Page 43 of Trip

Gator shrugged, leaning against the bar as Juju handed him a beer. “You picked the spot.”

“Sure did, cuz.” Romeo grinned, clinking his beer bottle against Gator’s. “We’re innocent.”

“Give it up, Trip. You won’t win this argument,” King said, slapping me on my back.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, throwing my hands in the air in defeat. “It’s always my fault, isn’t it? Never mind that I’m the one with bite marks up and down my arm from playing bait.”

The room erupted in laughter, and even Gator cracked a grin, his sharp eyes softening for a moment.

“Bites on your arm or not, Trip, you’ve got to admit,” Juju said, setting a fresh beer bottle on the counter with a decisive clink. “That was one hell of a show earlier. Thore cursing like a sailor, the baby gator snapping at everyone’s feet, and you running around like a headless chicken? Priceless.”

“Thanks for the support,” I shot back, grabbing the beer and taking a swig. “I’ll be sure to call you the next time a pissed-off reptile comes charging my way.”

Donut leaned against the wall, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Thing is, Trip, you’ve got a knack for creating memories. Whether it’s gators, fishing trips, or God knows what, you keep life interesting.”

“Somehow, I doubt that’s a compliment,” I muttered, shaking my head.

Romeo raised his bottle as if in toast, his grin as wide as ever. “To Trip, the one-man chaos machine!”

“Don’t encourage him,” King growled, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. “We’ve got enough trouble without him adding more fuel to the fire.”

The laughter and banter continued, filling the bar with a sense of camaraderie that, despite their endless teasing, reminded me why I stuck around these idiots in the first place.

“Grab your beer and meet me and Gator downstairs. We need to talk,” King whispered.

Looking at him, I nodded. Grabbing my beer, I followed the two presidents into the Bourbon Kings’ inner sanctum, and I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t a shrine to every sport known to man. The Bourbon Kings church was literally a man cave with posters, trophies, and signed memorabilia from every American sport, from baseball to hockey. Hell, there was even some memorabilia from NASCAR. Instead of a table and chairs, there were several recliners facing a very fucking large flat-screen television.

The Bourbon Kings left nothing out.

Looking around the room, I shook my head. “Do you guys take anything seriously?”

Gator grinned. “Just our love of sports,” the president of the Bourbon Kings said, plopping his ass down into one of the comfy recliners. “Grab a seat.”

Doing as the man said, King spoke first. “While you’ve been fucking off with the Bourbon Kings, I had a little talk with Ansel, and I gotta say, brother, I didn’t like what I learned.”

Sighing, I looked down at my beer and said, “I was right, wasn’t I? It’s Ansel.”

“No, Trip. It’s not Ansel.”

My head snapped up. “What?”

“His story lined up with yours. It wasn’t him, but I think he knows who it is. Only, after what happened to you, he’s not willing to lose another friend.”

“So he’s protecting the son of a bitch!”

“Not necessarily. I think he’s protecting himself and his bottom line.”

Groaning, I got up and started pacing. “It’s always been about the money with Ansel.”

“Can’t fault the man for that, Trip, when that’s all he knows. Ansel came from privilege. He’s not like us,” Gator offered, leaning forward in his chair. “Man’s never had to work for anything a day in his life.”

“So where does that leave C.C.? Because she’s not getting in that car if someone is determined to ruin Ansel.”

King’s jaw tightened. “C.C. is stronger than you give her credit for, but even she’s not invincible. If someone wanted to use her to ensure Ansel’s downfall, they’re on the right track. The question is, who’s got the motivation?”

Gator rested his elbows on his knees, his voice low but steady. “Could be someone trying to hit Ansel where it hurts. You go after his company and bankrupt him. Man won’t recover from that. But this... this feels personal.”

My pacing stuttered to a halt. “You’re saying it’s not just about the money. It’s about revenge.”

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