Colt

I stumbled to the floor, the glass in my hand shattering against my palms, the wine spilling blood-red over the hardwood.

I stared up in shock at my husband, his handsome face twisted with anger.

“Elliot,” I said. My voice sounded weirdly far away to my own ears. “You hit me.”

I promised to love him through the good and the bad, and the bad didn’t last forever. Or, at least, that was what I’d kept telling myself. As shock gave way to a throbbing pain on my cheek, I doubted that that would ever happen.

“Oh my god.” Elliot blinked, and he looked like he just woke up from a terrible nightmare. “Oh my god, Summer.” He kneeled down beside me and I cringed away from him. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

He gently cradled my face, and the spike of fear that stabbed into me told me all I needed to know. I loved my husband, but there wasn’t a future for us. Not anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore, Elliot.” Tears slid down my cheeks. My palms burned from the shards of glass dug into my skin. “I have to leave.”

His face crumpled with pain, and my heart beat faster. I was terrified of what he might do next. I knew it was just him and me in this prison called a mansion. No one would hear me scream, and no one would hear me whimper; no one would hear what the consequences of my actions tonight would be.

“Summer, please don’t do this. I know it has been a rough few months. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Hell, I’ll do anything it takes. I’ll get a sponsor for AA now.” He even pulled his phone out.

My stomach twisted into a knot.

I knew that was a huge move, especially if it came out to the public.

“You know what happens when I drink. You were the one that handed me the glass to celebrate our first year with a toast.” His words held honesty, and I knew—or, at least, I hoped to believe—that deep down he didn’t mean to hit me, and it was the liquor. He was right, too: I had handed him the champagne glass.

“Come on, Summer, I need you, so please help me get through this. We’ll face this together and then we can get back to how we were. You, me, us. Let’s get our marriage back on track. You know I love you.”

He was pleading with me, begging me, and I knew there was only one condition that would get me to stay.

“I’ll stay only if you get help.”

“Done.” He was quick to agree. “Do you remember our honeymoon? The first night, you were sipping on a Sangria and singing out of tune to the band. We made love on the beach, underneath the stars. I remember every detail. It was the best night of my life because I finally got to call you mine. That was the night we began our life together.”

He locked eyes with me. “Remember the next day, when we were in that crowded market and you fell in love with that necklace, the one you are wearing now, and you didn’t want to get it because you thought it was too expensive?”

His voice was smooth, confident, and clear of aggression. His expression…he was completely calm, and that threw me off. “And I told you that you would never want for anything ever again? We were so happy, Summer. I’ll do anything to get us back to that.”

Elliot gently helped me up to my feet. He took my hands and looked at the glass in my skin, and I saw the shame in his face.

And just like that…I chose to stay. I chose to believe.

Because he was my husband. Because I still loved him.

I let him clean me up and help get me ready for bed. He even offered to sleep in a hotel for the night so I could have some space. Elliot was gentle, and sweet, and attentive for the rest of the night.

I laid awake in bed, the silk sheets were a comforting weight against my skin. I slowly drifted to sleep, hoping with all my heart that things would work out in the end.

I frowned down at my phone. I had vague memories of Colt Hudson from when I was younger. The one they called the Devil. The infamous head of the Vipers MC.

My idiot brother was going to get himself killed.

I was secretly grateful that Elliot still wasn’t home from the hotel yet. I didn’t want to have to explain my stupid family history to him. He had enough to deal with.

I grabbed my keys. If my brother wouldn’t answer his phone, then I’d just go to his place directly.

If thirteen years waitin’ on death row taught me anything, it was this: ain’t no fucking point in being scared of death if you ain’t living life.

I learned young that nothing made a man more feared than snuffing out another man’s life the same as you would a cigarette on your boot. And, like the first puff of smoke filling your lungs, my first taste of blood had me hooked.

Nothing gets a man higher than holding another man’s life in his hands. The only problem is, the higher you are, the harder you fall.

Killing had got me as high up in the underworld as you can get. All lost and tormented motherfuckers had either feared me or reported to me. When you pledged to my club, you pledged your soul, your existence, and everything you owned to me.

All my members knew their deaths would be by my hands. Yet, even with that in mind, I never had one fucking problem with getting men to pledge. See, they were all as addicted to the life as me, and they knew that as long as they stayed loyal, there was nothing to fear.

I valued loyalty more than anything else.

It was slowly earned and given rarely, but thirteen years ago, I’d made a mistake and given too much too soon. I had put my trust in the wrong hands and gotten sent to death row because of it.

Now, I was back like a magic trick. Free. Ready to raise hell and take more lives, instead of wasting another second of mine.

I stood outside of the maximum security prison, breathing in my first lungful of free air in over a decade.

I knew I had my work cut out for me. A lot can change in thirteen years, and I knew not everyone would be happy that I was a free man. I wasn’t going to be able to do this on my own. I needed help.

And Scorp’s ugly mug was the first face that came to mind.

It was time to pay my old friend a visit.