Kansas (Ruthless Kings MC Atlantic City #2) - K.L. Savage Page 0,11

I’m lying. “He needs us back right now.” I hurry to the driver’s side to act like it’s an emergency. “Now, Homer. Now!”

“Okay, okay. Elise, I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll see you Friday for bingo, okay?”

The disappointment and understanding blooms across her face, and it makes me feel like a real shit bag for lying, but I’m thinking of her.

“Sure, Homer. I get it. Be safe. I hope everything is okay.” She waves, crosses her arms over her chest to keep herself warm, and begins to walk to her car across the lot.

Homer grabs the gray-plastic handle on the roof and groans as he hauls his ancient bones into the truck. He slams the door just as Elise drives off behind us in her green Prius.

“Thanks, Kansas.”

“Honestly, I didn’t do it for you. I did it for her. Elise is beautiful, and she likes you. She was about to ask you out, and you were going to break her heart. I couldn’t see that happen. Just tell her you aren’t interested, Homer. Stop taking her fucking weed and using her.” I slam the truck in reverse, a bit irritated. “And you know what, I don’t have a problem taking an older woman out. I might ask her to go to this steakhouse with me.” I turn the wheel as I back out of the spot, the tires crunching along a thin sheet of ice and bits of snow on the pavement.

“No.”

“No? Sorry to break it to you, Homer, but ‘no’ isn’t enough. I think Elise deserves better than the cold shoulder you’ve been giving her. She loses hundreds of dollars giving you all that green for free. You’re being a bastard,” I tell him honestly, curling my hands around the wheel tighter.

As I said, I’m protective of women.

“I like her, okay!” he yells at me. “Is that what you want to know? I like her, damn it. I don’t know what the hell to do about it.” He has tears in his voice as he stares at the windshield. “I haven’t been with anyone since Betsy. I feel guilty. It’s why haven’t done a thing about it. I took vows, Kansas. That should mean something.”

“Ah, Homer, Betsy would want you to be happy.”

“I don’t deserve to be. Not after how she died.”

“Homer, yes you do. What happened to Betsy wasn’t your fault. It was the old chapter. They killed her, not you. And I can bet anything that Betsy would say the same thing. Don’t spend the rest of your days alone, Homer.”

“I’m not alone. I have the club.”

I sigh as I turn the wheel, taking a left down the street where the clubhouse is. “You know that’s not what I mean.” There’s a difference between being with friends and then crawling into bed alone.

In the old Atlantic City chapter, before I got strung up in the barn and whipped within an inch of my life, there were only a few times where I hooked up with cut sluts. Everyone has an itch they always need to scratch and that’s why the club whores exist, but the club started bringing in young girls, kidnapping them, drugging them, that’s when I stopped messing around.

Even with the whores.

And the old Prez didn’t like that.

When he strung me up, all those nights I hung there wishing I were with someone I loved instead. So yeah, I’m not the biker that fucks biker bitches anymore.

I want my own woman. I want someone to curl up to at night.

And I want to be the little fucking spoon sometimes. I want to feel her arms wrapped around me too.

With all the effort I give to make others feel safe, I want to feel safe too.

I might be a big badass biker with tattoos, but my heart hasn’t turned to steel, no matter how many times I tell myself it has.

It’s soft.

I pull into the parking lot of the clubhouse and park. The bikes are still in the garage since it’s so snowy. Boomer doesn’t mind when we ride in winter, but he has a rule of ‘no bikes’ when there is ice and snow on the ground.

“Come on, Homer. Let’s go see what everyone else is doing.” I slide out of the truck, close the door, then run around to the other side to help Homer out. He opens his door, and I pick him up and set him on the ground. I’m too nervous for him to jump out. What if he breaks