Bonnie felt a flicker of warmth.“Thanks.It felt good.”
“Good.Because I’ve got something else for you to think about.”Mason paused, the way he always seemed to do when he was about to drop something big.“My sister Bethany runs Iron Indian Records—the label I started a couple of years back.She’s been handling management and touring for our signed acts.We just wrapped the comeback tour for one of our flagship bands, and the schedule’s opening up.I think you and your band would fit right in with what we’re building over there.Steady support slots, co-headline opportunities, real money instead of scraping by on bar guarantees.No more chasing every dive gig just to keep the van running.”
Bonnie’s pulse kicked up.“Mason...I don’t know what to say.That sounds incredible, but—”
“But you’ve got OY now too,” he finished for her, understanding in his voice.“I get it.That’s why I’m calling personally.Bethany’s already looked at your calendar.She thinks we can make both work.Iron Indian can help coordinate the dates so you’re not killing yourself trying to be in two places at once.You’d still have creative control over your band, but you’d have the label’s weight behind the logistics.Think about it.Talk to your guys.If it feels right, Bethany will reach out directly.”
He gave her a moment to absorb it, then added, “You’ve earned this, Bonnie.You and Vic both.Time to stop carrying everything alone.”
The line went quiet after he hung up.
Bonnie stared at her phone, heart hammering.
Iron Indian Records.
A real label.Real support.
And the first real chance she’d ever had to stop choosing between the music she loved and the life she was trying to build.
***
Bethany
Bethany Mason-Taylor stood at the window of her downtown Nashville office, watching the morning traffic crawl along Broadway.The city was already awake and hungry, the same way it had been every single day of her life.
From her first memories—hiding under the kitchen table while her father screamed at their mother—everything had always felt like skating a mere stone’s throw ahead of disaster.One wrong step, one missed payment, one more night where the shouting turned to broken glass, and the whole fragile thing would shatter.
She’d learned early on how to keep moving.How to smile through the fear.How to build walls so thick no one could see the scared little girl still hiding behind them.
Even now, with the label thriving and her brother Mason’s MC empire at her back, that old survival instinct never fully quieted.It was just quieter.
She turned away from the window and looked at the calendar on her desk.The comeback tour for the band her brother had signed was wrapping in three weeks.Everything was on track—ticket sales strong, merch moving, the band behaving for once.It should be a breeze.
For the first time in her thirty-eight years, Bethany was allowing herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, the disaster she’d spent her whole life outrunning had finally given up the chase.
She sat down and opened the file Mason had sent over last night.
Bonnie Dupont.
The guitarist’s résumé was impressive—raw talent, fierce independence, a band that had clawed its way up the same way Bethany had.And now she was tangled up with Vic Montrose and Occupy Yourself.Mason wanted her on the label.Wanted the coordination to work for everyone.
Bethany studied the photo attached to the file—Bonnie onstage, sweat-slicked and fierce, guitar slung low like a weapon.
She understood that look.The one that saidI will burn the world down before I let it burn me.
Bethany leaned back in her chair, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips.
Maybe this one wouldn’t be just another band to manage.
Maybe this one would finally feel like something she could build without waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She picked up her phone and dialed the number Mason had given her.
Time to see if Bonnie Dupont was ready for the kind of stability Bethany had spent her whole life fighting to create.
