Daisy Rae grew up with a hurricane in her blood. At six, she climbed a water tower because the sunset looked too good to miss. At twelve, she rebuilt her neighbor’s fence after a spring flood, hammer in one hand, a stolen cola in the other. At sixteen, she earned the second part of her reputation: Colt —not just a last name, but a warning. Fast. Unbroken. Likely to kick if cornered.
Daisy Rae Katrina Colt was born during a blackout. The Louisiana heat had snapped the power lines an hour before she arrived, so her first sounds weren’t monitors or beeps—just rain drumming on a tin roof and her own furious cry. daisy rae katrina colt
It never does.