Page 62 of Play Fast (Brooklyn Dawn 2)

Fuck it. I was almost begging now for someone to push me over the edge.

“Tell us what happened yesterday. News just hit the blotter.”

Oh, shit, was the police report what had brought them out on us? I knew better.

Handle it privately. How many times had Lewis impressed that upon us? Call us first, then the police.

But with Daisy involved, I’d forgotten for a freaking second I was a public commodity. I’d just been a guy trying to protect his girl.

Behind me, the shop door opened.

“Oz.” Daisy’s voice cut through the din, clear as a wind chime through the buzzsaw of voices closing me in.

She was pleading with me to slow down. Back off. Think it through.

She knew me. Far too well.

And she was about to get a demonstration why Noah was right not to want us anywhere near each other.

“Held up? Heard your little blond confronted the dude? Bad timing.” The photog who’d been snapping Daisy licked his lips as he glanced over my shoulder, probably right at her. A fucking doe surrounded by wolves. “From what I see, she looks like she’s doing just fine.”

That was it.

I didn’t think. Didn’t try to temper my reaction.

I slammed into the guy with the full force of my body. He flew backward and I leaped on him, pounding his camera into the ground before my hands locked around his neck. Noah’s shout dented my consciousness as I lifted my fist above the photog’s terrified face—and brought it down.

Again and again.

Twelve

I spent the evening at the police station. This time, the charge was more serious than gummy bear larceny.

So much worse.

I closed my eyes against the memory of the photographer’s damaged face. Oz hadn’t killed him, thank God, probably because Noah had acted fast and jumped in to stop the carnage.

Oz had been edgy all day, and even when we were kids, that had meant bad things. He’d always had too much energy, most of it the physical kind. Back in the day, he’d expended some of it by skateboarding off low walls and other daredevil stunts. Then he’d joined a rock band and become consumed with practicing six hours a day. And of course I’d heard the stories around the neighborhood from the girls he’d been with.

Words like insatiable weren’t used that often for high school or college boys—at least in our acquaintance. Kerry had heard more about her brother’s appetites than she’d ever wanted. I had too.

Part of me knew what he needed. He was all out of sorts, too many things out of his control, and for someone like him, only physically getting it out would allow him to breathe. As much as he was able.

Until the next storm.

The next amp tossed off stage.

The next shredded bass.

Even before I joined the band’s crew, I’d heard the stories. I’d followed his life because he was a link to my best friend, and also, because I wanted him to make it. He’d said the day of the funeral that we’d come from the gutter. We hadn’t, but our families had skated closer to the filth than the rarefied air on the upper West side, that was for sure.

Now he was one of those people. He could buy whatever he wanted, as he’d shown so readily this afternoon.

Except peace. That had no price tag and came in no store or VIP lounge.

The sound of the screen door opening made me spin around. Immediately, my shoulders drooped.

Not Oz.

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