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“One man does not make a club,” Savage growled. “What else aren’t you telling us?”
“When you guys aligned yourselves with the Soulless Sinners, you put bullseyes on your backs. Not every MC agrees with Montana and his club. They believe the fucker has too much power. Every fucking chapter of the Satan’s Angels has mobilized. Hundreds of chapters in the south want retribution for the massacre of Steel and his club that this club and the Soulless Sinners inflicted. Mostly, they want Sandman because of what he’s done for this club and countless others. While most of you know some of the story, the truth is that the Golden Skulls cultivated a killer. Honed him in the fires of hell. From the moment Toxic took him from Cassandra Montclair, that motherfucker sexually abused him, mentally raped his mind, and tortured him for sport. When Sandman killed seven of your brethren at sixteen, that was just the start of a long line of souls my son reaped for this club,” Hawk stated angrily, shaking his head in disgust. “To make matters worse, we didn’t realize the truth until it was too late.”
“Prez is right,” Logic jumped in. “I knew something deeply scared the kid, saw it the first time I looked into his eyes. The kid had blood on his hands. Only we didn’t know how much. During his time with us, we helped Soloman as best we could. Helped him get an education, helped him hone his fighting skills, and gave him a foundation he could stand on. But when he witnessed us killing Stanley Howser, he bolted.”
“Who?” Ink questioned.
“Our former accountant. Fucker was stealing from us,” Frost stated.
“Slimy bastard was using our money to pay for his gambling problem and his three ex-wives,” Saint growled.
“So, what was the problem?” I asked, confused.
“The problem was, Stanley was a whiny bitch who begged and pleaded for his life. We had the bastard tied up when Indigo put a bullet in his head. The kid saw everything,” Saint frankly said.
“He was unarmed,” Slaughter sighed. “Shit, it’s one thing for Sandman to know a fucker is guilty, but to witness an unarmed man die. Fuck! He probably thought you guys were no better than Toxic.”
“That’s what we think,” Hawk said. “Before we could explain, he took off. We’ve been looking for him ever since. But for him to reach out like he did, out of the blue the other day, tells me he’s second- guessing what he saw. I know my son. He’s many things, but scared isn’t one of them, and he was scared when he called me.”
“He’s right,” Slaughter sighed. “Talked with Sandman the other night when he yelled at Sunny. Brother barely talks above a whisper, but something rattled him big time the other night. Apparently, Sunny asked him to let the club handle Scab.”
“Which goes against his nature,” I sighed. “Fuck.”
“There is no fucking way Solomon will let this man walk,” Logic stated, speaking the truth. “He won’t stop until Scab is dead.”
“Sunny’s pregnant,” Savage muttered. “She almost lost the baby because of Scab. As it is, it’s still touch and go.”
“That changes things,” Indigo said, sitting up. “Prez, you know damn well the kid ain’t gonna walk away from this. Not after what we taught him. His priority would be to get Sunny and Soleil to safety.”
Logic ran from the room, leaving church as if his ass was on fire, which caused my brothers all to sit up and pay attention.
I was missing something.
Something big.
“What are all of you talking about?” I asked, looking at the members of Disturbed MC.
“Our number one rule,” Hawk said firmly. “Family above all others. Scab fucked up when he went after my daughter-in-law, but with her pregnant, that sealed his fate. No one fucks with Disturbed blood. We drilled that into Solomon. Secure then apprehend. He may be a brother in the Golden Skulls, but he is my son and Disturbed to the core.”
Logic ran back in moments later, shaking his head.
“They’re gone. All of them.”
“Where would he have taken them?” I asked, looking at the men around me as we all armed ourselves. This was Sandman. Our brother. There was no fucking way we were going to let him go hunting alone. Whether or not he knew it, he needed us. With every chapter of Satan’s Angels out hunting for him, he was a moving target and didn’t even know it.
“A place he felt the safest,” Frost, the VP of Disturbed said, strapping a Glock to his leg, reaching for extra clips.
“Then we’re fucked,” Slaughter said, loading his shotgun, cocking it to load a shell into the chamber. “Sandman’s a lone wolf. He could be anywhere. He spent eight years as a nomad. He knows where he’s welcome and not. Do you know how many fucking MCs there are in the United States? It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“Slaughter, think,” Digger said, walking over. “You know Sandman better than any of us. You two work together. You talk. Where would he go?”
“I have no clue.”
“It would need to be a place he knows he can defend. Some place where no one would think to look for him,” Indigo stated, strapping extra ammo to his body.
Ravage nodded, sliding his machete into its sleeve. “Indigo is right. It would need to be familiar to him, but defendable. Somewhere with multiple escape routes.”
“He’s taken her home.”
