“And?” Bull asked.
“And don’t you want to know how I did it? How I got rid of my cartel problem? We all know they’re all around us all the time,” William said.
His eyes went wide, almost as if he was a little crazy.
“I didn’t think friendly chat was up for discussion.”
“Yeah, well, I feel the cartel has too much of a hold on everyone and everything. What you’ve got to be willing to do is fight to the death.”
“Fight to the death?”
“Yeah, when I intended to take my city, the only goal was to be the last man standing. That’s what I did. I took on their best men, slaughtered each and every one of them. Any time I get a sniff of cartel interference, they don’t get time to talk. They’re dead.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Bull asked.
“I’ve rid the world of a dangerous man or woman. Evil comes in all forms, Bull. Don’t forget that.”
William snapped his fingers.
Bull hadn’t been willing to sacrifice Grant to rid himself of the cartel problem. He watched as William and his men climbed into their cars and drove out of town.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Grant asked, coming to his side.
“Don’t.”
“No, you don’t get to keep silencing me. What the fuck is going on? You should have killed that bastard.”
He glared at his brother. “Why? What good would that have done me?” He was getting tired of Grant questioning every single thing he did. It wasn’t funny. If anything, it pissed him off.
There was no logic in killing off William. That was now how alliances and business deals were made.
“We could have taken his city,” Grant said.
“You need to stop watching fantasy movies,” Bull said, stepping back into the main parking lot of the garage.
He moved toward Pat, who he was more inclined to make his VP. The only reason Grant carried the patch was due to a vote. The club felt his brother should be his VP. The Chaos and Carnage was forged on Reynolds blood, and the men felt it should stay within the family, but Grant didn’t have what it took to run the club. There was too much of their father in Grant’s veins. Grant clearly needed to prove himself, and Bull didn’t have time to beat the shit out of his brother to get him in line.
“Don’t walk away from me, brother,” Grant said.
Bull closed the file and turned to his brother, brows raised. “What do you want?”
“I want to contest for leadership,” Grant said.
The tension in the men who were present was palpable.
They wanted Grant to be VP due to him being family, but he was in no position to take the spot as Prez. They all knew it, and Bull knew it as well.
“Be careful,” Pat said.
“I don’t give a fuck. You should have killed him,” Grant said. “You all agree with me.”
Every single man was shaking their head.
Bull put the file into Pat’s arms. “You want to fight for this club, then we fight.” He removed his leather cut, putting the jacket in Pat’s hands as well. “We do it here and now.”
“No, we do it back at the clubhouse,” Grant said.
“No, we’re doing it now.” He wasn’t going to wait another minute to deal with his brother. Grant was always like this. Thinking he knew best. Shouting from the rooftops to be heard. Always trying to prove himself, but what for, Bull didn’t fucking know.
He stepped up to his brother. “I suggest you get the first punch in, brother, because you’re not going to get any more in.”
Grant glared at him, and Bull waited.
“You know I’m right.”
“Last chance.”
He didn’t fight, so Bull made it easier for him. He landed the first punch to Grant’s gut, which sent him forward.
Grabbing the back of Grant’s head, he gripped his hair and then landed a blow to his face.
Grant scrambled back. Blood already leaked from his lip.
Bull wasn’t even out of breath as he waited. There was no way he could let Grant’s threat of leadership contest slide. Any other man would have been forced to see it through. Now that Grant had even suggested he didn’t trust Bull, he had to prove he was stronger, that he knew what he was doing, and that he could take care of the club.
With each blow he landed on Grant, the angrier he got. This was what he’d been trying to get Grant to not do. There was no room for them to fight. The club was supposed to belong to them.
Grant got in a few blows, but Bull was the one who wasn’t out of breath, not injured, and he was pretty sure he’d cracked one of Grant’s ribs.
It was only when Grant screamed that he submitted, that he had failed, that he stopped pounding on his brother.
Bull stepped back. “There is a reason you don’t go killing every single person in sight. That man is a fucking legend in his city. He is known for removing his opponents by killing them. His brother was on our turf. It meant he owed us for not killing his brother. You need to learn to pick your own fucking battles.”