Page 22 of Deranged (American Street Kings 3)

“Part of a VP’s job is to step in and make decisions when the president isn’t around. I can’t do that. I need to distance myself from a leading role in this crew.”

“Oh, my God.” I pulled my palm down my face, almost smiling at how fucked up all of this was. “I can’t believe this. You don’t even want to be VP?”

“It’s not about what I want. It’s about making the best decision for this crew, which is why I’ll be nominating Dutch for VP.”

Dutch blinked with a look of surprise on his face. “What?”

Granite nodded. “If you take the vice president seat, and everyone agrees, I’ll be taking your role as the club’s enforcer.”

I straight-out laughed. “This is fucking ridiculous. I can’t even—” I leaned my head back and looked up at the ceiling in disbelief of what the fuck was happening right now.

“Listen, guys,” Granite started, placing his elbows on the table, clutching his hands, “I know it’s a lot of changes, but the day I took my dad’s place, I vowed to take care of this club as best I could. Today, I’m doing just that.” He leaned back. “I made a deal with the devil to save my old lady. Did I do the right thing? Yeah. Would I do it again? Hell, yeah. But even though this is happening under these fucked up circumstances, I know this is the right thing.” He thumped his fist against his chest. “I can feel it in here. This. Is. The right thing. And we will make sure those Python fuckers bleed for all they’ve done to us.”

Silence settled around the room. Like a virus, it infected the air around us, and the amount of tension that was raging among us was almost crippling. No one said a word, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Clearly, none of us wanted it to be this way, but as I looked at my brother, I knew this was probably harder for him than it was for any of us.

He looked at me, and I gave a slight nod to the gavel at his right. It was time, even if we didn’t want it to be.

Granite took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and placed his hand on the gavel.

“Everyone’s had time to think about this. In the matter of Onyx becoming the new president of the American Street Kings, Dutch taking his place as vice president, and me becoming the club’s new enforcer, I say…” he glanced at me, “yea.”

His words beat against my heart like a drum, heavy with the sacrifice my brother was making all because he was hellbent on protecting everyone he cared about it.

Granite looked over at Ink, and Ink nodded. “Yea.”

“Yea.” Manic followed without hesitating.

Dutch’s head was hanging down, hands clasped together in a fist on the table. It would have taken a special kind of stupid for anyone to miss the fact that this was just as hard for Dutch as it was for us. Dutch had been at the top of Granite’s fan club for fuck knew how long. He loved my brother, respected him, and this had to be one of the toughest things he had ever had to do.

He looked up and right at Granite, saying, “Yea,” yet his eyes said the exact opposite.

When Granite turned my way, I couldn’t get myself to say that one simple word. I couldn’t get it out of my fucking mouth because my heart wouldn’t let me.

“Onyx,” Granite urged, and I rubbed the back of my neck. This was one of the hardest votes I ever had to cast. It was such a simple word that carried so much weight, tearing me up on the inside.

I dropped my arm. “Yea.”

Granite nodded lightly, the expression on his face unreadable. I never knew how he did that, how he was able to hide everything he felt behind the stone look on his face. But it had to be hell to hold everything inside, to never let an emotion slip past that cold, hard exterior he wore around him so boldly.

He picked up the gavel, and I was sure it was one of the heaviest things he ever had to hold. And the second that gavel hit the table, the sound resonated with a dire thud, changing our future.

No one made a sound. No one moved. The moment was too heavy—for all of us.

Granite cleared his throat as he stood from his seat, letting his cut slip off his shoulders. He placed it on the table in front of him, his hand hovering over the president tag. After tracing a single finger over the fabric, Granite yanked it off, tearing it at the stitches. “This tag was on dad’s cut. I didn’t want a new one, so I pulled it off his cut after he died.” He held it out to me, his eyes gleaming with sorrow, yet there was a hint of pride as he stared down at me. “Now it’s yours.”

I stood and hesitated before I took the tag from him. “Even though I accept this, doesn’t mean I like it.”

“I know. We all know. But this is the right thing.”

“You keep saying that.”

“It’s because I know it.”

There was a bitter taste stuck in the back of my mouth as I stared at the tag. “I, um…” I swallowed. “I’ll always look up to you, Granite. And even though I’ll be wearing this tag, to me, you’ll always be the leader.”

Granite shook his head. “No. You are the leader now, and you need to accept that fact.”

He moved to the side, making way for me to take the seat at the head of the table. The fucking chair was taunting me, like it knew how hard it was for me to make this move. This final move that would seal my acceptance as president and my fate as leader.

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