Troubled and Careless

It started as another normal day in Greenhill Springs.
Utterly boring.
Dog walkers in the early summer sun, the milkman making too much noise on the doorsteps, and myself... running. Yep I'm one of them people. The early runners. The ones that typically find the dead bodies of those who run at night- from yours truly, crime shows.
Now Greenhill Springs isn't like your typical small town that you hear about- people actually want to stay here due to some new activity in the town. This particular new activity to put it bluntly scares the shit out of me.
The Iron Rage MC.

To his left stood a boy looking around my age maybe a little older around seventeen, eighteen. He gave out the vibes of tall dark and handsome. He wore black combat boots, black jeans with a rip in them, a white shirt that was clearly a size too small and clung to his slightly muscular arms and chest, and covering his back was that stupid sleeveless leather jacket that was also black- this guy was asking for heat stroke.

His skin was tan with a hint of ink covering the left side of his neck. His lips were full and moving-
Wait what?
"-you?"
"Huh?"
"I said are you Margaret? If not who are you?"