Summer might be married to a handsome businessman, but she knows something about his temper that others don’t. When her brother finds out what she’s been going through, he makes sure that his MC protects her. Only Summer wants nothing to do with MC life…until she meets “The Devil,” and realizes there’s nothing quite like a bad boy to get her heart racing.
Age Rating: 18+
Colt by Simone Elise is now available to read on the Galatea app! Read the first two chapters below, or download Galatea for the full experience.
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1
Summer might be married to a handsome businessman, but she knows something about his temper that others don’t. When her brother finds out what she’s been going through, he makes sure that his MC protects her. Only Summer wants nothing to do with MC life…until she meets “The Devil,” and realizes there’s nothing quite like a bad boy to get her heart racing.
Age Rating: 18+
Original Author: Simone Elise
Imagine meeting the perfect guy. He’s successful and handsome. He wines and dines you, and you have mind-blowing sex. Naturally, you fall in love. You marry in haste, then he hits you and you realize that your perfect guy was wearing a mask all along.
Soon, you discover that sometimes happily in the moment can be better than a happily-ever-after. That sometimes, castles can be prisons, and that sometimes, knights in shining armor ride motorcycles, not horses.
Are you ready for the ride?
A FEW WEEKS EARLIER…
Vows, rings, and expensive things—that is how a marriage starts. With vows that you’ll love each other forever, rings to seal the commitment, and then, in my case, expensive things started to trickle in every time these promises and vows were broken.
From designer heels and exquisite pieces of jewelry to luxury holidays; all leading me to believe that every scar can be healed with a gift.
Until last night.
I promised to love him through the good and the bad, and the bad doesn’t last forever.
Or, at least, that was what I’d kept telling myself because it had to get better. That’s why they say for better or for worse, but last night the mask my husband wore so well fell completely off, and it became clear that I needed to get out of here. I couldn’t stay any longer.
I loved my husband, but the possibility of having a future together was no longer realistic.
Running into the closet, I jumped up, gripped the strap of the suitcase, pulled it down, and opened it in the center of the floor.
Opening one drawer, I grabbed my passport and then a wad of cash from another. Those were thrown in. Next, I emptied a jewelry drawer into the suitcase.
To think this time last year we were heading on our honeymoon and I couldn’t imagine my life without this man… Slowly, the reasons why I should leave him began to add up.
What had started as the occasional outburst of verbal abuse or a little shove…had evolved into this.
My husband had hit me. Punched me in the face. For the first time ever, he’d crossed a line you can’t come back from.
I knew it was the the alcohol. His disease was the monster—not Elliot.
And he was fighting with it, which was why I had stayed.
I kept believing that I could change him back to the man I fell in love with. That he would get better. That he was dealing with a demon and wasn’t pure evil.
It reaches a point where you have to ask yourself: is there any reason to stay? After that first physical blow, I knew there wasn’t anymore.
I’d done everything I could. The only option left for me was to leave.
So, even with tears streaming down my face, half from heartbreak and half out of fear I’d be caught, I packed.
I zipped up the suitcase, dragged it out of the wardrobe and through the hall, and rushed down the stairs.
Keys. Keys. Keys. Where the hell did I leave my keys?!
Why the hell couldn’t I have put them back on the hook?
Our garage was a maze of cars, and I had conveniently lost the keys for the only car I could ever manage to get out.
Finally, I found them sitting on top of one of my sketchpads.
I grabbed my bag, headed out to the garage, and unlocked the car.
Then, I heard gravel pop and crunch as a car drove up the driveway.
I froze, my suitcase halfway into the trunk.
Fuck.
He was back.
What the hell was he doing home? I thought I had more time!
Nerve-gripping, knee-buckling fear captured me as the garage door opened to reveal his sleek sports car a few feet in front of mine.
Fuck. I couldn’t get out now even if I wanted to.
He cut his engine.
I swallowed sharply, watching him get out of the car, his eyes going from the open trunk and the suitcase to me.
I knew it was him and I alone in this prison called a mansion. No one would hear me scream, no one would hear me whimper, and no one would hear the consequences of my actions tonight.
“Something you want to tell me, Summer?”
“I’m leaving, Elliot. After last night…” My words broke off. “I’m done.”
