Liz:
Thanks again. Your insight is always so spot on!
Brandy:
Thank you for keeping the characters and timelines right!
Thanks for being the greatest Ziggy EVER!
Mary, Gail, Trudy, and Carrie:
Thanks for your willingness to read and give feedback so quickly!
You are all so loved and appreciated!
Melody
I am famous, I am beloved, and I am miserable. I had my own television show as a kid, and I’ve sold over thirty million albums. I have it all. A great family who loves me, and more money than I’ll be able to spend in a lifetime. I should be happy. I should be content. But I’m spinning out of control, and no one can stop the whirling dervish when I tear into their lives. I don’t mean to ruin things. I just can’t seem to stop myself.
Train
I am currently the enforcer for an MC I’ve devoted my life to, but when a call comes to help protect the biggest pop star in the world, I start to question my devotion. Melody Morgan is one of the most beautiful and talented women on the planet, but she’s also a notorious pain in the ass and has driven every employee she’s had to the brink of insanity or attempted murder. I am reluctant to volunteer, but if I succeed in completing the assignment, it means a much-desired promotion.
There are just two rules. Don’t fuck up the job, and don’t fuck her.
For Alecia Moore
You are a constant source of inspiration and I adore you.
Train
I walked through the great room of the club just as one of my president’s kids, Flash, chucked a soda bottle at the wall, letting out a “Fuck!” as the glass shattered. I held up my guitar case to shield myself from the flying shards.
“You got a problem with that wall in particular or were you aiming for me?”
Flash faced me, dragging his hands through his hair. “Sorry, man.”
“It’s okay, kid. I’ve had plenty of bottles hurled in my direction, but I was always either on stage or opposite a pissed off woman, and either way, I’d earned it.”
Flash looked like his old man, but he also had a touch of his mother’s softness about him. He was a good-lookin’ kid and always teased Hatch that with a face like his, he could skip paying some fancy high college tuition and send Flash to California to model or act. But the truth was, Flash was plenty smart, and his head was already in the clouds. He’d been obsessed with aviation since he was a toddler, and all he ever wanted to do was fly. Planes, helicopters, anything that took him into the air.
“Club, school, or girls?” I asked.
“It’s nothin’,” he grumbled. “Forget about it. Hey, you workin’ out?”
“Was about to, yeah. Wanna work off whatever the fuck’s eatin’ at ya?”
“Yeah. Think that’d be a good idea. I’ll clean this shit up and meet you out there.”
I gave him a chin lift and made my way out to the gym. Hatch had made a number of changes since Crow had passed him the President’s patch. The club owned several acres of a commercial block in Beaverton that we used for our club headquarters and autobody shop. Hatch had turned some unused outbuildings into a gym, bunkhouse, and storage. Anything we or our families needed, was at our disposal, and if we wanted to add shit, we just had to speak up and it would be addressed at church.
Hatch had been my mentor since I’d patched in at eighteen. Of course, that had always seemed inadequate in my description of him, because he was more like a father to me. A hell of a lot more than my actual father had ever been.
I walked into the gym, flipping on the lights as I moved through the room, then setting up the weight bench just as Flash walked in.
“All good?” I asked.
He sighed. “I have no idea.”
“Tate?”
Tate Burke had been Flash’s best friend since they’d sat next to each other on the kindergarten school bus. They lived a block or two away from each other and you never saw one without the other.
Flash nodded. “Tate’s mad at me. She’s always mad at me right now.”
Poor bastard.
“Fuck, sorry, kid.”
The Wallace men felt their shit deep. Hatch’s love for Maisie was evidence of that, so it was no surprise his boys were the same. His youngest son, Jamie, wore his heart on his sleeve, but Flash was a little less emotional, so the fact he was sharin’ with me showed he trusted me, and I’d never take that for granted.
“Yeah. I’ll figure it out,” he said with a confidence I didn’t really believe he felt.
“You gonna run or lift?” I asked.
“I ran this mornin’,” he said. “Figured you could help me with the weights. I wanna make varsity, so I need to build up some muscle.”
I grinned. “You got it.”
My love of lifting goes back almost as far as my love of playing music or motorcycles. Growing up, I’d always been one of the biggest kids in my class, so was immediately pegged for the wrestling team in the seventh grade. By the middle of high school, many of the competitors I’d dominated over the years were catching up to me size-wise. I figured I’d better start gaining muscle before they started wiping the floor with me, and so I started lifting almost every day.
After a while, body building became more important to me than wrestling, so I quit the team and began competing in junior events. At the same time, I was busy playing in local bands. Usually as a guitarist, but sometimes filling in for an absent drummer or bass player. A couple of times I’d even found myself doubling as a musician and a bouncer at the same night club. Mind you, I was seventeen or eighteen years old at the time. I wasn’t even old enough to be in the place, and there I was tossing drunks and cracking skulls in between sets. The regular bouncers were all bikers who rode with the Dogs of Fire MC. They took a shine to me and my band, and always made sure no one fucked with us or our gear.
After several years of competing in any body building contest I could enter, I was sick to death of pushing my body to the brink for an $800 check, a plastic trophy, and bragging rights. I’d had enough and decided to focus all my attention on music instead. The constant lifting had made my joints swell to the point of jeopardizing my ability to even pick up a guitar and it just wasn’t worth the risk of losing the ability to play. I eased up on the workouts and took that time to focus my energy on writing and recording the best music I could.
I put every penny I’d saved from competing into a down payment and bought a small fixer-upper in downtown Vancouver, Washington. I built a modest but serviceable home recording studio and immersed myself into the world of audio production. I converted the basement into a combination drum room and gym dubbed “the dungeon,” as only pain and suffering occurred there.
I continued to stay in shape, but now enjoyed more of the things I loved including good wine, cheap beer, and a shit ton of red meat. I was also fortunate to have been able to pivot into a full-time career in music, writing and recording original music for film and television. Early on, I’d been especially fortunate in the field of commercials, writing and producing for several large ad campaigns, including a national spot for chocolate Yum Yums. Yes, I’m the guy you can curse every time the chocolate Yum Yums’ jingle gets stuck in your head.