted to do was tell Ansel to fuck off, but I couldn’t let that son of a bitch ruin another driver’s career.

Growing up, all I ever wanted was to be a NASCAR driver. That’s probably because my dad grew up working the circuit. From a young age, I remembered running around a garage with a wrench in my hand. The smell of oil, rubber, the adrenaline rush, the excitement of it all sank its hook into me before I started elementary school.

I nursed my whiskey, letting the burn settle deep in my chest, a welcome distraction from the gnawing unease. Being there, amidst the laughter and joy of the Sons of Hell clubhouse, only made me feel more like an outsider. These people were my family in name, brothers by oath, but I had buried too much of myself elsewhere to feel truly at home here.

The Christmas lights strung across the room cast a warm glow, mocking the chill that wrapped around my heart. My biker brothers hollered as Cameron unwrapped a tiny leather jacketwith the Sons’ emblem stitched on the back. The boy’s eyes sparkled like the lights on the tree.

That same patch used to fill me with pride once.

Now, it just felt like a weight.

“You’re missing the merriment.”

I nodded as Aleksandr, Banks’ older brother and a member of the Russian Bratva, sat down next to me.

Yeah, apparently I missed out on a lot of shit while in my coma. Like discovering that Banks grew up in the witness protection program and had a teenage son. Sugar had killed her ex-husband, and Priest had been married to Scribe’s sister, Phoebe, for damn near ten years now.

Hell, all the brothers were married now, with kids.

I was the odd one out. Looking around the clubhouse I’d called home for years, I almost felt like an outsider.

Even Hawk was gone. It shocked me when Banks told me he’d handed in his cut and returned to Chicago.

Turning to Alek, I nodded and forced a smile. “Yeah, just got a lot on my mind.”

“The past has a way of holding on even after you’ve moved on.”

I smirked. “Seems you know a little bit about that yourself.”

Instead of answering me, he asked, “Why are you not with your sister?”

“She doesn’t like Christmas.”

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