Page 39 of Tick Tock, Boom!

“He’s got fire,” I said. “He’s got your blood. And he doesn’t play politics. He plays towin.”

Saddle nodded. “He’s respected. By us and new blood alike.”

“He’ll have a war on his hands,” Bulldog muttered.

“He’ll finish it,” Grimm shot back. “With all of us standing behind him.”

Bulldog finally looked up, eyes meeting each of ours, one by one. The room was silent yet thick with loyalty and brotherhood.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

I leaned forward; fingers laced.

“Yeah,” I said. “Because if we don’t move first, Rancid will.”

The words had barely left my mouth when the doors to Bulldog’s office slammed open.

Rancid stormed in like a loaded gun, eyes bloodshot and rage carved into every step. His cut was half unzipped, jaw clenched, fists balled so tight his knuckles blanched white.

“You motherfuckers think I’d actually allow this to happen?” he barked, voice cutting through the room like a damn chainsaw. “You think I’d just sit back and let you hand the club to some fuckingchild!”

No one moved. Not even Bulldog.

There was just a subtle shift in weight, the silent preparation of men ready to bleed for their President and their club.

“You voted without me? Without us!” Rancid snarled, gesturing at the men who had followed him in. “Without a fucking word?”

“This isn’tyourtable to vote at,” Guardian growled. A deadly sound that alerted us that he was ready for a fight.

Bulldog stood slow, calm, the way a storm gathers before it tears the sky open.

“You were never up for vote, Rancid,” he said evenly. “This ain’t about you.”

Rancid stepped forward, teeth bared. “The hell it ain’t. Everything’s about me now.”

“You think bringing in outside muscle makes you a leader?” Bulldog snapped, his voice rising now. “You ain’t leading shit. You’re divided the club with your bullshit delusions.”

“You’re too old and senile for this chair,” Rancid shot back. “Too slow. Too soft. This generation doesn’t follow ghosts, they follow fire.”

I stood, hand resting on my knife hilt, just in case.

“Then let’s see if you’ve got enough fire to back that mouth,” Bulldog growled. “Outside. Now!”

This was the way of club life. You wanted to fight for a seat, then you’d best be prepared not to get your ass dead.

We all followed into the yard, patches and prospects lining the gravel lot under the weight of bad blood.

Bulldog shrugged out of his cut and tossed it to Saddle without looking. Rancid did the same, pacing like a caged animal, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His men stood close,tooclose, watching like hyenas ready to pounce the second their alpha dropped.

“Let this be clean,” Bulldog warned. “One-on-one.”

“Fuck clean,” Rancid spat. “I’m not here for show—I’m here totakewhat’s mine.”

Bulldog took his stance, feet spread apart, fists up as he squared his shoulders. He may look older, but his fists had drilled holes in skulls before. His bones were marred with scars, and he looked ready to defend what was his.

He gestured a “bring it” motion and prepared to take anything that came at him, like a true leader.

The first punch came fast.

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