Page 11 of Play Fast (Brooklyn Dawn 2)

Big shot rocker, anything was in reach, right?

Everything but Daisy and the chance to escape to privacy by the lake. Surrounded by the forest without even the capability to get a Wi-Fi signal.

For all I knew, she’d taken off in my truck and used the map on the front seat as a guidebook. I’d been going up to my cabin for years now, but since I usually only made the trip a few times a year due to our touring schedule, I still got lost. Also, I kinda sucked at directions, even with GPS. So, I used a paper map as a backup, just in case. It never needed to be charged or depended on a good signal.

Also, my “maneptitude”, as Jamie called it, with directions was a fact I did not want Daisy to have about me in her arsenal.

I waited around a bit longer for the crush of fans to disperse. Why not? I had nothing but time.

Once the coast was finally closer to clear, I pulled on a hoodie, yanked up the hood, and ducked out of a side entrance.

My truck was parked near where the band rigs were stationed. At least it was supposed to be there. The space I’d expected it to be in was empty.

The bellow I let out scared crows out of the nearby trees.

I dropped my bag and set Annette against my leg so I could shove back my hood and fist my hands in my hair. The pain centered me. Besides, I knew a surefire way to find my damn truck.

Pulling out my phone, I stabbed the buttons for 911.

The screech of tires made me hold down the 9 until the screen wavered. I gritted my teeth. I did not look up. If she was hanging out of that window, I was going to kill her.

If she wasn’t hanging out of that window, I was going to kill her twice.

The hand crank window squeaked as she rolled it down. I knew that squeak. I also knew that quick intake of breath before she spoke. Did she even realize she did that?

Bolstering herself to drive me insane.

“I had no choice.”

10-9-8-7.

“You drove me to it.”

6-5-4-3-2.

“You know you aren’t really that mad.”

1.

Fuck it, I was starting over from 100, because a set of ten numbers wasn’t nearly enough to keep from reaming her out.

100-99-98-97.

“Think of it this way, no one likes to go on a road trip alone.”

1000-999-998-997.

“Ugh, Oz, stop being a jerk and talk to me.”

I pocketed my now probably crushed phone and grabbed my bag and Annette. Saying nothing, I walked around to the back of the truck and lifted the hard-shell camper, stowing my stuff inside. I slammed it with more effort than needed, since it was better than kicking the tires.

Marginally.

After climbing into the truck, I locked my jaw as I shoved the passenger seat back. I hadn’t moved it in a damn long time. This wasn’t a vehicle I used to tote around other people. It was for trips to the cabin, period.

“I can’t believe you still have this.”

“I can’t believe you don’t have a record.”

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