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Maddie’s face turns toward my six-foot-three-inch frame. She’d been avoiding eye contact with me before, but now solidly meets my gaze.
“You doubt he can protect you?” asks Guard.
“Um...no. I guess not.” Maddie replies hesitantly.
“Any problem taking this on, War?” Guard faces me, looking for the answer he already knows he’s going to get. Our friendship goes way back. He is secure in knowing that I would do anything for him.
“No problem,” I say simply, still staring at a very agitated Maddie. I make the decision right there, in that moment, that nothing will ever terrify Maddie again.
“Okay, then we’re done here. I’m going to make my wife’s day.” Guard looks at Maddie and smiles. “Thank you for making me a hero with my old lady.”
“Looking forward to protecting you, Kitten,” I utter as Guard turns away.
Maddie opens her mouth but doesn’t say a word.
Two
The Pick Up
War
It has been three weeks since we approached Maddie, leaving her stunned. I am sure she feels she was sledgehammered into performing at an anniversary party for a bunch of rough bikers and their posse. I am sure she had replayed the conversation in her head over and over again. She never actually agreed to anything. And yet, I was informed by Paul that she’s arranging the lineup of songs and running through the stage setups. Whether she agreed to the gig or not, Maddie wants the music to be fresh and solid. Paul says that Maddie prides herself on putting on a performance to be remembered.
I learned quite a bit from her brother; forever a perfectionist, Maddie has always been methodical and purposeful when putting together a kickass performance. Despite her recently developed stage fright, The Smoking Guns are continuing to gain in popularity, and Maddie knows that it has a lot to do with the quality of the music and ensuring concert-goers have an experience like no other.
No one would guess that “stage Maddie” and “everyday Maddie” were one and the same. It’s as if a totally different person emerges when the lights are flashing, the stage makeup serving as her mask, the applause her incentive to keep playing and singing.
But according to Paul, it’s definitely getting harder. Even prior to the abduction, she has never really been caught up by the insanity of it all. This uphill battle has been getting harder and harder. Paul says that Maddie doesn’t want to think about the past or talk about it—with anyone. It’s something the rest of the band is learning to live with, even if it’s unhappily.
I watched an interview from a couple of years back. They have the entire segment with the interviewer and Maddie sitting on her sofa with her knees to her chest, drinking a camomile tea and chatting. She talks about her brother, Paul. She tells the world that he’s so talented as their lead guitarist. She talks about growing up in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and how they’d both dreamed of leaving. What I learn from a deep search off the grid revealed an unhappier start. Their parents had been dead-set against any kind of music career, believing music was an immature dream. There were horrible fights, some had even turned physical, until Maddie turned seventeen. The arguments went from bad to worse; the words were becoming more heated. It wasn’t long before fists were flying, her brother took yet another beating, but refused to retaliate against his own father. Paul pulled Maddie into his beat-up jalopy that night and they finally left to pursue their music dream. They spent years working on making amends and now, managed to go home for major holidays, avoiding the topic of career and music all together. I think it’s all for show. They want to give the appearance they had a happy childhood. Their parents would never want it to get out that they abused their kids.
In the interview, Maddie went on to say that since two people didn’t make a band, she and Paul had actively looked for a bass guitarist, keyboard player, and drummer. Through open mic nights at a club, they eventually met Darren, Troy, and Alex, and soon, their band was complete. So began the glory of the Smoking Guns. She spoke about how she self-taught herself how to play each of the instruments and with the help of her bandmates, she was getting better and better. But her voice and her ability to write lyrics were her real passion and contribution to the group. They released a few songs and it wasn’t long before they had a following.
This heart to heart with Paul has been enlightening. We walk to Maddie’s door and I rap solidly on it. I can hear the pitter patter of her feet making their way to us. Paul aligns himself to the peephole, obviously a routine. I can see she is appeased when the door swings open. She immediately casts her gaze to Paul’s sandy brown hair and deep brown eyes.
“Hi,” Maddie says, as the door opens wider, she sees me standing right behind Paul, looking noticeably surprised.
“Hey, sis, you ready?” Paul takes a step in and Maddie watches as Paul and I waltz right into her apartment. I notice how compact the place is, or maybe it’s because my frame just enhances it smallness.
“Hey Maddie.” I say, looking deeply into her eyes as I flash a smile her way.
Maddie looks up at her one-man protection team and settles her shoulders before innocently sending a half-smile my way. She seems calm and relaxed. Maybe because of my large rugged frame or my don’t mess with me attitude, she feels safe. It could be that she senses my confidence. Or it could just be that I’m being calm.
I can see the flash of calm disappears and I can almost read her mind. She’s probably wondering, but can I really trust anyone?
I tower over Maddie. My huge arms would probably engulf her. I’m not stupid and I’ve had my fair share of women who comment on my looks. They seem to have a thing for my dark wavy hair that curls around the nape of my neck when I’m too lazy to go get it cut like now. The leather jacket and t-shirt just magnify the largeness of my body. I maintain myself and strive to always be at my fittest.
“Hi,” she says, avoiding my eyes. Instead, she looks down at my deep tanned motorcycle boots, then turns to Paul and asks, “Where is everyone else?”
“In the van. You ready?” Paul replies.
“Yes. Let’s go. We have a couple of hours to do sound check and a quick run through.” A certain confidence always seems to arise when Maddie talks business. I lift my brow, thoroughly amused.
“Get your stuff. Let’s move.” I rumble. Maddie hops at the sound of my deep voice as it vibrates through the room.
Exiting onto the curb, Maddie eyes the van and starts to walk over to it. I stop her with a firm hand, grasping her upper arm. She turns her head to see me holding onto her.
“You’re with me,” I tell her.
