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One
Can’t Stop the Feeling
War
“War?” A rugged voice crackles on the other end of the phone line.
I recognize fellow Satan’s Pride club member, Guard’s voice immediately. “Yeah?”
“Ava wants The Smoking Guns for the party—including Maddie.”
Sighing deeply, I’m dreading the way this conversation is going to go. “I tried, man. You know I would do anything for Ava, but their guitarist, Maddie’s brother, Paul, said she isn’t into it.”
Guard and his old lady Ava’s anniversary party is set to be the biggest and baddest the Satan’s Pride MC had ever thrown. But I’m having trouble securing Ava’s favorite band, The Smoking Guns. The celebration is to be a coming together of all the neighbouring MCs.
It all started when Ava risked her life to protect her man and the members of Satan’s Pride against a rival club. This made Ava the “Queen” of old ladies. When a woman dedicates herself to the Pride and her love, she becomes a sister to all.
“Listen, War,” Guard’s tone is stern, “My wife is pregnant and moody. This is our first anniversary and her only request is for Maddie and The Smoking Guns. You need to make it happen! Offer more money. Find a way—keep it friendly though,” he adds, stressing the friendly part.
“I was friendly. Her brother says she’s really shy and only does a few concerts a year these days. Apparently, some asshole took her and held her hostage. Did enough damage that she doesn’t want the gig. I offered more money; she’s doesn’t want that either. I offered connections and she doesn’t want those. Paul says she just wants to make music. Fuck if I know what that means.” I’m fed up with the whole thing. I’m used to getting what I want when I want it without negotiating. The whole concept of “asking nicely” has been torture to my badass biker soul.
“Take a meeting with Paul. I’ll come too. Make it tomorrow afternoon.”
I have a feeling Guard isn’t going to take no for an answer.
We arrive at the only decent recording studio in the area the following day. The simple décor with clean simple furniture consists of a coffee brown reception desk, several chairs, and sofa in cream and tan off to the right. To accent the simplicity are green ferns and plants throughout the small area. In behind the reception is a hallway that leads to the actual studios.
“Hey guys,” Paul greets us, extending his hand to shake each of ours as he heads toward us. I know we look intimidating; two brawny bikers wearing official Satan’s Pride jeans, t-shirts, and motorcycle boots, along with our MC vests. We figured a little visual intimidation couldn’t hurt.
“Hey,” Guard growls, nodding toward Paul as he approaches. “Listen, we wanna talk to you about that gig the MC wants to book.” He pauses before continuing, his tone suddenly more determined. “We need the whole band to be there. Anything else is not acceptable. My wife wants, and deserves, the best and I intend to give her just that.”
Paul takes a step back, eying us with the look of a man who doesn’t want to piss off the biggest MC in the area. Satan’s Pride has a reputation and although the club has made an effort to help the town, nobody wants to get on our bad side.
Paul raises his hands in a calming manner. “I’ve tried to reason with Maddie,” he says, keeping his voice low. “I don’t know what else I can do. You think we don’t want your money or this gig? We do. Maddie doesn’t. I’m at my wit’s end.” He pauses to run a hand through his hair. “My sister only wants to make music here in the studio. Concerts are something she limits because she hates doing them.”
“Let me talk to her,” Guard requests, though it sounds more like a demand. He stands with his legs slightly parted, his arms crossed over his massive chest.
Paul runs a hand down his face, clearly frustrated. “You’re not listening to me. This gig would scare the hell out of her. Maddie is skittish. Some shit went down at a concert a couple of years back and ever since, Maddie doesn’t feel safe up on stage. When we told her this gig would be for a bunch of drunk, rowdy bikers, she vetoed the whole thing. Normally we vote, but Maddie dug her heels in and though she thinks we’re the show and she’s an add-on, she’s the main vocal sound. We have tried everything and even promised her she would never be alone. We told her that she could leave immediately afterward. I don’t know what else to do.” Paul throws his hands in the air in frustration. “The rest of us can be there if you want us.”
“Where is she?” I ask, finally breaking my silence. I’ve let Guard do the talking because I’ve had my fill of “nice” conversations since the negotiations with Paul began. I am tired of playing games.
“In there, recording.” Paul points to the studio. “She’s very vulnerable right now. She has been ever since the incident. Definitely not the rocker chick everyone sees on stage or in the videos. She only does that when it’s necessary to promote our image.” As Paul leads us into the recording booth he says, “I am really proud of how she has fought back the fear and steps out on the stage when she does. She is a survivor. If you stand in this spot, she won’t see you.” He points to a place in the booth and Guard and I move to it.
Paul hits the microphone that broadcasts into the recording room. “Maddie, can you do the last verse for me again? I wanna check the sound.”
Maddie turns around and I suddenly find myself speechless. My mouth is dry. She looks much younger than her twenty-nine years. A natural beauty for sure, with long auburn hair and natural curls that reach down her curvy figure to touch her lower back. Her eyes are huge and a brilliant shade of blue. Her perfect full lips look like they were made for kissing. As I watch her, she bites down on the lower one, as though she’s tempting me. I admire her simple boy-cut jeans and loose-fitting, black, capped-sleeve top as she approaches the microphone looking petite compared to the pair of blonde model-type backup singers.
“Ready?” she asks quietly.
“On three.” Paul holds up his hand and counts them down. 1-2-3.
The smooth, sexy, soulful voice that emerges from such a tiny woman hits me like a sledge hammer; I am completely drawn into her. I can’t tear my eyes away.
Midnight warrior, you’re what I need.
Fire feeds your existence,
Lead me on, oh baby, lead me home to you.
