Colton's Legacy Page 3

  Dick, I think, wanting to punch him all over again.

  I’ve avoided the Scorpio Society obligations since my freshman year of college. After passing my induction—with my brother serving as my Capo—the society gave me leave to pursue my Olympic career. My father has a whole fleet of soldiers to help with inductions. He also has my brother.

  But then my mother chose Emma as a pledge.

  And my father and brother called me back to help serve as her Capo.

  She’s a swimmer. A good one. An Olympic hopeful. The perfect asset for the Kinsley family. Not even an asset, but a trophy.

  Because we need more of those.

  I almost roll my eyes, but I’m too focused on the road to try.

  Emma shifts beside me, her floral scent taunting my nose. She really is a little southern flower, all soft petals and tender perfection. I can see why my mother chose her. She’s an ideal match.

  And not mine.

  Which is fine.

  But I’m the one charged with ensuring she survives.

  “I thought you knew,” I say, feeling the need to apologize again. It’s a foreign sensation. I don’t usually screw something up this badly upon a first—and second—meeting.

  I’m not a complete nitwit. I know how to talk to women. However, this whole situation is suffocating me. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to do this to her. Yet I have no choice. And she doesn’t either.

  “Thought I knew what?” she asks, her voice softer now that we’re alone. More intimate. Her southern drawl is growing on me every time she speaks, too. It’s endearing, giving her a sweetness that I don’t want to like. Which was why I lashed out earlier by correcting her.

  I don’t want to like this girl.

  She’s my charge. My task. Nothing more.

  And if she doesn’t do what I tell her to, she’ll die.

  “Thought I knew what?” she repeats, drawing me back to her.

  I clear my throat. “About the Scorpio Society.”

  Her confused silence tells me she knows nothing about it. But I already knew that after witnessing her reaction to my words earlier.

  “My brother was supposed to tell you,” I continue. “But apparently he didn’t. And the asshole failed to mention that to me.” It’s just like Connor, too. He loves fucking with me. I suppose that’s a prerequisite for being an older sibling. “So when I saw you at the pool, I thought you were aware of why I was back. Which is why I didn’t bother with an introduction and jumped right in on my critique.”

  We don’t have a lot of time for her to achieve perfection, so the faster she learns, the better. But that all requires her to be a willing pupil.

  “You’ve been chosen, Emma,” I tell her as I turn onto my street. It’s just off campus, making it an easy five-minute drive to the natatorium. And like Stonewall University, it’s an affluent area. Actually, everything near the grounds is rich and beautiful because the Scorpio Society owns all the land.

  We own Stonewall, too. The Dean is an Elder. It makes admissions and recruitment easier. The society handpicks all the potential recruits, ensures they enroll, and then selects the most eligible freshmen to pledge.

  Those who pass the tests are inducted.

  Those who don’t… die.

  And it’s the job of the Soldiers to test the potential members. Unless a situation like mine arises, and it goes to a Capo, otherwise known as a General.

  I’m technically not a Capo.

  But I am the son of an Elder.

  Which gives me certain perks and leeway among the society because I’m legacy—the son of one of the twelve original families.

  A Kinsley heir.

  My older brother may be the next in line, but I’m the spare. If anything happens to him, or should he choose to step down, I’m up on deck.

  Yay me.

  I pull into my driveway, the garage automatically opening to accept my entry. Emma remains utterly still beside me, her tension thickening the air in the car. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I promise. “But I am going to push you.” Because that’s my job.

  The door begins to close behind us as I turn off the car.

  She’s barely breathing—not a great sign since I haven’t even begun to explain the Scorpio Society.

  “Let’s go inside,” I suggest, unbuckling my seatbelt.

  She doesn’t move.

  Yeah, this is off to a fabulous start. “I don’t know how to do this,” I admit, rubbing my hand over my face before gripping the back of my neck. “I knew about the Scorpio Society at birth. My father’s an Elder, one of the original twelve families, and so I always knew my fate. And not passing the tests seemed like an impossibility. Although, my test was similar to yours—a show of dedication.”

  Exactly four years ago.

  My first Olympic year.

  And now she’s destined to follow in my footsteps.

  “It’s why they want me to mentor you. Rather, to be your Capo. To test you. It’s my job to push you to be the best. If you fail, well…” I trail off, not really wanting to focus on that. “My point is, I’m here to be a guide. But I’m also your warden.”

  My palm falls from my nape as I blow out a long breath.

  She’s still not moving.

  And I’m really not explaining this well.

  “You’re familiar with Greek life, right? Like rushing a sorority?” I glance at her. She doesn’t say anything, but her brow furrows, so I know she’s listening. “Think of this like that, except it’s a secret society that no one knows about. Only those worthy of pledging are tapped, and you’ve been hand-selected by the Kinsley family to rush. Which means you have to go through the ritual and trials to be formally inducted.”

  She swallows, her gaze finally sliding over to meet mine. Dubiousness radiates from her dark depths and I know she’s questioning my sanity. I don’t blame her. It’s a lot to take in as an outsider.

