Wallstreet locked eyes with Cleo. He nodded respectfully. “And while I’m mentioning people, I can’t forget you, Ms. Price.”
She froze.
“Killian did an incredible job, but you were fundamental in making him become the man he is. So I extend my gratitude.”
Cleo pursed her lips. “It was nothing.”
Taking a pull on my beverage, I fortified myself with things to come.
Wallstreet was never one to bounce around a topic. He’d been that way since I met him and I doubted he would ever change.
Sure enough, he dismissed Cleo and looked around the room with purpose. “Along with running my MC, Kill was tasked with another mission. As you all know, our goals far exceed turf wars and controlling trading routes. Through Kill’s undying fealty, Pure Corruption has extended to chapters not just in the States but all around the world. We have allies in other Clubs, staunch supporters in other presidents, and that’s just the beginning. We’ve made friends with governors, become bedfellows with journalists and people in media power. We’re exactly where we need to be to deliver our final strike of justice.”
The Club grew serious. Beers were forgotten; excitement laced the air.
My skin prickled as I waited with the rest of the men for Wallstreet’s next speech.
“I’m so proud of what you’ve achieved. So impressed to see a blended mix of old rules and new—not to mention the wealth accumulated while I’ve been gone. This is the finest fucking Club I’ve seen and it’s all a testament to Kill.”
Members toasted in my honor.
Cleo smiled lovingly, blowing me a kiss.
My cock twitched, wanting a rerun of what’d just happened.
“However,” Wallstreet said, halting the happy thread buzzing around the room.
The bikers and their women tensed, sensing a change in direction.
“I have to do something that pains me today.”
Grasshopper dropped his eyes, shadows darkening his face.
Cleo gasped, her gaze accusing.
Wallstreet cleared his throat. “No matter how much I value Kill’s efforts and appreciate all he’s done for this Club, he can no longer be your president.”
The Club sucked in a collected breath. “What?”
“No … that’s …”
The words didn’t hurt nearly as much as I’d imagined.
This was my family. But I wasn’t being cast out—in fact, it was the exact opposite.
“No! We don’t want him—”
“We want a vote!”
I held up my hand. “I appreciate your loyalty but there’s nothing to discuss.”
Besides, even if I didn’t want this, Wallstreet’s word was law. There was no board to contradict him. No voting required. Wallstreet was the board with the majority vote.
By stripping my rank, he wasn’t making me homeless. He wasn’t casting me out with nowhere to go.
He was making my future infinite.
Cleo balled her hands, baring her teeth. “I knew you had an ulterior motive! How could you do that? Let him create you an empire then shove him out the moment you’re freed?”
Other men and women shifted, confusion coloring their faces.
Before me, I saw the truth. I might’ve taken over this Club against people’s wishes. I might’ve inherited Wallstreet’s followers and fought tooth and fucking nail to get them to follow me, but now … the tables had turned.
This was my Club. My members. They were loyal to both of us.
Wallstreet shook his head. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Ms. Price.” Looking at me, a flicker of concern appeared. “We discussed this. We agreed this was the best way. However, if you’ve changed your mind, Kill …”
I finished my beer. “No. I haven’t changed my mind.”
I want this.
Wallstreet relaxed, pride once again glowing in his eyes.
I’d been waiting for this day for four years. I feared I’d resent him—that I wouldn’t handle being forced into a new career. But surprisingly, I felt … fine. It was right. It was the perfect end to this reign and the perfect beginning to another. “I’m ready for this. Truly.”
Grasshopper looked mortified. “Kill, you have to know Pure Corruption is yours. You’re our prez.”
Wallstreet held up his hand. “Actually, he’s not anymore.”
The room went deathly silent.
I’d just been stripped of my patch in front of every brother I ruled.
It should’ve been fucking horrifying. A death sentence.
But it wasn’t, because I knew more than them.
It all came back to the “more” obsession. Wallstreet knew me better than I knew myself. He was doing me a fucking favor.
I wasn’t losing my family. I would still be welcome. Still loved and permitted to sit in Church and my opinions would still hold power—I’d been promoted rather than demoted.
“So you’re taking back the chair?” Matchsticks asked Wallstreet.
Wallstreet grinned. His trimmed black eyebrows were the only pigment left compared to the snowy hair on his head. “Nope. You’ll have a new president.”
All eyes turned to Grasshopper.
Wallstreet raised his glass. “This is your new prez. My one true heir. My flesh and fucking blood.”
Instead of looking proud and humbled, Grasshopper ran a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry, Killian.”
Tossing my empty bottle to the side, I shook my head. “Nothing to be sorry for.” Shrugging out of my cut, I passed it over. “Here. No fucking apologies required. I always knew this was a temporary gig.” When he continued to stare at the leather, I threw it at him. “Take it. It’s yours.”