Page 1 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

One

Almost three years ago

They were going to catch me.

I jogged up the street, the paper and plastic handles of the bags I carried biting into my palms. Damn Louboutins. I couldn’t run fast enough in them.

Holy shit. I couldn’t believe this was truly happening.

To me.

I was only running because it was fun to feel the wind slapping my cheeks and blowing back my hair, ripping it out of the hastily thrown together ponytail I’d shoved under a cap. It wasn’t as if I minded being chased by fans.

Fans, for God’s sake. Real, legitimate ones I hadn’t had to try to encourage to applaud for us like I was used to doing as the lead singer of the opening act for countless bands over the past few years.

C’mon, you can sing along, right? This is an easy one.

We’re Brooklyn Dawn, and we want to make sure your asses don’t touch your seat all night long.

And then when the responses I received ranged from complete disinterest to lukewarm at best, I’d motion to Jamie and Oz, bringing them in for a quick conference about which audible to pull. Something so we wouldn’t lose the crowd so irrevocably we couldn’t get them back.

All right, what about this one? You guys know “American Pie”? Sing along if you know the words.

No matter their ages, enough of the audience would know the words to get the rest of the crowd to join in. Then we’d ride that enthusiasm and ninja-style sneak in a few of the songs we were working on for our EP.

Still, more of our sets had ended with a whimper than a bang. Until we’d finally had a single break through a couple of months ago. It had enough buzz and decent enough airplay that holy Christ on a cracker, we had actual fans who recognized me. Not as some Victoria’s Secret lookalike model but as Lindz from Brooklyn-Fucking-Dawn.

I ducked into an alley next to a row of seedy establishments a girl with fine York breeding didn’t dare enter, my breath coming a bit too fast for my liking. I needed to up my cardio game again. I pressed my back against the graffiti-covered brick wall, my heart thumping wildly, as the trio of excited girls ran past the mouth of the alley.

Right past me.

I gripped my bags and hiked my mini purse higher on my shoulder, then decided to press my luck. Why not? I’d had an absolutely amazing night so far, shopping on my own without my bodyguard-slash-driver—courtesy of my parents, not my record label—or even my best friend, Jamie, who I normally never ditched for an evening. But she’d been in a mood and hadn’t wanted to shop, and I was desperately tired of the four walls of our hotel room.

Tomorrow night, we had a show at MSG, our biggest yet. We were still opening, but not for long.

Brooklyn Dawn was destined for big things, and so was I.

But tonight? I wanted to drink and dance to some music that wasn’t my own. I wanted the anonymity of a club. Maybe I’d even make out with some pretty boy under the stars.

Because I could. Because finally, finally, everything was happening for us. We’d begun to lose hope and patience and heart. Jamie had been the one to keep us striving for more.

“Listen, bitch, if you think we’ve come this far to only come this far, you’re a waste of a good bottle of Tanqueray.”

Gin was disgusting, but I got Jamie’s point. We all wanted to break through, and finally, we were on the verge. On the cusp of something huge.

I stepped out on the sidewalk and scanned the immediate area, making sure the coast was clear. No one was paying attention to me. They were streaming in and out of the bars. Laughing, playfully shoving each other, talking loudly. Everyone was having a fine time.

To hell with it, I was going into the club next to the alley.

Less than fifteen minutes later, I stepped back out with a wrinkled nose and a dent in my little bubble of happiness. I

’d known even before I made it all the way inside that the place wasn’t for me. Sticky floors, some kind of soulless trance music, and grabby males with chains heavy enough to snap their necks like twigs weren’t what I had in mind.

There was stretching my wings and then there was abandoning all my standards and sense too.

Pass.

I looked back and forth, for a second feeling utterly lost in the hustle and bustle around me. What just half an hour ago had seemed fun and exciting now seemed chaotic and…empty.

Lonely if I let myself think that way.

But I wasn’t going to. This was what I wanted. A night alone, unencumbered, with no one to answer to but myself.

So what if that first club had been a dud? This street was full of them. I was in freaking New York City, the place that never slept. If I wanted to stay out all night, I’d need a lot of black coffee tomorrow—who was I kidding, I liked my cream—and some serious eye drops, but I’d rock out tomorrow night regardless.

This night held endless possibilities. If I didn’t run home like a sheltered rich girl rockstar-in-training.

I sucked in a breath and crossed the alley, frowning at the stairs going down into yet another building. Club or bar or illicit drug den, I had no idea. Above the door, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it blue neon sign said only Ruin.

Ruin was a hell of a name for a club, if it was that. Just in case, I snapped a quick picture with my phone. If I went missing, there would be proof of my last known location.

Assuming my phone survived intact as evidence. At least it would be uploaded to the cloud too.

God, I had to stop watching Criminal Minds when I couldn’t sleep.

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