It was simple really. He hits you, you leave. I should have known from the shoving and the screaming. But I’d wanted to believe in him. Now?
No. I couldn’t face another night like last night.
“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 it 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. “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.”
He casually took a step towards me and it was my immediate reaction to take one step back from him.
The emotions were overpowering and I couldn’t stop the tears from springing to my eyes.
My tears caused him to break the distance between us, and before I knew it, he was gingerly taking my hand.
It was an automatic reaction to flinch, and I saw shame splinter across his face at my reaction.
He placed the sweetest kiss on my wrist, and it was enough to cloud my judgment for a moment.
“Come, my love,” Elliot said, grabbing my bag from the trunk. “Let’s get you inside.”
And just like that…I went back to the man who, for months, had screamed at me, shoved me, and, finally, last night, beaten me.
Because he was my husband.
Because I still loved him.
Because I didn’t know yet what Elliot was about to become…
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2
My brother was a man of strength. He prided himself on his word and his ability to knock a man down with one punch. He wasn’t someone you messed with. When things did knock you down, you got up stronger.
That was his attitude, and the attitude I was brought up with. We didn’t have a dollar to our name, but we had our word and the ability to stand up for it.
He was a pillar of strength, taking full custody of me when I was eight—but, as soon as I turned eighteen, he went back to the only life he knew: club life.
He had turned his back on it to bring me up, and as soon as we landed back in this country and I was considered old enough to look after myself, he went back to the Vipers’ Motorcycle Club.
It wasn’t like he just dropped me for the club—no, I was the one that drew the line.
I told him, club or me.
Needless to say, we barely spoke now. He picked a life as a criminal over me, and that still stirred the acid in my stomach. After everything that club did to him, he went fucking back to it.
That’s the thing with bikers—they are more loyal to strangers wearing the same patch than to their own blood.
After Scorp’s message early this morning, I tried to call him and beg him to reconsider siding with the Devil. I had a vague memory of Colt Hudson from when I was young, but, based on the recent articles about his release, siding with him would lead to a certain death.
Each of my calls went straight to voicemail, so I had no choice but to jump out of bed and pay my brother a visit face-to-face.
By the time I pulled up outside Scorp’s house, it was pouring rain. I flipped down the mirror, checking the thick layer of foundation I’d applied before leaving the house. I couldn’t bear the thought of my brother’s disappointed face if he saw the fresh bruise, my first, nor the thought of what he might do to Elliot if he did see it.
Assured my complexion was flawless, I grabbed my purse from the passenger’s seat, opened the car door, and sprinted through the downpour for Scorp’s porch.
I banged on Scorp’s front door, ringing the doorbell non-stop, but there was no answer. I reached down and lifted up the doormat, praying that Scorp still hid an extra key there. Relief filled me when my eyes landed on it.
Unlocking the door, I stepped into the stale, warm air of the dark house. It smelled of weed, man, and home. We’d grown up in this house until I was eight. Scorp had always had a strange attachment to it.
“Scorp?”
My heart sank when no one answered. I was too late. My fear for his life went up a notch—it wasn’t like him to doubt himself like he had in those messages.
That’s when I saw it. In the dark of the living room, a glowing ember of a lit cigarette. A hooded figure sat there. Tall, dark, menacing. Dripping wet from the storm outside. Staring right at me.
“Where is he?” the man growled.
I went completely numb, scared out of my mind. Who was this stranger? What did he want?
“Where’s Scorp?”
“I don’t think he’s home. I…” My breathing hitched as the man stood up, pushed back his hood and revealed his face.
Some men you can just tell are trouble, and, as I watched him shrug out of his leather jacket, I knew that trouble was exactly what I was looking at.
Wet strands of dark hair fell in front of intense, smoky blue eyes. Pale scars laced the backs of his large hands. Tattoos detailed his bare, muscled arms and disappeared under the collar of his vest, which was embroidered with a symbol I’d seen tattooed onto my brother’s chest when I was six years old.
Shit, who the hell was in my brother’s house?
My eyes flicked to the kitchen. Looking for any weapon I could find.
“Wouldn’t do that, kitten,” he growled. “You seen my tat. You know what I’m capable of.”
