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  Colton’s Secret

  A Kinsley Elite Prequel

  Lexi C. Foss

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Colton’s Secret

  Copyright © 2021 A.C. Kramer

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book may not be redistributed to others for commercial or noncommercial purposes.

  Proofreading by: Jean Bachen & Katie Schmahl

  Digital Edition

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  About Colton’s Secret

  Prologue

  1. Emma

  2. Emma

  3. Colton

  4. Emma

  5. Emma

  6. Colton

  7. Emma

  8. Emma

  9. Colton

  10. Emma

  A.C. Kramer

  About Colton’s Secret

  Not all dreams have a happy ending.

  A truth I learned the hard way.

  All thanks to Colton Kinsley.

  * * *

  When Stonewall University offered me a full-ride scholarship and a coveted spot in their esteemed swimming program, it was an immediate yes. Why?

  * * *

  Because of Colton Kinsley.

  Swimming god.

  A legend.

  The ultimate idol.

  * * *

  It didn’t matter that he’d since graduated from the program. He was still training in the same pool, preparing for next year’s Olympic Games.

  And I intended to go with him.

  But his family had other plans for me.

  * * *

  My first day of winter semester practice ended in a nightmare. A pledge. A future I had no desire to entertain. And Colton Kinsley became so much more than a mere idol. He became my mentor for the Scorpio Society.

  * * *

  Now there’s no escape.

  No alternatives.

  No way out.

  This is the world of the elite.

  To remain, I must obey.

  To live, I need to win.

  * * *

  Suit up. It’s going to be a long swim.

  Prologue

  Colton

  Water provides me freedom. Peace. A brief tranquility for my darkening soul.

  I count my strokes.

  Even my breaths.

  Flip perfectly at each wall.

  Kick.

  Start again.

  My coach is timing me. My former teammates are watching me. My ancestors are cursing me.

  Every perfect stroke. Every strong kick. Every rhythmic inhale. I’m haunted. Hunted. Claimed and owned.

  I never had a choice.

  The Scorpio Society possessed me at birth, proclaiming me as one of them. The son of an Elder. An Elite by blood.

  I live and breathe this world. All my actions are controlled by those I report to, and dictated by the Elders.

  My father has chosen a new recruit.

  An Olympic hopeful.

  Female.

  A freshman. Full-ride scholarship to Stonewall University. My new charge.

  It’s my job to mold her. Push her. And eventually induct her. But only if she follows every rule and accomplishes all the tasks set out before her.

  It won’t be easy.

  Nothing with the Scorpio Society ever is.

  She’s off to a decent start, breaking a handful of university records in last week’s winter invitational. However, she’ll need to do a lot better if she wants to survive her initiation.

  Poor girl has no idea what’s coming for her. She just knows she’s a recruit. A Scorpio Society hopeful. But no one has explained what that requires yet.

  However, she’ll understand soon. Just as soon as I reach this wall.

  I allow the water to wash it all away for three more strokes. No breaths. One final kick. Then I touch the wall and stand.

  Emma Adrian’s initiation starts tonight.

  1

  Emma

  Colton Kinsley is a God.

  The way he moves through the water leaves me hypnotized on the deck, my mind temporarily lost to his long, lean form as he cuts through the pool with expert ease.

  It’s like a dream.

  I’ve waited for this moment for months. He’s the reason I accepted Stonewall University’s full-ride scholarship. I’ve longed to train with him, to learn from him, to study his technique. But he spent last semester in Arizona, training with Coach Rogers.

  I understood the choice. Lincoln Roger’s swimming programs were famous and positions within them were highly coveted. He only accepted the best of the best.

  Which Colton clearly qualifies as with his five gold medals, two silver medals, and solo bronze.

  One day, I’m going to join him in the elite circle.

  Six months, I tell myself, winding my arms in a circle, loosening myself up for practice.

  Everyone else is still ogling the god in the pool. Coach Hawkins stands on the deck, admiring Colton’s kick as he pushes off a wall. I pity the men’s team today—they’re all going to be compared to Stonewall University’s living swim legend.

  As a female, I’m exempt.

  But I’ll accept the challenge anyway and prove that I’m worthy of sharing this pool with the likes of Colton Kinsley.

  I bend to touch my palms to the ground, wiggling my hips around to loosen them up from my earlier jog. My academic advisor scheduled one of my classes clear across the university grounds, with an end time of twenty minutes prior to practice. When I asked her about it, she said there were no alternatives.

  So jogging was my new daily dry land activity.

  And I loathed it.

  Standing upright once more, I catch Lanie’s gaze. She’s grinning from ear-to-ear, excitement radiating from her like sunshine on an August day in Georgia.

  She’ll be the first to introduce herself to Colton.

  And she’ll ensure all her assets are on proper display.