  “The Scorpio Society selects rushees from all backgrounds,” I explain. “They like diversity. But the primary goal is to establish connections with the elite of the world, or those in power positions. Or those who might achieve greatness, like an Olympic hopeful.”

  I capture and hold her gaze, needing her to hear me, and to understand.

  “They select the best of the best, Emma. Then they test those recruits, and those who pass are inducted into one of the world’s most elite societies. You’ll have access to anything and everything you could possibly dream of. It’s an extremely connected, affluential world. And you’ve been tapped to join it.”

  Her expression tells me she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying to her.

  If my brother had done his job, this wouldn’t be an issue.

  “All right.” I pick up my phone and scroll through my contact list. “You’re familiar with Dean Stonewall, right?”

  She snorts in response.

  “That’s what I thought.” I dial his direct line and wait a beat for him to answer.

  “Kinsley,” he says as his face appears on my screen. “It’s late.”

  “I know,” I reply. “This will only take a second.” I tilt the phone so Emma can see my screen. Her eyebrows shoot upward as she recognizes the man on my screen.

  When Dean Stonewall’s green eyes find hers, his own salt and pepper eyebrows arch upward. “Emma Adrian.”

  Her lips part in surprise. “D-Dean,” she stammers out.

  At least she’s found her voice, I think.

  Then I focus on Jonathan Stonewall and explain the reason for my call. “Connor failed to inform her of her fate. I’ve told her she’s been tapped by the Scorpio Society and she thinks I’ve lost my mind.”

  He considers me a moment before glancing toward her again. “Well, welcome to the Scorpio Society, Emma. I suggest you listen to your Capo and do exactly what he says.” He looks at me. “Anything else?”

  I study her shocked expression as I reply, “No, I think that’ll do for now. Thank you, sir.”

  “Kinsley.”

  “Dean Stonewall.”

  The line clicks as he ends the call.

  And Emma just gapes at my phone like it’s some sort of magical wand.

  “The Stonewalls are one of the founding families, just like mine. Roman—the man who took an interest in your roommate tonight—is from another. He’s a Hawthorne. There are nine others. I’m sure you’ll meet them with time, assuming you pass your trial. Which I’ll tell you more about in my kitchen.” I skipped dinner tonight while tracking her down, and I really need to eat something.

  That’s the thing with swimmers—we’re always hungry.

  I don’t wait for her to comply this time. I merely open my door, exit, and head into my house. The alarm is already off thanks to the proximity of my phone.

  I set my wallet and keys on the table in my mud room, then enter my dining area. It opens into my kitchen and the living room, providing a spacious and welcoming interior.

  A master bedroom is across the floor plan, with three more rooms upstairs, and a basement underneath. I may show her that later as I suspect she’ll like it down there because I have a custom-built lap pool meant for training.

  As I told her in the car, the Scorpio Society is affluent. As is my family.

  She doesn’t come inside right away, giving me time to pull an already prepared dinner from the fridge. Zarah left it for me earlier, the contents suitable for two because I anticipated Emma joining me after practice.

  Then the little vixen ran off to her dorm.

  And disappeared with her roommate.

  Roman texted shortly after asking if I lost something, then sent through a photo of my charge. He knew my family tapped her for initiation, and also knew I would not approve of her attending a fight night in the middle of swim season.

  So I left dinner behind to go searching for the pretty little brunette.

  Which caused me to starve in the process.

  Brat, I think, sliding the pasta dish into the oven to reheat it. As Emma likely didn’t have a proper meal earlier either, I grab her a plate and silverware and set them on the table inside my kitchen nook. It’s a little more peaceful and framed by a window overlooking the trees, as opposed to my dining area with floor to ceiling glass doors that open to my deck out back.

  My mother bought me a ten-person table for that space—a complete waste of money as I don’t often allow others into the sanctuary of my home.

  Emma will become an exception because we have a lot of work to do and very little time to do it.

  The female in question finally decides to come inside as I’m setting two glasses of ice water on the table. Her brow furrows at the sight, then her nose crinkles as the aroma of tomatoes and garlic begin to flood my kitchen space.

  “I assume you’re hungry?” I phrase it as a question even though it’s more of a statement.

  She doesn’t reply, just steps into my kitchen with a bemused expression on her face.

  “Did you try calling for help?” I wonder out loud, aware that she has a phone in her pocket.

  Her expression tells me she didn’t even consider it. A good thing because there’s no one who can help her now.

  “I can see that you didn’t, which is good,” I say, returning to check on the dinner in the oven. “The Scorpio Society has contacts in a lot of high places.” The food isn’t quite ready, so I lean my hip against the counter beside it and meet her dark brown eyes. “I don’t recommend going to the police. They can’t help you. And the society will punish you for it, likely with your life.”

  She blinks.

  I stare.

  Then I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. It’s soft thanks to the expensive products I use to kill the chlorine.

  After a beat of silence, I push off the counter to stand in front of her. “Look, I know this all sounds unbelievable or maybe even scary, but the Scorpio Society is an organization of prestige and substantial wealth. You’ll have access to whatever you want. You just have to pass the trials.”

