“No, no, no, no, no,” I begin chanting, desperately fighting against his hold as Russo speaks over me.
“Effectively immediately,” he says with a loud, dominant tone, daring anyone to question his authority. “Oceania Munroe is now stepping up and taking her rightful place as the leader of the West Side Wolves.”
I gape, horror washing through me like a wave crashing into a brick wall, completely rocking me to my core. I start shaking my head, searching out Christian for help, who looks back at me in confusion, standing as still as a statue while trying to come to terms with what just happened. “No,” I say with desperation, trying with everything in my power to pull my wrist free of Russo’s hold. “I didn’t ask for this. Pick someone else. This isn’t my rightful place. I don't even belong here.”
Russo pulls me into him, baring his teeth like an actual wolf. “Your father was my second for twenty years. You belong more than the rest of these fuckers do, now stop being a disrespectful little bitch and show your family that you respect them.”
Outrage and pissed off protest sound all around the Den while Snake forces his way back into the circle. “What the fuck is this?” he demands, lifting a hand and shoving it into my shoulder, sending me falling back against the bar as he stares down Russo. “I’ve stood by your side ever since the beginning. That spot is mine. I haven’t been your ‘yes man’ for nothing.”
Russo growls as he reaches for his gun and presses it against Snake’s head. “You’re a fucking disgrace,” he roars. “You betrayed your brothers today. It was your actions that had four of our men lying on the ground, perishing in front of the Widows home like animals. You will never lead my people.”
Snake ignores the gun at his head as though it’s a common occurrence and jams his finger into Russo’s chest. “You’re going to regret this,” he announces before smacking the gun away and turning his back. He walks away, shoving through the crowded bodies until he’s flying out the door.
Russo finally releases his steel grip on my wrist, and all eyes slice to me. Jaren and Christian instantly appear at my sides, getting a discreet nod of approval from Russo as we stand as one, facing the Wolves front on.
Some scoff at the sight while others narrow their eyes, not liking what they're seeing, and honestly, I don't fucking like it either. I can’t be the leader of a fucking gang, let alone the one who’s at war with the Widows. I don’t belong here, and looking out at the men standing before me, they don’t think so either.
I go to move away but Christian jams his hand into my back. “Don’t fucking turn your back. Stand until the last man has walked away unless you’d prefer to get a bullet through the back of your head.”
Fuck me.
Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow it down over and over again as I stand tall against these men. Neither Christian nor Jaren moves a muscle until the last Wolf has walked away. I choose to honor this fuckery purely out of respect for Russo, assuming that there are reasons for why he did what he did. Hell, maybe he thinks that Nic won’t stand against the Wolves while I’m at the top of the leaderboard, but if that’s what he thinks, he’s fucking wrong. It will only push Nic further.
Once everyone is out of hearing range, Russo finally turns to me with a grin ripping across his face. “You better watch your back, girl,” he says in amusement. “Your boy has fucked with the wrong man.”
Russo turns his back as a chill sweeps down my spine.
I’m in fucking trouble here.
The second Russo is gone, the bile rises again, and this time, I can't hold it down. I race for the bar and throw myself over it before finding an old bucket and throwing up everything in my stomach.
Ten minutes later, I sit at the bar with my head in my hands and Christian sitting beside me while Jaren refills my third glass of water.
Jaren places the glass down in front of me. I take it with both hands, watching as the water inside jostles around with my movements. “I can’t do this,” I murmur for only them to hear as Christian scans the room again, waiting for the threats to come at me. “I only just turned eighteen, and I don’t even want to be in this stupid gang. I’m fucking pregnant. Can’t Russo see how fucked up this is?”
Jaren grunts. “I think he’s counting on it,” he tells me bluntly, not sparing my emotions. “He’s hoping you fuck it up and the boys deal with you themselves. Keep it clean and private, so your rich friends can’t get involved.”