Page 203 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

“Really?”

She turned her gaze at me. “Got rid of him, right?”

I couldn’t fault her there. She grabbed my arm and steered me into a room next door. “Oz probably has something you can wear. Do you have that stupid beanie thing you wear?”

I dug it out of my back pocket. “Yeah.”

“Perfect.” She unzipped the leather bag in the corner. “He’s allergic to shirts but has to have one for leaving the venue.” She tossed a long-sleeved black shirt at me. “Too many scratch marks from his legion of Betties.”

I shrugged out of my jacket. I glanced around the large meet and greet room looking for an extra exit. I dragged my shirt off and she stared. I had to give it to her, she didn’t gasp and look away like most women. Hell, most men looked away. Not that I ever took my shirt off around anyone.

Other than my girl.

I didn’t say anything, and neither did she. I pulled the borrowed shirt on, then scraped my hair back with the palm of my hand and tugged the knit hat over my distinctive black hair. Not as obvious as Oz’s yard-length hair, but people were clearly looking for me.

She pushed me toward a closet.

“Would you stop manhandling me?”

“Oh, you’d know it if I did that.” She nodded to the door. “Open it.” She looked over her shoulder. When I didn’t move fast enough, she elbowed me out of the way. “Follow me, Irish.”

She shoved a rack of hangers aside. “I’m not playing seven minutes in heaven for fuck’s sake.” She punched the side of the back wall and the door popped back and slid to the side. “These old places have hidden tunnels. Some for fuckery or just plain fucking.” She glided her arm out into the hallway. “And some for escape routes when bands like One Direction needed to escape.”

“You’re a fecking genius.” I didn’t even look over my shoulder. I headed for the light at the end of the damn tunnel. It spit us out in a kitchen.

“Left.”

I followed her directions and zipped by a station of deep fryers.

“My bike is near the trucks.”

“Okay, head right at the end of the kitchen.”

“How do you remember this?”

“I’m addicted to safe room games. If there’s a way out, or in for that matter, I’ll figure it out.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that statement, but for now I was just happy I didn’t have to lose more time. I backed up when I saw a security guard at the exit where the roadies were congregating.

“Know any more tricks there, Houdini?”

She peeked over my shoulder. “Crap.” She pulled a hair tie off her wrist and gathered her hair up on the top of her head. Rearranged her T-shirt and tied a knot under her breasts. “Just a sec.” She went from badass to co-ed in the space of a second.

She tucked her hands in her back pockets and pushed out her version of breasts. The girl wasn’t exactly blessed in that department, but she had miles of leg and the cop wasn’t exactly immune to her.

She waggled her fingers at me as she turned the cop to show him something. I didn’t wait, I booked it to the exit and slipped through the doors, catching the door with my boot so it wouldn’t slam.

I dug my keys out of my pocket and swung my leg over my Harley. Suddenly a solid body slammed into me.

“Get the hell out of here, DuCaine.”

“Hell no. You knew I was coming. I still don’t trust you or the fact that your friend probably has my best friend on this whole fucking planet. Drive.” She wrapped her arms around my waist.

I passed back my helmet and she surprisingly took it and put it on. I followed the trashed pavement path around the back of the arena, very glad I thought to bring my motorcycle tonight. Originally it had just been so I had an excuse to have Lindsey hold onto me for a little longer.

And the idea of us trying to escape after the show had also been a factor.

This had not been in the plans.

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