  I can see by her expression that I’m not selling her on anything.

  “Whatever I want,” she repeats. “At the expense of what?”

  An intelligent and fair question, one that deserves an honest response.

  “At the expense of potentially losing your life,” I answer. “The trials will either make… or break you.”

  In her case, I hope for the former, but fear for the latter.

  This won’t be easy.

  I need her trust to be able to guide her.

  And something tells me that’s going to be our biggest challenge in this situation. Particularly as she’s glowering at me now when she should be showing some respect.

  I’m not just an Olympian; I’m Clive Kinsley’s son. We’re a founding family and my father serves as one of the twelve Elders of the society.

  That alone makes most members bow in my presence.

  But Emma isn’t fazed.

  She’s pissed.

  This is going to be a long night.

  4

  Emma

  “So let me make sure I have this straight,” I say slowly. “Your family has selected me to join a secret organization, one with connections and wealth, where I have to pass a series of trials to be formally inducted. And I have no choice or say in the matter. It’s already done and expected that I’ll just… comply.”

  “Essentially, yeah.” He bends to pull a pan of penne noodles tousled in tomato sauce from the oven.

  My nose crinkles at his choice in reheating a pasta dish in such a manner. A skillet would have been a better choice. However, the scents filling the air are appetizing enough. Given he set two plates, I assume he wants me to eat with him. On principle, I should decline. But my stomach prefers I accept. As do my manners.

  My grandma raised me to always appreciate and accept hospitality, even when I wanted to decline.

  I’m doing this for you, I think at her. She’s my only living relative and the reason I’ve been able to train. She took me in after my parents died, raised me, and then sent me off to Stonewall.

  To be recruited against my will into a secret society with affluent connections.

  How… fortuitous.

  He asked if I tried calling for help. Who would I call? The police? And say what?

  Five-time Olympic gold medalist Colton Kinsley says I’ve been tapped to join a super-secret club that, oh, by the way, the Dean knows about. He says it’s a matter of life or death and I have to pass some sort of test where he’s making me… I frown. Making me what?

  “What’s my test?” I ask out loud as he sets the pans on a mitt in the center of the table.

  “Sit and I’ll tell you.”

  My jaw clenches. “Don’t command me like some sort of pet.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. Dogs are far better behaved,” he drawls, taking over the head of the table. Then he gestures to the other place setting with an expectant look.

  Part of me wants to pick up the pasta dish and dump it over his arrogant head.

  The other part of me wants to eat and find out more about this test so I can potentially talk my way out of it.

  What does he want me to do? What could I possibly have to give an organization like the one he described?

  My grandpa owned a construction company down south that made decent money, but it wasn’t Kinsley level money. Just enough to live comfortably.

  Colton serves himself a reasonable helping of pasta, then he stands again.

  I move on instinct, half-expecting him to grab me.

  He gives me a chiding look before going to the fridge to pull out two bowls of already prepared salads. “What kind of dressing do you want?” he asks after setting them on the table. “I have a sweet vinaigrette, olive oil with spices, and regular Italian. Oh, and Greek, too.” He opens the door to his fridge again to show me.

  “Greek,” I whisper, my heart skipping a beat. “You expected me to come over for dinner.” It’s not a question because his food preparation already tells me he anticipated company tonight. And he asked me to join him after practice.

  “Yes.” He grabs the Greek dressing and shuts the fridge. “As I said earlier, I thought you already knew about your recruitment. My brother was supposed to handle that part. I’m here to coach and help.”

  “Coach and help me to do what exactly?” I follow him to the table this time and sit before he can tell me to.

  His lips quirk up into a partial grin as he sets the dressing on the table. Then he steals my plate to put a healthy portion on it. “I know you’re allergic to shellfish, so this is all beef-based,” he says as he sets the dish in front of me. “Same with the salad and dressing, obviously.”

  He returns to his chair as I gape at him. “You know I’m allergic to shellfish?”

  “As I also mentioned earlier, I know everything about you Emma Adrian.” He takes a napkin from the table and places it in his lap. “I spent the holidays studying your records to ensure everything I do and advise helps you more than hurts you. And had I known you weren’t aware of your future, I would have approached today very differently.”

  He grimaces with that statement.

  Then he picks up his water and downs half of it.

  “As to your test, it’s fairly straight forward,” he continues. “You need to qualify for the Olympics in five individual events. Do that, and you’re in. Don’t, and the Olympics will be the least of your concerns.”

  “Five individual events?” I repeat, gaping at him. That will require me to place in the top two spots in all my events. “I’ve qualified for the trials in seven. I-I’m only seated in the top two for three of them right now.”

  And that’s being generous considering Molly Black is only a hundredth behind me in the hundred butterfly.

  “That’s why I’m here.” His voice is soft and at odds with his hard expression. “It won’t be easy, but it wouldn’t be a test if it was.” He says this like it’s perfectly normal and acceptable to expect me to just acquiesce to the terms.

  Five Olympic qualifications.