Play Dirty: Brooklyn Dawn Book 1

by Quinn, Cari

  I just couldn’t seem to turn the car around.

  Faster, harder, I pushed on the gas. Asking for more even as the Jeep sputtered. It didn’t seem to be responding to my commands. The rain was making me sloppy. Causing the vehicle to skid on the slick roads. Just like that night. I’d been sluggish then, for understandable reasons.

  Why was I sluggish now? Why couldn’t I make the Jeep just work?

  The more I struggled, the less my vehicle seemed to respond. Flashes of that night—the night I’d almost lost everything—juxtaposed with my current reality. Every blink seemed to toss me back and forth from the here and now back into the past.

  Each trip back to the present made me dizzier. I clung to the wheel, my palms slick with sweat, burning from friction, and I fought to keep my gaze on the rain-slicked pavement in front of me. The darkness was so deep I could barely make out the curves of the road. I’d gone too fucking far and now all these twists and turns were going to end me.

  Something black and large in the road ahead of me made me stomp on the brakes. The Jeep fishtailed, spinning out endlessly. I tried to keep the tires from losing traction, but it was useless. The dropoff on the side of the street came at me with frightening speed.

  This time, I didn’t shout. There was no one to warn. I could only watch, eyes wide open, as the death I’d escaped once circled around again.

  The squealing sound of the brakes and an endless series of thuds reverberated in my head. They were accompanied by jolt after jolt. My body braced as I clenched the wheel.

  Then there was only silence except for my heavy, ragged breaths.

  In the end, my eyes had closed anyway. Turns out I couldn’t face my non-death head on.

  I wasn’t dead. Not even close. I was, however, tilted into a ditch.

  I’d fallen forward from my descent off the side of the road and bumped my head. Not seriously, I didn’t think, but there was a small bump under my fingers. No blood. At least externally.

  Fuck.

  I leaned back in my seat and peered through the windshield. The hood was bent up. Crushed into the wall of dirt on the other side of the ditch. It was more like a damn pit.

  My head buzzed as I fumbled to unclick my seatbelt. I shifted to try to open my door and discovered it was stuck. Lovely.

  A quick search of the disordered contents of my car didn’t immediately reveal my phone. My glove box had popped open, and paperwork and pens and other sundry items spilled over the seat and floor. I leaned over, bracing my hand on the passenger seat, and prayed I wouldn’t pass out as sweat beaded on my forehead and dripped down my back. I needed my damn cell.

  Finding it didn’t help my predicament. No bars. Nearly out of battery juice too.

  I’d never not put it in the charger when I got in my vehicle again. Assuming it could be repaired from this fucking mess.

  First, I had to get out of here.

  With my last bit of battery, I tried calling my on-call towing service. No service. Perfect.

  I tucked the phone in my jacket pocket and tried the door. I put my shoulder into it, but the thing wouldn’t budge. I tried again and again, finally resting my clammy forehead against the window while I caught my breath.

  “Kyle…get Kyle…help him.” Each word was a gasp.

  Pain screamed through me. Everything aching at once. Blood dripped in my eyes. I could smell it. Taste it. The tang of it seared the back of my throat.

  “Kyle.” It seemed to be all I could say.

  The distant sound of moaning made me try to turn my head, but my neck wouldn’t move. Thick liquid smeared over my eyes and I couldn’t blink it away.

  All my senses were being cut off. Sight, hearing, touch. The dull beats of my heart echoed in my head, blocking out most of the rest of the sounds. And I couldn’t lift my arms. It was as if I was strapped down. Tied in place.

  The low feminine voice caused a jolt. I could still hear.

  For now.

  “Shh, sir, it’s for your own good. You’ll be just fine.”

  “Kyle?”

  No response.

  I blinked and this time, it helped me to be able to see. I swiped at the sweat streaking down the side of my face and yanked on the door handle one more time. My hand was damp and I couldn’t get a firm grip. I tried again and again, my hand cramping as I pushed against the door.

