Page 36 of Trip

Thore helped me to my feet, slapped me on my back, and said, “If at first you don’t succeed, try again.”

Excuse me?

Chapter Fourteen

C.C.

The second I heard the vehicles roll up, I jumped from Trip’s bed and quickly dressed. I was jamming my foot into my boots when I heard them knock. Plastering on a big smile, I flung open the door.

“Good morning, boys!”

My brother narrowed his eyes as everyone else stood slack-jawed, unable to form a coherent word.

“Shirt’s on backwards, Sis,” Romeo sneered, pushing his way inside. “Where is the fucker?”

Well shit.

“Already caught, girl. Might as well fess up.” Juju smirked, leaning against the doorframe, shaking his head.

“He’s still sleeping and as much fun as this”—I waved my hand in front of all of them—“will be. I need to get to the track. If Trip makes it through the day, tell him I’ll see him tonight at dinner.”

Grabbing my bag, I rushed for the door as my brother shouted after me. “And you better not be late, either!”

Jumping into my car, I started it up as I watched Trip’s front door close. A small part, a very tiny part of me, thought I should at least send him a warning text, but then I thought better of it.

My family was harmless.

What’s the worst thing that could happen?

Instead, I pulled away and headed for the track. I knew Ansel would be in his office, and I wanted answers. I wanted to knowwhy he turned his back on Trip right after the accident, and why suddenly he believed only Trip could fix this mess.

I pulled into the track parking lot, the roar of engines and the tangy scent of burning rubber already filling the air. My pulse quickened as I slammed the car door shut, marching toward the office. Inside, the air was thick with tension. I spotted Ansel hunched over a desk, papers scattered around him like a storm had passed through.

He barely looked up as I walked in, but I wasn’t about to let him brush me off.

“Ansel,” I snapped, shutting the door behind me. “We need to talk.”

He sighed, setting down his pen, his face drawn and tired. “If this is about Trip, I don’t have time for—”

“Make time,” I interrupted sharply. “You owe him that much. You owe me that much.”

For a moment, his jaw tightened, as though he was deciding whether to push back. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” I said, my voice low but resolute. “Why you shut him out, why you think he’s the answer now, and what the hell you’re planning to do about it?”

Ansel ran a hand through his graying hair. “It’s complicated,” he began, but I wasn’t having it.

“Uncomplicate it,” I shot back, stepping closer. “I’m not leaving until I have the truth.”

“Me either.”

Turning, I saw King, the president of the Sons of Hell, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at Ansel.

King’s presence shifted the energy in the room, which was now heavy with unspoken tension. Ansel gestured to the empty seat near his desk but said nothing, his expression guarded. Kingdidn’t take the seat; instead, he remained stationed at the door, his stance as immovable as a mountain.

“This is where you tell me everything, or I’m going to beat it out of you.” King’s voice was low, deliberate, the kind of tone that demanded answers without raising its volume.

Ansel let out a long sigh, finally meeting my eyes, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of vulnerability beneath his hardened exterior.

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