  The girl has a mean breaststroke in the pool, marking her as a rival of mine in the two hundred individual medley. Because breaststroke is so not my jam. Butterfly, absolutely. Backstroke, not bad. But breaststroke is where I lose it every time.

  However, Lanie swims to keep up her physique and to enjoy the male attention that physique acquires.

  Which makes her easy to beat in a race.

  Because I’m here to win. To be the best. To achieve a childhood dream. To become an Olympian.

  Squatting down, I dip my cap into the water to wet the silicon before pulling it over my thick hair. Even in a ponytail, the dark strands reach my lower back—not the most ideal for a swimmer. But neither are my curves. Fortunately, I’ve learned to work with what God gave me. My hips add to my butterfly kick. The bulge in my cap is great for holding onto my goggles when diving off the starting block. And my breasts, well, the swimsuit compresses those unhelpful bits into a streamlined shape.

  Perfection.

  Or as close as I can be to it, anyway.

  I glance at the board—the one all my teammates are ignoring in favor of Colton—and decipher Coach Hawkins’ handwriting. It takes a few seconds for me to translate, but I follow in the end. With a nod, I jump into the pool, taking over the lane beside the god just as he executes a flawless flip turn.

  Several of my teammates murmur in surprise.

  I grin.

  “Warm-up’s on the board, y’all,” I tell them, gesturing to Coach’s infamously bad scrawl. He’s old-school and uses chalk, too. Just thinking about touching the board gives me hives.

  With a shiver, I push off the wall and start into my warm-up.

  Colton pauses at the next wall in the deeper section of the pool. His long legs kick to keep his six-foot-four frame above water, and I flip in the lane beside him, pretending not to notice.

  Oh, but I feel his eyes on me.

  I’ve disturbed his peace.

  He had a ten-lane pool all to himself, and I ruined his fun by taking over my lane.

  Well, practice started five minutes ago. And a proper gentleman would appreciate the need to share.

  From what I know about Colton, he’s kind, intelligent, and notoriously shy around the cameras. His father is Clive Kinsley—the CEO of Kinsley Associates, a famous law firm known for taking on the world’s most elite clientele.

  Which means Colton has rubbed elbows with celebrities and their children all his life.

  And he knows how to avoid the cameras and reporters.

  Not that swimmers gain a lot of notoriety. Our sport tends to only be reported on every four years during the Olympics.

  I flip at the opposite end, then start my way down the twenty-five-yard pool once more. This training pool is meant for the winter season. I prefer the fifty-meter one next door since that’s the proper Olympic size. But the championships in a few months will be in yards, not meters.

  After several more laps—and with Colton treading water in the deep end the whole time—my teammates start to join me. Jesi is first, taking a place in my lane because we like to train together. Lanie joins us, too.

&n
bsp; And by the time we’ve finished warm-ups, Colton has left the pool. He’s nowhere to be seen, suggesting he escaped into the locker room.

  Coach acts like Colton was never here as he barks out instructions for our two-hour practice.

  It’s distance day, so the sets are long and arduous. By the time we’re done, my arms and legs feel like jello. I’m eternally grateful when Coach gives us the warm down set, putting us only about ten minutes over time. Considering our late start, I’m not surprised.

  “Ugh, he could have at least hung around to meet the team,” Lanie mutters, clearly disappointed by Colton’s disappearing act.

  “I’m sure we’ll see him bright and early tomorrow,” I reply, pulling off my cap and dipping my head backward into the cool liquid of the pool.

  This is my favorite part of practice—the part where I release my hair and let it flow like a damp curtain down my shoulders and back.

  Bliss.

  It’s such a small thing, but it reminds me of summers back at the lake. My lips curl with the fond memories of floating in the water with my mom, tanning our too pale skin to a rosy pink just to irritate my dad.

  “Y’all gonna get cancer,” he always said.

  “Nah, sunscreen will do us right,” my mom would reply.

  I grin and eventually tuck my legs beneath me to stand. Lanie and Jesi have already run off to the showers, leaving me to my little after practice ritual. It’s my thing. My moment of peace. My way of remembering the parents I lost too many years ago.

  Miss you, I tell them as I pull myself up onto the deck.

  With a sigh, I shut my eyes and roll my neck, loosening it. The silence in the natatorium puts me at ease, just like the soothing texture of the water against my skin as I swim.

  It’s my home.

  My safe place.

  My haven.

  No one can disturb me here. And yet, a deep tone dares to try as someone says, “Your walls could use some work.”

  My brow furrows as I open my eyes to find Colton Kinsley leaning against the block by lane one, his jean clad legs crossed at the ankles and showcasing a fancy pair of black boots.

  I consider his words and nod. “I know.” Walls are my weakness, especially during a distance practice. I breathe too much and kick too little.