  Then it suddenly flew open and I tumbled forward, sprawling on the uneven rocks and ruts of mud in the ditch. A pair of boots on the pavement above me swam into focus.

  “Need a hand, mate?”

  The voice was lazy, almost languid. Not at all fitting this situation.

  I had to be imagining all of this. In reality, I was home alone. I’d left Matthias’s place and gone home straightaway.

  No late night drive in the rain.

  No crash.

  No Kyle.

  I rolled onto my back in the dirt and gasped for air. The fall—along with the accident before it—had knocked the wind out of me.

  Kyle just tucked his hands into his long coat and smiled at me, his eyes like vast holes in the darkness. No light in them whatsoever.

  “Are you okay?” His tone was deceptively mild, as if we were chatting about the weather. In reality, I was lying in the mud as rain assaulted my face, stinging upon impact. My entire body ached, whether it was from the accident or the trip into the ditch. Probably both.

  And my supposed best friend was staring down at me dispassionately, where I was prone before him on the ground.

  Where you belong.

  Where he wants you to be.

  I forced myself up to a sitting position. “What are you doing here?”

  The pair of headlights that had trailed me for… Christ, I didn’t even know. Everything was fuzzy and indistinct.

  Had to be because of the crash. I hadn’t had a drink at the kid’s place.

  Couldn’t let myself.

  “What do you mean? You called me. Don’t you remember?”

  “I didn’t call you.” I glared up at him through the slanting rain. Behind him, the clouds churned in the dark sky like the fucking apocalypse was coming.

  Maybe it was already here.

  “Sure you did. You were at that guy’s house. What was it? Matty? You used his landline.”

  I scrubbed my muddy hands over my face. What the hell was he talking about? Did Matthias even have a landline?

  Jesus, I was all messed up. My temples were pounding. Maybe I had called him and just didn’t remember. God knows I couldn’t recall much right now.

  “Why?”

  “Why did you call me? You said you’d be leaving his house late and asked me to meet you at Shooters.”

  “The bar?”

  “Where else?” He laughed, but the sound reminded me of an echo chamber in a tin can. It was hollow, just like his voice. “Fun place.”

  “I didn’t want to go to the bar. Why would I go to the bar?”

  Better question, why was I still sitting on the wet ground while Kyle loomed above me like my savior and executioner all in one?

  He was tall and imposing in his long dark coat. His smile held no warmth, and his voice…

  His voice made the cold seep into my bones and stay there like a permanent resident. As if I’d never find warmth again.

  “You said you didn’t want to go home yet. I didn’t think you wanted to drink. Did you? Christ, Nash, you never learn.” Slowly, he shook his head. “Or is it Alex now?”

  The question triggered a memory of Lindsey by the waterfall. Crying out my name as I pleasured her with my tongue and fingers. Tasting it on her lips as we kissed afterward.

  “You’ll be the death of me.”

  Oddly, she probably would. But she was also my reason to live.

  “Nash. Still Nash.” No one else called me by my given name but her.

  Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself to my feet. Kyle made no move to help me.

  “I get it. She has special dispensation as your lover.”<
br />
  “How the—” I caught my breath and tried again. “How do you know what she calls me?”

  “You told me.”

  “I didn’t fucking tell you anything. I didn’t call you.”

  Did I?

  My head reeled as I gazed up at the turbulent sky. The sharp tinge of ozone scented the air.

  A storm was brewing. Lightning in the east. The rumble of thunder.

  The sound of Kyle moaning as the EMTs poked and prodded at me.

  “Of course you did. Here, look at my phone.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his extended hand. “It’s in my call log.”

  I gripped my head. It was goddamn throbbing now. “Why weren’t you at Shooters then?”

  Shooters. A dive bar if I’d ever seen one. I wouldn’t have asked to meet there. The scent of beer had soaked into the damn booths.

