Dutch's Determination

He broke two enforcers in a back hallway for dragging her off stage. She checked her guitar for damage before checking herself. Now the only thing louder than her voice is the claim he's staking on everything she is.

Marlee Paxton built a music career with one van, two hands, and ten years of refusing every man who wanted a piece of what she created. When a predatory booking agent with enforcers on payroll wants her publishing rights, she tells him no three times — in person, in writing, and through a lawyer she can't afford.

Bad call.

When the muscle comes for her mid-song, the man who hits the hallway like a wrecking ball isn't a stranger. He's Dutch, the Memphis Marauders' mechanic, and he hasn't stopped watching her since a festival stage in West Memphis made him forget how to breathe. He doesn't do reckless. Hasn't let anything past the easy grin he wears like armor since the night a fire took his grandfather's legacy and the club gave him a new one. But a woman who loads her own gear and sings like she's settling a debt with God is the one thing his carefully built defenses can't handle.

In Memphis, the blues don't wait for permission and neither do the Marauders.

Some men fix what's broken. Some rebuild the whole damn world around the woman whose voice made the silence worth surviving.