  “Then why aren’t you trying to fix it?” he asks, the lilt in his words betraying a slight English accent.

  I’ve spent so much time studying his stroke that I’ve never actually heard him speak before. Interviews bore me, and he tends to avoid them anyway.

  “Who says I’m not?” I counter, walking over to the towel rack.

  “The performance I just watched,” he says, pushing off the block to follow me.

  We’re the only two left on the deck, everyone else having disappeared into the locker rooms before I slipped out of the pool.

  “Your form is decent,” he continues. “Your turns are weak.”

  I pick up the warm cotton to dab it against my face, then rotate to find him right behind me. “They’re not weak, they’re just not as solid as they could be.”

  “They’re weak,” he insists. “They’ll cost you the trial, too. As will this laissez-faire approach to practice. Showing up exhausted before it already starts? What the hell were you thinking?”

  Okay, wow. So much for the “nice guy” reputation. “Is this attitude ‘cause I disturbed your peace in the pool?” I ask. “Or is this your version of being charmin’?”

  “The words you’re searching for are because and charming,” he retorts. “And if anyone will be charming anyone, it’ll be you charming me. Now go take a shower. We have somewhere to be.”

  I blink at him. “Excuse me? We don’t even know each other.”

  “On the contrary, Emma Adrian, I know everything about you. And I have to say, I’m not impressed with what I have to work with.”

  “Well, I’m not all that impressed right now either,” I admit. “You can’t just hog the pool. I get you’re a swimming god, but we had a scheduled practice. So I’m not gonna apologize for jumping in when I did.”

  “Going to,” he corrects. “And I don’t give a damn about your practice, Adrian. In fact, the only thing you did today that impressed me was jumping in the pool when you did. It all went to hell from there. Drifting off your teammates won’t help you win the trial. You need to drown them in your wake instead.”

  “I see.” I flash him my best southern sweet smile. “Well, thank you for the advice, Mister Kinsley. The next time I want guidance from an asshole, I’ll be sure to look you up.” I give him a little finger wave. “You take care now, ya hear?”

  I start by him, only to find my wrist caught in his hand.

  “This isn’t a joke, Adrian.”

  “I prefer Emma,” I fire back as I try to dislodge his hold. He walks me back into the wall instead, his body towering over mine.

  His minty aftershave makes me a little dizzy as I steal a deep breath, but I do my best not to show my reaction to his clean scent.

  “Release me.”

  “You don’t seem to be hearing me, Emma. You’re my charge. I’m going to guide you. If you fail, it’s your life on the line, not mine. I’m an Elder’s son. I’m already inducted. You’re just a recruit.”

  “A recruit?” My eyebrows shoot upward. “I’m a team member already. Freshman. Enrolled. And I don’t know what you mean by Elder, but good for you.” I look him over. “As for being in charge of me, I don’t think so.” I yank my wrist from him, but his grip tightens. “Let. Me. Go.”

  His eyes narrow as he searches my expression. Whatever he sees there has him cursing out a breath. “You have no idea…”

  I arch a brow. “Excuse me?”

  He just shakes his head. “I’m going to fucking kill Connor.” He pushes away from me to run his fingers through his dark hair. “Go get dressed. We’ll talk afterward.”

  “Sure,” I drawl. “We’ll do that.”

  We absolutely will not be doing that.

  Because I have plans.

  And they do not involve meeting up with a jackass named Colton Kinsley.

  Cheese on a cracker. I chose Stonewall University because of this guy? The supposed swimming god? Ugh, and he turns out to be the biggest asshat on the planet.

  Great.

  Just my luck.

  I grab another towel on my way off the deck, Colton’s tones following behind me as he says, “You fucking dick.” I glance over my shoulder, curious to see if he’s talking to himself—because those words seem to apply just fine.

  But no.

  He’s on the phone.

  “This isn’t fucking funny,” he continues.

  I roll my eyes and leave him to it.

  Rather than shower and change in the locker room, I tug on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt over my suit, put on some sneakers, grab my bag, and head toward the exit. The girls are all gossiping in the showers as I leave, their topic one I definitely don’t want to discuss.

  What the hell just happened?

  I finally met my idol, and he turns out to be a colossal ass. He didn’t even introduce himself, just started into me on my technique.

  Okay, yeah, I probably could have worked a little harder today. And yeah, I showed up tired. But it’s one practice. I’m allowed a bad day.

  And it wasn’t even that bad. I still came in first at the wall for almost every set.

  My heart beats a little harder as I head back to my dorm, my mind spinning.

  For months, I’ve been looking forward to this moment. I’d anticipated a lot of exchanges, all of them around technique and training and advice for how to mentally prepare for a race. Not one of them had gone in this direction, with Colton being a complete and utter dick.

  I understand arrogance. I respect pride and skill. But this is something else entirely.