Ansel shifted uneasily under King’s scrutiny, but his smirk returned, albeit weaker. “What’s your play here, King? Sympathy? Advice? I’ve got enough on my plate without a sermon from you.”
“Maybe I’m just trying to figure out if you’re smart enough to keep C.C. and that car out of the fire,” King replied evenly, his voice low and deliberate.
Ansel grunted, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I don’t need to be smart. I just need one good win. One miracle.”
King shook his head, his presence towering over the room as he walked forward, resting his hands on Ansel’s desk. “Miraclesdon’t come cheap, Ansel. You’d better make damn sure the cost isn’t more than you’re willing to pay.”
He turned on his heel, leaving Ansel staring after him, a mix of defiance and desperation flickering in his eyes.
Running after King, I caught up to him as he walked out of the garage. “King. Wait up!”
Stopping, the large man turned as I blurted, “Look, Ansel is under a lot of strain. This shit is costing him millions.”
“Money won’t bring you back to life if that engine blows during a race, C.C., and you know that.”
“That’s why he brought in Trip. To make sure I’m safe.”
“You don’t get it, girl,” King sneered. “There is no fucking way in hell Trip will ever put your ass behind the wheel of that car unless he believes it is safe. And even then, he will still have reservations.”
“It’s not his choice.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” King slowly grinned and leaned closer to me. “Trip wants to claim you, C.C. If he does, that means you’re his.”
I stood there and said nothing as King walked away.
What the hell did he mean byclaim me?
Claim me as what?
Still, the way King said the words made it seem that it was a forgone conclusion, a finality. That there was nothing more to say on the matter.
I didn’t claim to know the inner dynamics or lingo of the biker world. I knew Romeo was a brother in the Silver Shadows. One of my closest friends lived in the clubhouse. Hell, my cousin was the president of his own club, but none of that had anything to do with me.
What I did know was that the Sons of Hell had their own rules, their own code, and it was a world that operated on loyalty, power, and unspoken bonds. Trip claiming me—if thatwas even true—seemed more like something out of a twisted fairy tale than reality.
I refused to stand around and let someone else dictate my life, no matter what King or anyone else thought. So I squared my shoulders and decided I needed answers. Not half-truths or cryptic biker lingo, but straight-up facts. If Trip thought he had something to say about me, he’d better be prepared to say it to my face.
Heading for my vehicle, I saw Crane pull up. Leaning against the driver’s side door, he smiled. “Hey, C.C.”
I hated what Trip did to Crane. He was a good mechanic. Been around the circuit his whole life. He knew his shit, and I trusted him.
“Crane. What brings you by?”
“Thought you and I could talk.”
“About what?”
“Trip.”
Sighing, I looked around the track when I heard, “Ms. C.C.!” as a small boy came running toward me. Looking past the kid, I saw King leaning against a truck, arms crossed over his chest, watching with a grin on his face as the kid came to a screeching halt before me. Switching my gaze to the kid, I remembered Bailey and the other women talking about a precocious boy named Cameron.
Hands on my hips, I smiled. “You must be Cameron.”
“The one and only!” He smiled up at me.
“And what can I do for you?”
“Nuttin’.” The kid grinned. “My dad said I was to stick to you like glue until Trip got back from his fishin’ trip.”
