Page 106 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

Then it suddenly flew open and I tumbled forward, sprawling on the uneven rocks and ruts of mud in the ditch. A pair of boots on the pavement above me swam into focus.

“Need a hand, mate?”

The voice was lazy, almost languid. Not at all fitting this situation.

I had to be imagining all of this. In reality, I was home alone. I’d left Matthias’s place and gone home straightaway.

No late night drive in the rain.

No crash.

No Kyle.

I rolled onto my back in the dirt and gasped for air. The fall—along with the accident before it—had knocked the wind out of me.

Kyle just tucked his hands into his long coat and smiled at me, his eyes like vast holes in the darkness. No light in them whatsoever.

“Are you okay?” His tone was deceptively mild, as if we were chatting about the weather. In reality, I was lying in the mud as rain assaulted my face, stinging upon impact. My entire body ached, whether it was from the accident or the trip into the ditch. Probably both.

And my supposed best friend was staring down at me dispassionately, where I was prone before him on the ground.

Where you belong.

Where he wants you to be.

I forced myself up to a sitting position. “What are you doing here?”

The pair of headlights that had trailed me for… Christ, I didn’t even know. Everything was fuzzy and indistinct.

Had to be because of the crash. I hadn’t had a drink at the kid’s place.

Couldn’t let myself.

“What do you mean? You called me. Don’t you remember?”

“I didn’t call you.” I glared up at him through the slanting rain. Behind him, the clouds churned in the dark sky like the fucking apocalypse was coming.

Maybe it was already here.

“Sure you did. You were at that guy’s house. What was it? Matty? You used his landline.”

I scrubbed my muddy hands over my face. What the hell was he talking about? Did Matthias even have a landline?

Jesus, I was all messed up. My temples were pounding. Maybe I had called him and just didn’t remember. God knows I couldn’t recall much right now.

“Why?”

“Why did you call me? You said you’d be leaving his house late and asked me to meet you at Shooters.”

“The bar?”

“Where else?” He laughed, but the sound reminded me of an echo chamber in a tin can. It was hollow, just like his voice. “Fun place.”

“I didn’t want to go to the bar. Why would I go to the bar?”

Better question, why was I still sitting on the wet ground while Kyle loomed above me like my savior and executioner all in one?

He was tall and imposing in his long dark coat. His smile held no warmth, and his voice…

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