Bikers? Yeah, I knew exactly what they were capable of.
His eyes ran over me, too. Slowly. From my long, dripping hair, down my slim legs, to my silver heels. The fact that this dress was likely see-through thanks to the rain would be noticeable. He wasn’t a gentleman about it. He didn’t look away. Instead, his eyes lingered longer on my breasts.
I watched him take a damp box of cigarettes from his pocket. He pulled one out, lit it, and took a long drag, all while he continued to stare at me. Chills spread through my body.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew what had him staring. It was the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Should I tell Scorp you dropped by?” I spoke, trying to gain his attention, and was surprised when he actually looked me in the eye.
“Are you his woman or something?” His words were clipped and short. I heard pure and utter frustration in his tone.
His woman. Such a typical biker thinking that all women answered to a man. Bikers. A disgust rolled through my body.
The club was the reason that Scorp and I had a falling-out. I hated the club. Seeing as I was alone in the house with this man, there was no way I was going to admit that—plus, if there was one thing men like him abided by, it was the fact that a woman who was considered the property of another member wasn’t harmed.
“Something like that.” I felt like I needed Scorp’s protection right now, and if saying I was his woman would stop this man from looking at me like that, then I’d fucking use my brother’s name.
After all, Scorp had one hell of a reputation.
“Well…” He leaned down over me, using his height to intimidate me.
“If ya wanna stay his woman, you better go and change before I fuck that so-called dress off you.
It’s see-through, in case you didn’t know.”
With those words from his mouth, my judgment of him was sealed. Typical alpha male thinking he had the right to do such a thing.
He was acting like he had been in a cage and I was the first woman he was allowed to be around.
Maybe I should redirect him and his bad mood to one of Elliot’s strip clubs.
I couldn’t stop myself from crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes at him. “So is your shirt, but you don’t hear me complaining.”
I moved to walk past him. Instead of stepping out of my way, he blocked my path with his arm.
“You and I both know you aren’t club property.”
Again, I felt like I needed to reference a line to the club so he didn’t hurt me. The man’s eyes had the ability to kill.
“I owe my life to the club.” And that was true. The club got Scorp and I out of the country when I was young and he was looking at doing serious time in prison. How he got out from under those crimes was a secret he still kept.
“Move your arm.” I refused to touch him. “Now.”
“Or you’ll do what?” he challenged.
That’s it! I was done being the girl that took crap from every male. What made this stranger think he had the right to question me in my own brother’s house?
“Move or I’ll make you,” I gritted out.
Right now was a perfect example of my brother being right and me being wrong, because I wasn’t carrying a weapon like he always told me to.
“Guessing by your reaction, you know who I am?” He looked at me.
Yeah, I knew exactly who he was—he was another biker who thought he knew better than everyone else.
I tilted my head, watching him, and used the power of silence to have him questioning my next move.
“What ya really doin’ here, kitten?” he wondered aloud.
“Zero of your business.”
“You’re Scorp’s woman, where is he?” he tried again.
“I’m not his woman.” I gritted the words out in frustration. “I’m his sister.”
Not wanting to spend another minute with a man that saw women as possessions, I added, “How about I message him?”
With a nod from the man’s head, I brought up Scorp’s number, hoping that a message about a stranger in his house would gain his attention.
Learn my place. My eyes began to water and I quickly blinked back the tears. This was not the time for crying.
From the man’s twisted expression, it seemed I hadn’t been fast enough.
“You alright?” The words sounded uncomfortable, as if he’d never said them to anyone before.
“My guess is he’s at the clubhouse.”
“Want me to pass a message on to your brother?” He threaded his jacket back on.
I couldn’t stop my lips from twisting sourly. “He’s made it clear that he is more your brother than mine.”
“At least he knows his place.” His words caused me to freeze for a beat. How the hell had he managed to rephrase the same words my brother had just used on me?
“Go to hell,” I spat. Who the fuck did he think he was?
A cocky grin spread across his face. “I just got out.”
My breath caught in my throat as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Lightning cracked through the sky, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up as I asked, “Wait, are you…?”
A wicked gleam lit his face. “Colt Hudson. The Devil.”
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