Page 33 of Trip

C.C. fixed me with a fierce look, determination burning in her eyes. “Alright, then do it. But if you’re tearing that engine apart, we’re doing it together.”

I smirked. “Together, huh?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She groaned, flinging herself back on my couch.

“Why are you really here, Slick?” I asked, licking my lips.

She smirked. “Not for that. I’ve outgrown you.”

“Really?” I slowly stood. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Jumping to her feet, she huffed. “I’m immune to you. Whatever you say or do won’t work. I’ve moved on.”

“And if I was to say I’m claiming you?”

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

I watched as her mouth opened and closed before her eyes narrowed, and she sneered, “Forget about it. I’ve seen how my brother and cousin treat women. No way in hell will I ever be some biker’s side piece.”

“Oh, Slick,” I slowly said, reaching for her, pulling her close. “That’s one thing I’m sure you’ll never be.”

“I mean it, Trip. Just because the sex is good, doesn’t mean shit. I have a plan, and you are not a part of it.”

“Plans change,” I whispered, leaning close and kissing her neck.

Her body stiffened for a moment, but it wasn’t long before I felt her resolve falter. A trembling breath escaped her lips as she pushed against my chest lightly, not to escape, but to create just enough space to look me in the eye.

“Let go of me,” she said, her voice low but unconvincing.

I didn’t. Instead, I brushed my thumb over her jawline, feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath my fingertips. “You’re scared, Slick,” I murmured. “Not of me, but of what you feel.”

She swallowed audibly, her defiance flickering like a candle in the wind. “What I feel doesn’t matter,” she stated, her voice trembling with something she couldn’t quite mask. “I know where this road leads, Trip. And I won’t let myself be wrecked at the end of it.”

I tilted my head, searching her eyes for the lie she was trying to tell herself. “Maybe,” I said, my voice soft but steady. “But sometimes the wreck’s worth it. Sometimes what’s at the end is worth every bump and bruise along the way.”

Her lips parted, as if she had a retort ready, but no words came. Instead, for the first time, she looked at me without the armor of her sarcasm or the shield of her anger. She looked just like herself—raw, unsure, and impossibly beautiful.

“You don’t fight fair,” she finally whispered, her voice a mixture of accusation and surrender.

I smirked, stepping even closer. “I never claimed to play fair. And you? You’ve been fighting me long enough.” I leaned down, my lips grazing the edge of her ear. “The question is, Slick—are you ready to stop running?”

The silence between us stretched thin, taut with possibilities. Then, just as I thought she might push me away for good, herhand slid up to my collar, gripping it as though I was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

And maybe—I hoped—I was.

“Told ya he’d be here.”

“Yep, you were right, Worm. Seems like those Sons of Hell boys are lazier than we are. Look at him sleepin’ God’s beautiful day away. It ain’t right, I tell ya.”

“Fucker better be wearing his skivvies. Don’t need to see his little tally whacker.”

“Oh come on, boss. He might be packin’.”

“Then you wake him and check.”

“Uh, I ain’t goin’ near another guy’s junk.”

“Says the man who plays both sides of the fence.”

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