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“Kid can’t be over sixteen, Prez. Maybe seventeen,” a big man said, stepping away from a tree to my left. The man also had a shaved head, but scruffy stubble almost as if he forgot to shave.
“I was thinking the same thing, Indigo,” Hawk stated, never taking his eyes off me.
“He’s telling the truth. He doesn’t talk. He rarely ever goes into town. When he does, he never speaks to anyone. Just buys what he needs and leaves. He spends most of his time here, watching the stars. He doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t drink. Doesn’t even have a cell phone. Hell, Prez, the kid doesn’t have identification. All he has is a very nice Dyna Glide that’s registered to a man named Travis William McNamara from Florida. The cut on his back states what club he’s affiliated with. He has an account at the Nations Bank with over a million at his disposal. Only he takes out twenty bucks at a time. Kid’s frugal.”
Hawk’s eyes narrowed. “No, Indigo. I think the kid is more than that. He may not talk, but my gut is telling me he knows exactly what’s going on around him. What do you think, Logic?”
A man standing behind Hawk stepped around him, walking right over to me. Scurrying back, I stopped when my back hit a tree. Aiming my gun at the man with spiked white-blonde hair, I flipped the safety off.
“I wouldn’t do that, son,” Hawk growled.
The man, called Logic, kneeled in front of me, not touching as he tilted his head to the side his silver eyes bored into mine. I didn’t know what the man was looking for, but when his eyes narrowed, I stiffened. “Prez, the kid’s eyes tell a story of deep pain and suffering. I see torture and abuse. Nasty shit, Prez. This kid has survived hell and lived.”
“Then he’s one of us,” Hawk sighed. “Indigo, who is this, Travis Macnamara from Florida?”
The man called Indigo, pulled out a phone and started typing into it. I wanted these men gone. The sooner they left, the faster I could leave. There were too many of them. I didn’t like the way they looked at me. Especially the one called Logic.
He saw too much.
“Toxic,” I growled lowly as Logic smirked.
“Oh, the kid doesn’t like that name. Not one bit, Prez.”
“This Toxic your dad?” Hawk asked.
I shook my head, refusing to say anything more.
“He’s the one?” Logic whispered only so I could hear, staring at me. “Isn’t he?”
I gulped.
Logic’s eyes narrowed and hardened as he stood. “The kid is innocent. This Toxic is the one who abused the kid.”
“So, he’s running. Instead of his club protecting him, they cut him loose. Motherfuckers.”
“Got it,” Indigo said. “Travis William McNamara, also known as Toxic, is the President of the Florida Chapter of the Golden Skulls Motorcycle Club. Uh, Prez, you need to see this.”
Indigo moved fast, showing his phone to Hawk.
As Hawk read from Indigo’s phone, I saw his shoulders stiffen. He didn’t like what he was reading. I wanted to ask what he saw, but I stayed silent, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself.
When Hawk handed Indigo back his phone, the President of the Disturbed Disciples looked at me and asked, “Are you hungry, kid?”
Tilting my head to the side, I wondered if this was some joke.
“Grab your shit and follow me,” he added, getting to his feet, walking away. I looked up at Logic and Indigo as the other men silently disappeared into the darkness.
“Come on, kid. The Prez doesn’t like waiting for dinner,” Indigo said, holding out his hand for me to take.
I don’t know why I did it, but for the next few years, I found myself a member of the Disturbed MC.
“Sandman,” Bullseye snapped his fingers, getting my attention. “I asked you a question. How do you know this Indigo and the Disturbed Disciples MC?”
Shrugging my shoulders, I muttered. “Just know them.”
“How?”
“Lived with them for a while after I left Florida,” I said as I removed the leather cuff on my right hand that I always wore. Placing the cuff on the table, I turned my wrist and showed my brothers what I kept hidden.
