Chapter 3
Hound Dog
10 years later
Y ou never know what the top feels like until you’ve reached it only to look and see that there’s more to conquer.
I was no longer Nash Lane or Nash Young in my world.
In the ten years that I made that decision and moved up in rank, we owned the city on our own terms. Sure there was some strife and hardships, especially when the Razor Hogs MC attempted to tell us that it was their city first. On top of that, the pandemic did not give any grace. Just like the world, we lost a few brothers and loved ones.
It was helpful to have Pop’s guidance and reminders of how it used to be. The Saint’s gave us a chance and thankfully through trial and error, things had been going according to plan. We opened a few legit businesses, night clubs, an indie recording studio, a few burlesque lounges, a couple art warehouses of rented spaces and other ventures.
When I set out to help create this chapter, I wasn’t letting up on making the city ours in the way of artists. If anything it was also the perfect cover up for the unlawful things that kept us involved with the businesses of “moving” things that needed to be moved. And if that included a few drug runs, we didn’t say no.
The only thing is I instilled rules like never selling on our property or to true addicts. It was too messy to try and cover up someone’s mistakes or habits.
I hadn’t touched music since I left that studio. Never had that inner muse and for the longest time it killed me. Time went on and that feeling disappeared. I surrounded myself with other distractions, some business and some pure pleasure.
The summer months were coming to an end which meant a few things; college was soon to be back in session, more last minute trips, and my favorite fall season coming. The fall nights meant better business with the temperatures dropping. Although every night seemed to be great with our businesses.
One of the first businesses we opened was the Blue Sax. I didn’t pick the name, that would be courtesy of my V.P, B.B, who was once Connor.
B.B had a wild idea one night to make a bar and lounge a nod to his love of the blues and a big ass middle finger to those that thought he would never do it. Those people are eating their words now.
The Blue Sax was known for their open mic Friday nights. So when I walked in one Friday night, it was like a typical Friday or so I thought.
“Prez, what are you doing here?” Stray, one of my members called from behind the bar. The place was looking packed for the open mic night. People brushed past to meet with friends, artists drummed their fingers on the tables waiting for their names to be called.
“Just came to do a pick up. Just helping Hank and one of the prospects tonight,” I told him as I went behind the bar as well, pouring myself a beer.
“What? The prospect screwed up the last drop?” Stray questioned as he served the patrons.
“Waylan is just a slow learner,” I huffed out.
“Why did you think that allowing your cousin to prospect would be the best?” Stray laughed. I shot him a look to not push the subject. I knew that it wasn’t the brightest idea involving family, especially young families to want to come be a part of the club. But Waylan was determined and still proving his worth.
I went to the back locked office to grab the partial deposits to bring back to the club so I could make the full deposits on the following Monday. I looked out at the Blue Sax, and the sense of accomplishment washed over me, reminding me that making the decision ten years ago had been worth it.
The system that I put into place worked, we made profits from the businesses, kept everyone happy and businesses a float. I did that. I took back control after all these years.
Everything was working and the club was thriving. I created that, I created this family, this community, and the name of the Saints struck fear to those that tried to take it away from me, from us.
Everything was blissful, the city was under our control and I couldn’t have asked for better brothers.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get very far that night. When I went to leave., Stray called me back over, his face twisted in annoyance.
“What now?” I growled out. His eyes darted between myself and whatever was behind me.
“Heads up boss man, had a few crowds coming in here harassing some of the singers. Had young Blaze settle them.”
Great, just what I needed.
Privileged college students coming down here to cause trouble in our bar. My eyes rolled so far in the back of my head they might as well have been stuck there.
“Blaze have any trouble?” I asked. Stray shook his head.
A sense of relief flooded through me. I didn’t need any trouble. I didn’t want to test the boundaries between us and our cop friends.
I looked behind me and saw the crowded table of polo shirts wearing boys, bending down to hear what the others were saying. They were snickering at something. I was ready just to “politely” ask them to leave, but if it was under control then I didn’t need to be involved.
“You going to go, or you staying for a few acts?” Stray asked with an empty glass in his hand, waiting for my answer.
With a deep sigh, I said, “Might as well since I’m here. Just let me go put this back.” I lifted the bag of deposits in my hand.
As I hurried down the hallway and turned, I bumped into someone, throwing my shoulder back. With the fire of annoyance from the pep boys I fired out, “Watch where you’re going.”
Only when I turned, I was greeted by a pair of beautiful hazel green eyes that glimmered somehow in the dim light of the hallway.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you. I should have been more careful,” her soft voice stammered out.
At that moment, I felt like the worst asshole. She had that angelic type of stunning in my eyes, one that stopped me in my tracks. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. I tried to speak to apologize before she took off back into the bar area. I wanted to chase after her, apologize, only to just be around her a few more minutes.
I couldn’t do that, I remembered that a man like me had no business with a pure looking soul like hers. She looked to be the type of person that needed a gentleman in her life, someone that knew how to be soft with her.
And yet those eyes stirred something in me that I couldn’t shake.
Stick with what you know. One time. Get it and leave them.
I couldn’t get attached to someone, especially not in the beginning. What kind of life could I have offered? Better to be single than think about the safety of someone else, much less be a bargaining tool. It was easier to live alone.
One by one new or local artists come up to the stage and each one of them were testing the audience as if they were figuring out their sound. It’s a pure miracle when artists find their sound, their signature.
Sometimes it was like a drinking game, spotting the similar traits. Adjusting the microphone, going into a long monologue about their first love and how they wrote that song for them, or my favorite the young females that try to imitate the new younger singers of today.
I didn’t miss those days, the days where you never knew what kind of audience you’d get, whether they were first time listeners or fans that followed your career. I didn’t miss the days where you had to debate on the flow of your set.
A few were good, showing they had the passion for their music, as they fell into their comfort zones and were rewarded with the wave of applause.
I had about enough watching them all until the next performer caught my eye.
“Welcome to the stage Ms. Melody Rae,” the announcer joyfully said.
A few claps and hollers followed as my eyes saw the little beauty that knocked into me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Her hands shook, her steps were light but rushed on stage. Her acoustic guitar swung on her back. Her little blue and white cotton dress showed off her voluptuous breasts and her curvy hips.
She looked like a forbidden treasure that I was tempted to find out more.
Melody Rae.
Fuck, even her name was a siren call.
She looked so small, like the stage would eat her alive.
She stood at the mic stand, her body trembling as she reached for the guitar. A cue for her background track to hit; as the music came on she fumbled with her pick. Her nerves were taking over.
She finally looked back in the audience, her voice shaking, “I’m sorry.” Before I knew it she was off the stage and I was off my seat.
The crowd grew restless between the already drunk assholes and the ones going along with the crowd. A few were booing Melody, a few were heckling, throwing around the lines of what they would have done. Then there were the ones that spouted that she shouldn’t have been on the stage to begin with.
Some people are born for the stage and some people are simply more for the background. But call it a hunch, I think she could be one of the pure artists that knew what she wanted, she just had the unfortunate stage fright that wasn’t conquered yet.
I tried to track her in the busy bar but she vanished with her things and went out the back door.
“Tough luck. She seemed like a cutie,” Stray commented behind me. “You good boss?”
My eyes spotted the swing of the side door to the alley, and unfortunately a couple troublemaking bastards followed her. Blaze saw what I saw, I just held up my hand signaling him to stay put. Seemed like my night was about to get interesting.