The Biker's Fate Chapter 477

I swallowed. "Yeah. I mean, is it the kind of material you'd enjoy playing for the next three months?"

"Truthfully, I hadn't ever given your music much thought in the past. I'm sure it's hard to tell by looking at me, but I'm probably not a member of your target audience."

I chuckled.

"But, after listening for a few days, I'll be honest, your songs are more sophisticated than I thought they'd be. Especially the way you're playing them now with your new band. I think I get what you're going for."

"Okay then, what about the other thing?"

"The keeping an eye on you, thing?" he asked. "Is that what you mean?"

I nodded. "What did my sister tell you?"

"Only that you've got a new security team, and that she'd feel better if you had an undercover set of eyes on you as well."

"And you're okay with that?"

"Your sister asked a favor of the club, and I was happy to help."

"Is it really a favor if we're paying you?"

"The pay is for my guitar playing and travel time. The keeping an eye on you part I'm doing as a favor."

I cocked my head. "Why did the Dogs of Fire owe my sister a favor in the first place?"

"Your brother-in-law rides with the Dogs in Savannah, right?"

I nodded.

"And two of Jaxon's brothers ride with me, so that makes all three Morgan sisters family to our club. That means, you don't have to be owed a favor to ask a favor. You understand?"

I swallowed hard and nodded again. Feeling my face go flush. This man was going to be trouble if I didn't watch myself.

"Can you sing, Mr. Perfect Pitch?" I asked, steering the conversation back to music.

He shrugged. "My voice is nothing special, but I can pick out or learn any harmony you need."

"Okay, let's try the chorus of 'Cross Contamination.'"

Train began to play, and we launched into the chorus together, our voices blending like peanut butter and jelly. I tried to keep a poker face, but I couldn't keep from smiling as we continued to the end of the song.

"Well, that works," Train said.

Works shmirks. That was fucking amazing.

This guy was either purposefully underplaying his vocal talent or he was truly unaware of how good he was. Either way, I was gonna find out.

"What's your real name?" I asked.

"Courtland Nash."

"Sounds like a country boy name. You southern?"

"Vegas is as far south as I've ever been. I was born and bred here in the Pacific Northwest."

"Who are you, Courtland Nash? And what's your story?"

"I told you before. Your sister reached out to my president—"

"Not that. I meant what is someone with all your talent doing in a motorcycle club?"

"You make it sound like the club is somehow beneath me or something," he said.

"No, sorry." I grimaced. "I didn't mean it that way. It's just that, with your level of talent I'm surprised you're not a full-time musician. That's all."

"I guess at some point, my love of bikes began to compete with my love of music."

"And bikes won, huh?"

"Once I started riding with the Dogs, yeah."

"But you still play, obviously," I said, motioning to Train's hands. "You certainly don't seem rusty to me."

"I play every chance I get," Train said. "I have a home studio at my place where I write and produce music."

"Is that so?" I asked.

Train nodded.

"You ever do anything I might have heard?"

"Yes, but that's a story for another time," he said with a smirk.

"Intriguing," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"How 'bout another song?" Train suggested, clearly changing the subject.

"Okay. How about 'Blame the Night'?" I said, pulling a deep cut off my third album. Of all the songs I'd ever written it was my absolute favorite, and I'd never played it live. Mostly because I could never find anyone who could nail the harmony vocal part originally recorded by Max MacMillan of Fallen Crown. His vocals added a certain magic to the song that I'd never been able to reproduce with anyone else since. I'd been a lucky bitch to get him. His sister-in-law, Charlotte, just happened to co-star with me in a rom-com a few years ago, so she asked him if he had time, he'd done the vocals in one day, sent them off to my producer and the song was done without me ever even meeting him.

"That's the one in six-eight, right?" Train asked.

I nodded and Train began to strum softly. I studied his hands as he played. Well-worn, grease-stained hands, that moved effortlessly along the guitar's fretboard as he played through the song's delicate intro.

"I think that's where you come in," Train said. I was so mesmerized by his hands I'd missed my cue to start singing.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, slightly embarrassed. "You play beautifully."

"Thank you," Train said, with a smile. "Do you play an instrument?"

"I play piano, and a little guitar," I replied. "But never on stage. Not since I was a kid anyway."

"Really? How come? Even the country guys strap on an acoustic, strum three chords, do the hokey pokey, and shake it all about."

"That's just it," I said. "I don't want to do anything half-assed or for the sake of theater. If I play guitar during my show, I want to do it well, and have it mean something."

"Your sister was right," Train said, resting his arm over his guitar with a smile.

"About what?"

"About you. When she told me about this gig, I told her I had no interest in joining the pop princess circus."

"Meaning?"

"To be honest, I figured you were probably the type of singer who used backing tracks and pitch correction, but Harmony told me that shit didn't fly with you. From what I can see, you clearly have integrity and I respect that."

I cleared my throat. "Thank you," I said, feeling my cheeks redden. "Okay, let's try this again and I'll remember to sing this time."

Train played through the song's intro once more, and this time I sang as if it was the first time the melody had ever passed through my lips. I closed my eyes, losing myself in the sound of Train's guitar. Hanging every one of my notes on to the chords Train placed in the air. Then his voice met mine.

As Train and I harmonized, I felt both elation and terror. I'd never felt such a connection singing with anyone before. Not even with Max McMillan. Not even with my sisters, and that freaked me the fuck out.

Shit, this was a little too close for comfort.

"Okay, that's good," I said, muting Train's guitar strings with my hand, mid-strum, before standing. "The gig is yours if you still want it," I blurted out.

"Um, yeah. Of course, I do," he replied, his expression suddenly guarded.

"Cool. My assistant Brandy will call you tomorrow with the tour itinerary, bus bunk assignment, and per diem information. She'll also have some paperwork for you to read through and sign as well. The first show is in two days. Brandy will have your backstage passes. Don't be late for soundcheck. In fact, don't be late for anything, ever."

"Yes, Ms. Morgan," he said.

"Melody is fine. Welcome aboard," I said and without another word, turned and walked out, leaving him alone in Jaxon's office and running away like the coward I was.