Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
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.”
“But, Art …,” Cleo said.
I held up my hand, silencing her. She didn’t know the full story yet. Patience was always a virtue in these situations.
Wallstreet nodded as Grasshopper reluctantly slipped off his cut and yanked on the one labeled prez. He’d have to stitch over my name but it was official.
I was no longer a president. Just like that.
Grasshopper swallowed. “The position is yours, Kill. I’m content to remain your VP—”
“No, he can’t,” Wallstreet interrupted. “Kill can no longer be seen to be associated with this Club.”
“Why the hell not?” Cleo snarled. She moved forward, anger and unhappiness painting her face. I loved that she was pissed on my behalf, but this wasn’t a betrayal.
This was a favor.
“Because the next part of my life can’t mix underworld with glossy pages of newspapers.” I smiled. “I can’t be president and politician.”
How could I let her see that this was the sacrifice I was willing to make to ensure I found happiness? The Club had given me everything I needed: revenge and a home. But I’d made an oath when I was a kid and made Wallstreet promise the same.
I’d made him swear that if I did this for him, then he would do something for me.
I would run his Club. I would be his leader in his stead but when he was free, I wanted out. I’d been born into this lifestyle. But I didn’t intend to die in it.
I had too much more to experience to stay in one role forever.
That had been the final seal on our bargain: Wallstreet wanted a stand-in … I wanted a ready-made army. We both had higher goals that required sacrifices, both wanted the same thing.
Cleo’s eyes burned into me but I didn’t look at her. I would cherish and protect her. I would keep her in my heart always. But it was time for a change. It was time for something more.
“You’ll still see a lot of Kill,” Wallstreet said, smoothing ruffled feathers and concluding his upheaving speech. “He’s forever welcome in our homes, our hearts, our Club. He will always be a Pure, but privately not publically. We’re family and will always be family, just like Cleo will forever be one of us, too.” Wallstreet glanced at Cleo’s jacket. She’d slipped it on after we’d sneaked away. “You wear our emblem and oath, Ms. Price. I would never take that allegiance or home away from you. I know your past. I know the loneliness of being stripped of friends and love.” He placed his hand on his heart. “You have my ultimate word your ranking within Pure Corruption will not change. Killian will always be respected and listened to but from now on, we will no longer call him prez … with time and luck we’ll hopefully be calling him senator and he’ll be ruler to thousands.”
The gruffness and authority in his tone melted into love and pride. “Kill will give others what he’s given us. And that is a fucking hero in my book.” Opening his arms, he embraced me like a son and friend.
I hugged him back, feeling the weight of the past eight years fizzing away with every heartbeat. This was what I’d been searching for.
I knew the goals of becoming a true senator would be hard—if not impossible. Every aspect of my past would be used against me. The newspapers would have a fucking lifetime of ammunition with my background—but it wouldn’t stop me from trying. I didn’t need the title to become a leader in politics.