Page 184 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

Yeah, that had to be dealt with.

Instead of anger, I saw thoughtfulness out of our stage manager. Her light hair was in its usual ponytail, dark-lined cobalt blue eyes smudged in stress. She was always stressed with us.

By the time I got to the side stage, she held up a hand. “Whatever that was, we’ll add it. It’s the tightest you guys have been all tour.”

I opened my mouth to protest.

She kept going. “Not that it hasn’t been amazing, but that was magic. So, we’ll do whatever we have to do to make that happen. I already okayed thirty extra minutes from the venue in case things go over tonight.”

Surprised, I wasn’t sure what to say. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, just don’t fuck this up tonight.”

“Got it.”

And it was a monster to set up, but by the time Warning Sign got on stage, nerves were dancing in my belly. I didn’t get nervous for a show. Not in years. Still, I was a hot mess by the time I got up on my intro stage. My hands shook as I took hold of the bars around my small platform.

The usual chatter filled my monitors in my ears.

I felt the hook of the tether to my belt. I smiled at Joanie, the tech who took care of me on stage.

“All set, Lindz.”

I nodded, not sure I could even speak.

We’d added a fan pit to the stage for a few songs. Tonight, they were going to get an eyeful in more ways than one. Luc and Molly agreed to do an extra song for us at the midpoint of the show so we could get everyone in position for the two songs.

I’d never let a song go out without a studio and about nineteen revisions.

I smoothed my hand over the shimmery belt I was wearing. I usually wore a full catsuit for ease of movement, but tonight, I had all my armor on.

Jewelry, every woman’s true armor.

Fragile chains dripped from the straps of my bra to drape over my arms with tiny lavender crystals. Another trio snaked down from a necklace to between my breasts.

There was no shirt tonight.

Just a sequined bra that flashed fire. My midriff was bare save for the chain that snaked down to my belly button then split into three fine chains hooked to my belt.

Skin.

Glitter.

I wore a short smoky gray skirt with an extra slit for when I played the piano later. Thigh-high purple boots with a five-inch heel completed the look.

As the opening of “Judgment” filled the arena, I locked down all the fear.

It was showtime and a broken heart didn’t ever change that.

Thirty-Five

I could barely catch my breath.

The night had gone by in a blur of songs. The crowd was in the palm of our hands. Oz hadn’t bothered with a shirt tonight. Cooper had lost his as well. Even our ever Zen-like Zane was wild tonight.

We were feeding off of one another. And they all were bolstering me to get through this show without losing my damn mind.

In the back of my brain, the songs were a breeding ground of doubt and anger. My vocals were sharper, more jagged with emotion. We pulled out “Archer” thanks to the little girl’s request and it had brought back that early hunger we used to feel when we first formed the band.

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