Page 17 of Trip

Amateur or professional, she was undoubtedly in a league of her own.

But then, a new thought crossed my mind: what if she was holding back? What if she wasn’t showing all of her cards? What if she was testing limits, pushing boundaries, or preparing for something far greater?

I’d seen drivers do it before, and she certainly had the spark of someone playing the long game.

I wasn’t sure if I admired her audacity or questioned her priorities.

Either way, it made her unpredictable, and in this sport, unpredictability was a weapon as sharp as any.

I jumped the fence and headed toward the pit. Walking across the track, I tried not to let the familiar sense of home, the smell of the rubber, the adrenaline, or the feel of the track undermy feet interfere in what I was doing here. I had a job to do, nothing else.

As I approached the pit, my eyes scanned the area, taking in the familiar sights and sounds. I spotted the car, the sleek machine that had just danced so gracefully around the track. It was now stationary, the engine silent, and the once-roaring beast reduced to a dormant state. I quickened my pace, eager to uncover the mysteries that lay beneath the hood.

The driver was nowhere to be seen, likely debriefing with Crane, analyzing data and discussing strategies. I knew this routine well; it was a ritual performed after every practice session and race. The car, however, beckoned to me, its metallic body reflecting the fluorescent lights of the pit lane. I ran my hand along the smooth surface, feeling a connection to this machine that had just displayed such raw power and precision.

Under the watchful eyes of her current pit crew, I began my inspection, my hands moving with practiced efficiency as I checked the suspension, the tire pressure, and the engine. My fingers traced the lines of the car, feeling for any imperfections, any clues that might explain the wobble I had witnessed earlier.

What drove her to push the limits?

Was she a maverick, a wild card, or simply a calculated risk-taker?

“Get the hell away from my car!”

Slowly straightening, I turned and challenged, “Your car?”

“You!” she damn near screeched as she stopped dead in her tracks.

“The name’s Trip.”

“Your name is ASSHOLE!”

“Or that too.” I grinned, leaning against the car, taking a good long look at the woman before me. Had to admit, she had a smokin’ hot body, even wearing that gawd awful jumpsuit.“Though I don’t think we know each other well enough for pet names yet.”

Marching right up to me, she licked her lips and sneered, “How’s this for a fucking pet name?‘Thanks for the fuck. Hit me up next time you’re in Rosewood and I’ll put those lips of yours to good use.’”

“Kinda long if you ask me.” I chuckled but inwardly cringed.

Good God, what have I done?

King was going to have my balls.

The one fucking woman at that damn wedding and I went and sank my cock into another brother’s sister. Not just any brother, either. Romeo, a brother in the Silver Shadows MC.

And if that wasn’t bad enough,oh nooo... she was also the cousin to Gator, the president of the Bourbon Kings. The very motherfucking club that was hosting the Sons of Hell while I tried to help this woman out.

Oh, I helped alright!

I helped myself right into her tight little cunt, and if her mouth was any indication, I couldn’t wait to see what it could do.

My God, this woman was something else. Strong, independent, damn good with cars and fuck me, did she have one banging body.

I should know. I’d banged it into oblivion in a fucking storage closet!

Maybe returning to the circuit wouldn’t be a hardship after all.

“You think you’re funny, asshole?” she spat, her hands now planted firmly on her hips as her glare burned into me.

“Sometimes,” I replied with a shrug, letting my crooked grin widen as I watched her face flush with anger.

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