  He had to be fucking with me. Had to. But there were gaps in my memory, patches I couldn’t string together. And I’d been out of sorts all night. Maybe I’d lost my senses for a minute, asked him to go there to relax…

  Didn’t mean I intended to drink.

  It didn’t.

  I pushed his hand away without looking at his phone. If I saw Matthias’s number there in his call log, I didn’t know what I’d do.

  “I’m your best friend. You knew I would go with you. You called me because I’m the one you trust. The only one you can. Other people sell your photos for a quick hit of cash, but not me.”

  I frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “The ones in The Tattler. Someone at Lo’s sold you out. Your back was bare—”

  “I know that. You think I don’t know that? I saw them. Heard all about them.”

  From Kyle, for God’s sake. Did he think I didn’t remember?

  Of course he did. Because I’d proven my memory was shite.

  How could I forget calling him? Sure, I’d been exhausted and out of sorts before the crash, but this was next level.

  “Someone sold you out, but I’m your best friend.” He pocketed his phone and held out his hand. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

  “Now you’re helping me?”

  “Now? I followed you all this way to make sure you were okay. You didn’t sound right on the phone. I opened your door.” He angled his head. “It’s raining, Nash. We need to leave.”

  “What about my Jeep? And the cops? There should be an accident report—”

  He waved that all off. “Of course. You can call from my dry car. Although it probably doesn’t matter now. You’ll catch your death.”

  The phrase harkened back to his ma. She’d said that to us so many times when we were younger.

  The longing for her and what I’d lost grabbed me in a vicious chokehold, cutting off my oxygen. I only realized I was gasping when Kyle stepped forward and hauled me up.

  “Get yourself together, man. Are you hurt?”

  I pushed him away from me. “I’m okay.” I rubbed the knot in my forehead. Maybe I had a concussion. That was why I couldn’t remember calling him.

  Why everything about the night was sketchy and out of focus.

  “Let’s get in the car and make your calls.”

  I looked around blearily. “I have to—my phone’s in there. It’s dead. Lindsey texted me—” I cut off the words but it was too late.

  “Oh, remember that well enough, do you?” Kyle’s smile was suddenly blinding. “Priorities then, is it? I understand. I’d be the same if I had a woman like her shagging me.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  He only arched a brow and crossed his arms. “You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want to. You’re free to wait for whomever out here if you prefer.”

  The slight taunting edge to his tone made my jaw lock. “I’m sorry. Yes, thank you. I’ll call the cops from your car.”

  “I’ll grab your stuff for you.” He was already skidding down the side of the ditch to yank open the passenger door. He emerged with my phone and my soft-sided briefcase. “This good?”

  “It’s fine. Thanks. Let’s go so I can make that call.” Time was passing and I knew the cops didn’t appreciate a delay when reporting an accident.

  “And Lindsey? You should call her too, let her know you’re okay. For now.” The last bit he said as he turned away to head back to his vehicle.

  “For now?”

  He shrugged. “Let’s be real. She’s not exactly your type. Do you really want to get her mixed up in all of this?”

  Even though I told myself variations of the same thing on a regular basis, hearing him say it made me want to lay him out.

  “Let it go,” I gritted out.

  He held up his hands as he slowed down to walk beside me to his car. “Sure. Whatever you say. I’m sure she didn’t sell those photos for a little tour publicity. You know, hot shot producer fucks rockstar gets good coverage.”

  I stopped walking and shook back my soaked hair. “Why would she do that? She could’ve been exposed in those photos too.”

  “Her photog was smart. Didn’t capture her. Funny how it didn’t work out her way though. They think you were banging Angel instead.” Kyle rubbed his scruffy jaw, coming to a halt as if he was impervious to the rain. “Unless there are other pictures…”

  “That’s bullshit,” I spat out. On that one point, I was crystal clear. “This isn’t the time for this. Why are you even talking about those stupid photos?” Even if they weren’t stupid. Somehow had captured and tried to cheapen one of the best days of my life. “I just fucking spun off the road.”

