Page 76 of Play Fast (Brooklyn Dawn 2)

A quick look outside told me I hadn’t slept long enough. They were still all there. If anything, there was more of them. Was it a slow news day or something? How was I such a huge topic right now?

I’d fucked up a fake journalist. Big deal. He was still breathing. He didn’t even have any broken bones.

I shook out my hand and winced. I wasn’t sure I could say the same for myself.

Sarah was sitting in the kitchen in the dark, cleaning her gun.

Okay, then.

Careful not to make any sudden moves, I went to the refrigerator to put together a sandwich and found I only had bologna nearly expired and a heel of bread. I really needed to hire an assistant.

Or better yet, I needed to stop firing them.

“How do you stay alive?” Sarah asked as I slapped the meat between two thin slices of bread.

“Why, are you planning on using that on me?”

She just spun the chamber. I would’ve been lying if I didn’t admit it creeped me out a little.

“I mean the contents of your refrigerator.”

“I tour a lot.”

“You might want to have it checked for mold.”

I would’ve flipped her off if she hadn’t been armed. Even so, I couldn’t really argue with her assessment. I was living rough right now.

After I forced down the sandwich with my last remaining beer, I went to grab my phone to place a grocery order for the next day. And got a slew of notifications about the rockstar gone wild who liked to beat up on poor guys just trying to make a living…and maybe even sweet hairstylists from his past who were dumb enough to date him.

Served me right for setting up a Google alert on myself. I should’ve known better.

I flicked the notifications away and decided to take a bottle from my cupboard back to bed with me as my version of a teddy bear.

Sarah didn’t comment.

Nor did she say anything when I emerged in the same state the next day, just in time to pour coffee down my throat before I dragged myself to the venue for rehearsal. She came with me, because she was my new judgmental buddy who didn’t talk much but liked to fondle her weaponry. She even managed to laugh when I took the opportunity to swap Jenny for the red Porsche Spyder I kept stored in the garage down the block.

The Spyder’s name was Priscilla. She was a fussy female, but she sure was pretty.

“This is how you try to be inconspicuous?”

“Yeah, since they already made the truck, didn’t they? I haven’t taken Priscilla out in a long time.”

“Men who personify their vehicles as women are usually crying out for love.”

I smirked because somehow that hit a little too close to home. “Or what passes for it after a show at two a.m.”

“You could let me drive. In fact, I should. I’ll be able to lose any tails on the way to Brooklyn.”

Staring at her across the roof of my car, I laughed out loud. “You actually think you’d be better at losing some creep?”

All at once, I remembered sitting beside Daisy as she drove my truck at top speed, laughing maniacally. All the humor drained out of me.

“No,” I said before Sarah could answer, sliding inside the car. “No one drives my vehicles but me.”

Silence reigned on the ride over to the unusual venue we’d chosen for our secret fan club show. It was tucked away on a side street, which allowed me to notice the fuckwad who’d slipped into traffic behind me and now stayed a discreet distance back, no matter how many times I turned off.

“Told you I should’ve driven.”

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