Page 117 of Colt

“Fucking asshole,” I muttered under my breath as my car flew past the huge town sign telling me goodbye and to come back soon. I stuck my tongue out at it like a five-year-old. “Not fucking likely.”

I blinked back the moisture welling in my eyes, trying to keep my anger high and my sorrow at bay, because I knew once I let them out, I’d cry a river, and I didn’t have time to stop at the side of the road and wait for the tears to dissipate, there’d be too many.

Instead, I focused on the road and how the trees and fields on either side were bathed in silver from the grey clouds and snowy air. I counted down the seconds as the wheels ate up the asphalt and the miles. Eventually, my chest began to loosen, and the air slowly expelled from my lungs, leaving my insides barren but my mind full of a plethora of self-destructive thoughts.

I wished he could’ve loved me more than the club.

I wished he could’ve chosen me.

Why was I never enough?

Jutting my chin up, I shook my head slightly, trying to loosen the confidence-draining vulnerabilities that had plagued me since I was a little girl who needed her daddy so badly, but always found he was too busy to be there. It was the story of my life.

Freya never made the cut.

I’d done everything to try and elevate myself to their standards, done everything they’d asked and demanded of me, but nothing was ever good enough for them. It was time to stop trying to be everything to everyone and just be me. God only knew why I kept setting myself up for a mighty fall.

Fuck Colt, fuck Dad, and fuck the Speed Demons. They could all keep each other warm at night in their old age because I’d be long gone, living my best life, and doing me.

A tear tracked down my cheek.

“Shit!” I whacked the steering wheel with palm of my hand, letting out a cry of frustration just as the roar of a tailpipe filled the air somewhere behind me.

My eyes darted to the rearview to see a flash of dark, metallic green fill the road from way back. Colt’s bike stuck out like a sore thumb because unlike all the others in the club, it was new, shiny, and woefully underused.

I let out a frustrated huff, pressing my foot down on the accelerator a little harder. The balance of my car destabilized slightly, the ice on the road making the car skid and threaten to fishtail. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white as I drove into it, easily regaining control.

The sight of Colt’s stupid shiny bike taunting me in the rearview made my blood boil. I knew he was coming for me, saw he was doing it at breakneck speed too, but I was determined not to make it easy for the Mr. Rich Biker, born with a silver spoon jammed between his entitled ass cheeks.

I gritted my teeth muttering to myself to keep my eyes on the road, forcing my gaze forward. The rearview mirror showed a blur of green metal, then Colt shot past me so fast I may have been standing still. His hand came out and he jerked his finger to the side of the road in a command to pull over as he took a fork off the road that led to a lay-by shielded behind the tree-lined route.

A cursed left my throat. I applied gentle pressure to the brake and turned the car to follow his bike up the slippery slope.

There was no point ignoring the grumpy asshole and with the mood I was in, I was all too happy to air our shit in public, even if we were on a quiet country road. I maneuvered my car up to the lay-by, taking care not to skid again, until I slowly came to stop just behind his sexy-ass green bike.

By the time I turned my engine off, Colt had dismounted, put his bike on the kickstand and taken his helmet off. I could tell by the tension in his shoulders he was furious, but it wasn’t until he turned to face me, and began to stomp toward the car that I realized he was hanging on by a thread.

He looked like an avenging angel. His light features and tanned healthy skin juxtaposed with the black jeans, leather jacket, scarf wound around his neck, and thick leather gloves he wore. He stalked toward me, a feral tiger eyeing his prey, and I couldn’t stop the slight tremor scattering through my fingers.

His ocean-blues fell on my face, almost incensed with cold, hard fury. My hand reached for the door handle, but his rage-filled stare pinned me to the seat. A frisson of fear ran down my spine when I saw the curl of distaste on his lip, as those beautiful blue orbs promised I was about to be very fucking sorry.

A tiny flicker of regret tightened my chest, but I was determined not to let him see how much he was putting me on edge. I jutted my chin up and cocked an eyebrow, holding his gaze like a brat. He was always so cool and in control and I wanted to shatter it. I wanted him to feel lost at sea without a life preserver, the same way I always did when it came to him.

My door flew open, and I heard him snarl.

A squeak escaped my throat as he hauled me out of the car one-handed and threw me over his shoulder like I weighed ten pounds.

“What are you doing?” I shrieked, pounding his back.

The sharp slap he gave my ass stung my skin to the point it took my breath away. The next thing I knew my bare butt hit the hood of the car and Colt’s hand cuffed my throat. My eyes widened fearfully as he leaned down, got in my face, and bellowed, “Why you driving like that in the fucking ice, Freya? You almost skidded! And more to the point why you running away?”

I went to open my mouth and bite out some kind of smart comeback, but nothing came out.

His eyes swirled with hate, love, fear, and plain old fury, as he kicked my knees apart and with one tug, pulled me to the edge of the hood.

My pussy flooded.

I wore a little pleated plaid skirt with knee high boots, so when he shoved the hem up to my waist and looked down at my soaked, white cotton panties I had no doubt he could see the full force of the affect he had on me.

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