Kansas (Ruthless Kings MC Atlantic City #2) - K.L. Savage Page 0,36
a black Kings emblem on the back and my name on the front left side of my chest. I slip on my boots and don’t bother tying them before I swing the door open.
Arrow is standing right in front of my door, a tiny fucking red straw in his mouth while he holds an apple juice box that’s smaller than his hand. He looks like he could crush it with just a hard stare. His eyes lift from the ground, and when he sees me, he grins around his straw.
He has the worst habit of biting the very tip of it. I don’t know how he is able to get any juice through it. “Hey, Kansas,” he greets.
“Hey, brother.” I lean in and give him a quick hug and a few slaps on the back. Me, Arrow, and One-Eye all have a bond unlike anyone else here. Being a part of the old chapter and going through what we went through, it’s impossible not to be closer than the average people. We were strung up for weeks in that barn, and the only thing we had was each other to make sure we survived.
There was a time or two that One-Eye had us worried. They burnt his eye out and didn’t bother treating it. It got infected, and he lost consciousness a few times as the infection got into his blood.
It was by far the scariest fucking experience of my entire life. I’m not afraid of a lot of things, but those nights in the barn will haunt me forever.
“What’s Church about?” I ask him as we walk down the pathway. It’s covered in salt so the ice melts and none of us bust our asses. We would too if our ice-skating skills—or lack thereof—are anything to go off of.
“I don’t know. He just wanted me to round the troops. Plus, he wants to know how today went.”
“Fuck. I forgot to update him. That’s my fault.”
“I know. You were too eager to see your new little lady friend,” Arrow teases, peeking at me through the corner of his eye as he drinks his juice.
How is there any left in that little square box?
“Shut up,” I mumble, stuffing my hands in the hoodie pocket.
“I knew it. You like her!”
“Shut up,” I sing into the starry night.
“Hey, I think it’s great. I’ve never seen you with someone for longer than a night.”
“Just… let’s keep it to ourselves okay? I don’t want to fuck it up.”
“Why?” he asks.
He steps in front of me to block the door so I can’t open it. “Arrow,” I complain.
His brows push together, and his hand lands on my shoulder, lifting his gaze at me to catch my line of sight. “Why do you think you will? Does this have anything to do with your dad?”
“Aw, who has daddy issues?” Homer shuffles his feet along the icy ground, taking his time so he doesn’t slip and fall.
I roll my eyes and push Arrow to the side. “No one, let’s go meet Boomer. He isn’t going to wait forever.”
“Want some weed to cheer you up? I’ll give you an entire baggy. That’s like an eighth. That should last you a night,” Homer says, pushing between Arrow and me as I open the door.
“A night? That’s gotta be what, three or four joints? How much do you smoke, Homer?”
“What the fuck is it to you, boy scout?” he snips at me. “It’s for my fragile ego. I’m a delicate fucking flower.”
“Poison Ivy is not delicate, Homer.”
“Fuck you, Arrow. I’ll give you a reason to itch your ass! I’ll shove my foot so far up your—”
A loud pop and a small spark lands right at our feet shutting us up. The three of us lift our heads to see Prez standing there with a box of bang snaps in his hand. Without saying another word, he throws a handful at us, and they land right on our boots. We jump backward to try and get away from them, but he keeps throwing them until we are dancing.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Arrow swings Homer up into his arms, and Homer starts slapping Arrow in the chest. “Put me down. This is a bunch of damn hootenanny.”
“But your rice crispy bones!” Arrow shouts when the bang snaps pop against his juice box.
Boomer has impeccable aim.
“You piss me off.” Homer fights Arrow every step of the way, struggling against him, and Arrow is bending, squatting, stretching his arms so Homer doesn’t fall out of them.