Colt - Book cover

Colt

Simone Elise

Return of the Devil

Pick

"Fucking hell," I muttered and shifted my toothpick to the other side of my mouth. The bastard had actually managed to get out.

A dull pain started to burn in my chest as I finished reading the news article on Colt’s release from prison. The boss was going to go fucking ballistic.

I opened the contacts on my phone and tried to remember the latest contact number I’d been given:

Pickdid u c the news
Pickthe fuker got out
UnknownI saw. I trust you will sort everything out cleanly?
Pickhes called the devil for a reason
UnknownAre you saying that you are not up for the task?
UnknownI can’t afford to have this affect business.
Pickno
Picki’ll handle it
Pickbut things r gonna get real bloody
UnknownI don’t care.
UnknownCall me when the job is done.

Colt

As I stood on the curb looking up at the gates of the clubhouse, it became clear as fuck that things weren’t as I had left them. When I’d left, things hadn’t been so organized. As I walked through the freshly painted buildings and fucking trimmed bushes, I was relieved that at least one thing still remained the same: the Vipers MC emblem.

The symbol was plastered on bikes, walls, and flags all over the bloody place. I grew up with an expectation to uphold the honor and power that it stood for. Now, after thirteen years behind bars, I could finally get back to my life’s purpose.

I entered the clubhouse through the garage. The place was a ghost town, which could only mean one thing.

There was a church meeting.

Crossing the empty bar, my eyes landed on the doors leading to the boardroom where church was held. By the raised voices coming from inside, they were discussing something serious.

I burst through the doors. It was time to fucking take back what was mine.

“Got rich while I was in, boys?” It was clear from when I first stepped onto the lot that the club was earning and, by the looks of the place, it was some serious money.

One of the sure signs a club had money was the size of it, and the Vipers MC’s table was now filled with at least double the members than it had been thirteen years ago.

“The Devil is back, and so death calls our names,” Dive, a life member who I was surprised was still breathing, muttered under his breath. The old bastard was always around when I was a child, always muttering and making no sense.

Dad used to say the drugs got to him back in his younger years, while my grandfather said Dive was the Devil’s Keeper.

That was exactly what Dive’s role was in the club—keep the Devil’s records up-to-date and measure my success against my father’s, and his father’s, and so on, and so on.

As long as there was a Devil, there was a Keeper. Like a priest who forgave sinners, he was the man to turn to when shit got bad.

As I looked at my so-called ‘club brothers,’ I couldn’t feel a shred of loyalty in half of ’em. These men had the Vipers MC emblem—my family’s legacy, —on their backs, and most of ’em couldn’t look me in the eye.

I cocked an eyebrow. “What, no welcome home party for me?”

Pick rose from his chair—my chair—at the head of the table.

There were two things everyone needed to know about Pick. The first was that the man picked his teeth after everything he ate, and if you commented on it, he’d shove the goddamned toothpick in your eye. Seen him do it to half a dozen boys back in the day. The second was that he was a real snake in the grass. I knew that then, but he’d been true to my father, so I kept him around.

“If it ain’t the Devil himself at my table. Didn’t think you’d ever see the light of day again,” Pick spoke with a tone as if he was spitting out words that tasted foul. “Sure as fuck didn’t think you’d have the guts to turn up here if you did.”

What did he just say?

“You need a lesson on who is in charge, Pick?”

True, my reputation hadn’t grown since I went away, but I sure as fuck intended on building it back up now. I’d start by killing him if I had to.

Pick grunted but didn’t say a word. His eyes were on the man sitting to his right. Seemed my Vice president thought he could appoint ~his own vice president~?

Did he think this club was his? That he was in charge? What the fuck was he smoking? ’Cause it sure as hell caused delusions.

It was when he looked back at me that I saw what it was that had him on a high. It was power.

“I had a thought while you were gone, Colt.” The bastard stood up, and, with the way he was speaking, it may well have been the last time he did.

“Is the Devil still the Devil if no sinner fears him?”

Pick looked around at the other men. All of ’em stayed silent. They couldn’t seriously be thinking of standing beside this…this fucking sorry excuse of a man and listening to him ramble!

Pick looked back at me, slightly smug. “Times have changed, son, and I’m afraid to tell you that you are stuck in the past.”

Son. With that word coming out of his mouth, the Glock tucked in the waist of my jeans started to burn against the skin at my back.

