Page 87 of Play Fast (Brooklyn Dawn 2)

“Is that a yes?”

The girl shrieked back in the affirmative.

“Fuck, yeah.” Jamie sat down cross-legged on the speaker before settling her guitar back around in front of her.

She started and stopped a few times, but finally found the notes for “Like a V

irgin.” It was a rockier version—more like the Mötley Crüe cover than the original pop song.

Memories battered me. Daisy breaking under me. Daisy kneeling before me with those innocent eyes.

A virgin I’d defiled.

I didn’t realize my bass line had become so overpowering. That I’d instinctively followed Jamie as I did most nights. She and Cooper were my usual compass. I was the beat—the heartbeat of a song most of the time.

It was more of a pulse now. It matched the throb of my sore knuckles, reminding me of all the chaos and mayhem I’d experienced along with the sweet heaven of Daisy’s body. It was all churned up inside of me. My music, the memory of her heart beating so fast against mine. The way she vised around me. Innocence and innate sexuality. She matched my depraved side in every way.

I stalked back to the drums and found my bottle. I couldn’t think about that night—nights. They twisted and twined around my sternum, strangling me.

Somehow I had to get out of my head.

I brought the bottle to the edge of the stage and sat down with my bass. A crush of fans moved forward, so I offered up my bottle with a laugh and watched people pass it around until it finally came back to me.

Lindsey’s powerhouse vocals were sweet, tinged with sandpaper rockstar.

Zane climbed the stairs adjacent to the stage until he matched Jamie in height. They were for the lighting people and rickety as fuck. I was fairly sure Lila was backstage having an apoplexy beside Chuckles. He was probably sending one of his minions to hover under Zane to catch him, just in case. I snickered, picturing Zane splatting some poor idiot into the hardwood.

I stood up, slapped a few hands before I made my way behind Cooper and swung my bass around behind me. I stole his backup sticks and fucked with his cymbals. Being on tour with the same people for a major part of my life left lots of room for nights of learning multiple instruments.

I could drum in a pinch.

However, touching Coop’s rig was asking for retribution, but my restless mood was begging for trouble. I grabbed the extra mic set up for him. He rarely used it, but when the band was bantering back and forth between songs, he usually came up with a good one-liner.

“Hey. Stop fucking with my shit.”

“Bored. I’m heading into the crowd.”

“Oh, shit,” Coop muttered, bouncing one of his sticks high into the air.

I caught it and tossed it into the crowd.

“Fucker.”

I handed him the pair I’d stolen.

I was a fucker. No point in denying it. And if I didn’t get this mood under control, I was going to do something stupid.

More stupid than you’ve already done? Doubtful.

I jumped down into the small space between the bowling lanes and the stage.

“Where the hell are you going?”

I ignored Zane’s question and threw one long leg over the barricade. The audience grew rowdier, extending the song as Lindsey encouraged the crowd to sing with her. I moved through the crush of bodies that suddenly gathered around me. I was aware I was asking for trouble, but I just didn’t care.

I had one goal—to smash some pins.

I headed for the guy who had been bitching at Jamie and lifted his ball as it came out of the return carriage. “Can I?”

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