  “Of course. I just want you to know I’m the one who’s there for you. Who’s always been there.” He clicked the key fob. “Go on, get in. There’s a clean towel in my gym bag. Get dried off and I’ll call the cops.”

  I grabbed the door and swayed, then sucked in a breath. “Thanks,” I said through gritted teeth. “Thank you for being there.” My throat burned, and it wasn’t just because I was still so thirsty.

  I owed him a lot. I just couldn’t quite reconcile what I owed him and the weirdness I couldn’t make sense of.

  “Of course.” He smiled and waved me inside. “I know my role.”

  I got in the car and dried off with the towel. A short while later, the cops showed up along with a tow truck.

  Within an hour, we were on the way back to my place. Neither of us speaking. The only sound in the car was the windshield wipers.

  “Lindsey wasn’t behind those photos.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I know it. That’s not her style.”

  He shifted to look at me. “Unless you’re thinking Lo. Little pre-reunion band publicity, maybe? Get his name back in the papers.”

  “No. He would never.” Not with his past with the tabloids.

  Besides, he hadn’t been the one in the pictures. It had been all me. And Lindsey, although she was the secret party.

  “People do crazy things when they’re feeling ignored. He’s been on the fringes of the biz for a while.”

  “Not possible.” I rubbed my bleary eyes. My head was a mess. A migraine loomed, and I couldn’t help trying to draw links between all the blanks in my memory of the night.

  “Someone took them. They exist.”

  I said nothing. They damn well existed, and the most likely culprit for who was behind them was sitting right beside me. But if that was the case, why would he point a freaking arrow right at himself?

  “Maybe I should go to the hospital,” I mumbled.

  I didn’t know why. I’d refused medical treatment at the scene. I hated doctors, especially since the crash with Kyle. But some part of me thought it was necessary.

  Something was very wrong. With me or with Kyle, I didn’t know.

  “Are you feeling worse? Why don’t I stay the night with you?” He kept right on driving toward my place without waiting for my reply.

  “You’re not a physician. I could have a concussion.”

  “With that hard he
ad of yours?” He chuckled. “I’ll hang out, make sure you’re okay. If you’re still feeling off, we’ll go in the morning.”

  “Why not now?”

  “Do you really want to risk an ER in the middle of the night? Want more photos of you out there circling? More questions? Wouldn’t you rather see your own doctor where you’re more likely to get some privacy?”

  The barrage of questions only made my head squeeze like a fist. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. That makes sense.”

  Only partially, but I wasn’t in any state to argue. Even sitting upright was a challenge.

  As he approached my street, he slowed down. “We’ll go tomorrow if you want. I’ll drive you.”

  I pressed my hot cheek against the window. I was so tired. “All right.”

  Despite agreeing to it, I didn’t want him to stay. I wanted to be alone. In my own space. With my own thoughts. Maybe then I’d get some clarity back.

  But he bedded down on the couch, and I was too exhausted to fight about it.

  I fed Sarge and Brutus and took them out for the quickest walk known to man, then showered, dumped a handful of Tylenol down my throat, and climbed in bed.

  A dozen hours later, the endless beeping of my phone jolted me out of a restless sleep.

  My manager’s text ringtone. Just what I didn’t want to deal with right now.

  I fumbled for my cell and read the texts.

  What is this “Unlove” song circulating with your name on it? With Angel Martin no less?

  Rumors are all over saying she’s in the toilet and you’re giving her fucking gold quality breakup songs? And cutting out your management?

  Get back at me. Today. Not kidding, Nash.

  I reread the texts half a dozen times and still didn’t understand them. The hangover-worthy headache I still had didn’t help my comprehension.

  But I recognized those words.

  “Unlove” rung a bell. Part of the disjointed lyrics I’d written at Lo’s.