“The future of this club depends on more than a man who gets a thrill out of killing. The club needs brains, and we question yours, Colt. You led a massacre in broad daylight. You led all of us to the slaughtering yards.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “Doesn’t sound like you’ve got what this club needs to survive in today’s world. A lot has changed since you went away. Besides, why get bloody when you can get even and stay clean at the same time?”

Since when did my club do clean?

“Your halo is on fire, Pick. No sane man is gonna believe ya,” I spat out the words. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “No way that you are the future of this club. The history of the Vipers is in my family’s blood.”

My bitter anger over the situation was flaring through my body. Surely, the boys could see that following this man would lead to a war? Fuck, I just did thirteen years for this club.

What had Pick done? Sat and got rich off my club’s reputation.

A reputation my family had created.

“Let’s call it to a vote.” Pick looked at me as if he already knew what the outcome would be. “Everyone who thinks Colt’s time with the Vipers is over, hands up.”

Thirteen fucking years I’d done behind bars in the name of keeping honor and loyalty attached to this club’s name.

Thirteen years I planned what I would do when I got out, and it would seem that, while I was planning my next move, Pick had been planning his.

All these years he’d been sitting here prayin’ I’d get that injection. He should have known: you never bet against the Devil.

“Vote!” Pick yelled, causing a few of my old members to jump and throw their hands up.

It was as if Pick had fucking strings tied to ’em and all he had to do was pull them up with one command.

Only five hands didn’t go up.

Pick looked at the man closest to him who had both his arms firmly crossed over his chest. Scorp. Well, if it wasn’t the last man standing. Scorp looked older now, but thirteen years would age anyone.

The time certainly hadn’t been kind to me, but I never forgot the man who had stood by me when bullets had been flying directly at us. The man who had stood by me when I had been looking at doing time in prison. Even now, as his loyalty to me was tested again, Scorp was standing by me.

Based on his position at the table, Scorp had earned his way up the ranks.

He sat ahead of the enforcers and next to the vice president who, currently, had a slight grin on his face, as if this was the moment he’d been waiting for.

I just barely remembered the other four men who had their hands down. They’d been prospects in the club at the time I ruled.

It would have made more fucking sense for them to stand with Pick.

Instead, the men who I considered life members had their fucking hands up.

“This man,” Pick beseeched the five of them, “is nothing but a ghost. He’s not the one who’s been putting food on your table. Why trust him again? His days are numbered. The detectives will come after him before long. A man doesn’t simply get off death row.”

Each word he threw at me was another gasoline-coated log in the fucking pile, and Pick was now dangling the match over it.

Silence fell over the room again, but the disagreement between my men and Pick’s men made the air fucking tight and thick.

“We all know you are up to some shady shit, Pick,” Scorp cut in. “Don’t sit there and preach you aren’t. I know you and your crew are having meetings behind our backs. You’re making moves on a chessboard that we don’t know anything about. That’s not a future I’m interested in.”

“If you walk from this table, son, there is no coming back,” Pick threatened Scorp—and unlike the other club brothers, Scorp didn’t crumble.

Scorp looked at the members who also didn’t have their hands up. “What do you think, boys?”

The members who hadn’t raised their hands on Pick’s call got to their feet and crossed the room to surround me.

Each of ’em pulled their Glocks and pointed them at Pick.

Pick’s men—the whole fucking rest of the room—jumped to their feet and drew their weapons.

A twisted smirk appeared on Scorp’s face. “Mutiny is a weak man’s excuse, and you’re trying to fill some awfully big boots.”

“You’re burning bridges and years of service here, Scorp. Why stand by him?” Pick’s words came out through gritted teeth.

“Because he’s the Devil. Did you really think we wouldn’t remember who the blood of this club is? Colt is, and always has been, our president.”

All guns were still raised until Pick gave a nod of the head and his men stood down. He’d always been a sucker for the rules, and biker’s code meant you had to give any man wanting to leave the club the chance to walk off the property. Once they were off the property, however, all bets were off.

So, for now, Pick had to let my small group of men walk free.

“History is stopping me from slicing ya head off,” I called to Pick, my gun still pointed at him.

“Last time I checked, you’re outnumbered,” the vice president spoke up.

If he thought I didn’t have it in me to end his life, he was wrong.

Signaling my men to clear the room, I couldn’t stop the slight smirk on my lips as I looked Pick in the eyes and said, “These deaths are on you.”

With a flick of my wrist, I fired at the gas line that ran across the ceiling…

…and the boardroom of the Vipers MC erupted in flames.

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