Play Fast (Brooklyn Dawn Book 2) Read online

  Play Fast

  Brooklyn Dawn Book 2

  Cari Quinn

  Taryn Elliott

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Play Fast

  © 2020 Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott

  Rainbow Rage Publishing

  Cover by LateNite Designs

  Photograph by

  All Rights Are Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First ebook edition: April 2020

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  Five reasons I should never go near Oz Taylor:

  • He’s a hot as sin world famous rockstar with a big...ax.

  • He’s a huge, tattooed older guy with a piercing dark gaze that can destroy a woman’s virginity.

  • He’s my forever best friend’s older brother.

  • He hasn’t spoken to me in more than five years.

  • Oh, and I’m pretty sure he hates me...

  Author’s note: Play Fast is a standalone enemies to lovers rock star romance. It ends in a happily ever after with no cliffhanger.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  End of chapter/Epilogue

  Oblivion World Character Chart

  Brooklyn Dawn

  Quinn and Elliott

  Taryn Quinn

  Follow Us

  About the Authors

  Acknowledgments

  The Brooklyn Dawn peeps are super special to us. Namely because they’ve helped us come through our own dark periods. In turn, the band members and their significant others usually have a twisty road to finding their happily ever after.

  Oz and Daisy are no different. We hope you enjoy their story and road to healing. And because we’re us, there’s a fair bit of shenanigans for good measure! Everyone needs the light and the dark to find balance.

  Being a creative is hard work. And we are blessed to have a ton of people who support us in this crazy reading landscape. Thank you so much for your patience as we took a little longer than usual to get this book out for you guys to enjoy.

  **We also wrote a little bonus prequel scene to this book as a gift to our fans who preordered. If you’d like to read that before you start PLAY FAST you can go HERE.

  Sometimes we make up fictional places that end up having the same names as actual places. These are our fictional interpretations only. Please grant us leeway if our creative vision isn't true to reality.

  Pssst!!! Want to see a little backstage life before you start the book?

  We love to write in-between scenes to get our readers excited for new books. This one includes Oz, Mal, and Elle— with a little extra cameo by Nick Crandall from our Lost in Oblivion series.

  You can find that bonus scene HERE.

  As always, join our NEWSLETTER for early access to all of our bonus content!

  One

  Even on the hardest night of the year for me, the show must go on.

  Methodically, my fingers moved over Vicki, my bass guitar—complete with the half-naked mermaid I’d sketched on the back when I was seventeen, drunk, and stupid. I played the low, dirty notes that served as part of the intro to “Stripped Away,” our surprise new radio single.

  This far into the show in the city, our home base, the crowd couldn’t get enough. They were screaming, chanting, sweat dripping down the faces of the fans pushing against the barrier. A few of the luckiest ones had been selected to dance in a glowing, revolving cage in a corner of the stage. Some would leave and others would join before the end of the concert. It was something we’d tried on a whim last year, and now the crowd clamored to take part.

  Lindsey, our lead singer, kept sliding that cage quick glances as she moved effortlessly across the stage, gliding on her mile-high purple suede boots. She smiled and laughed and sang every fucking high note as if she’d never faced a moment’s uncertainty in her life, never mind fear.

  But that sparkling, revolving cage was a neon reminder that she’d barely survived the destruction wrought by a man who had danced on our stage last fall.

  She could’ve put her designer heel down and said no. No one would’ve questioned it. There were other ways to promote, and we all knew what she’d been through. But she never suggested not doing it. She never backed down from a challenge and did what she needed to do to support our fans, just as they supported us.

  Hell, they put in almost as much effort as the band, cheering, stamping their feet, singing along to every damn word. Even to the newest songs that had just hit radio, oh, seventy-two hours ago and the streaming services a few days before that.

  It was gratifying and humbling as fuck. That bar kept climbing with every sold-out show and every hit record.

  We were still touring in support of our last album, yet we were already dropping songs for the next. That was the world we lived in. Churning out music meant for snippets on SnapChat and dances created for TikTok.

  Jamie vaulted onto the hovering mini stage that descended from the rafters as wild purple and green lights strobed over each one of us in turn. The lights circled her, illuminating her long dark and streaked blue hair as she took her stance with her purple electric guitar. She flashed the crowd a wicked smile before her fingers raced up and down the frets. The shredded notes from her guitar wailed through the arena and I followed her, a thunderous counterpoint, as Zane joined in from his spot on yet another raised dais. Together, the three of us built up the frenzy while the audience went wild.

  Then it was Jamie’s moment. She owned the crowd, eating up every bit of their attention as her solo went on and on. She fell to her knees and curled over her guitar, playing so fast her fingers were nothing but a blur. Still playing, never ceasing for a second, she rolled onto her back, her hair streaming behind her, that maniacal smile wreathing her face as she brought down the goddamn house.

  While they were still cheering, she leaped down and grabbed Lindsey. They brought their heads together, one dark, one light. Jamie led the next song, our last before the encore, one from our first album we only brought out on certain nights.

  “Untrustworthy” was a quiet, acoustic-driven song, at least at the beginning. Lindsey’s lyrics were low, mournful, her hands, clad in black lace fingerless gloves, caressing her mic as if she was praying.

  Can’t trust you

  Don’t want you back

  Can’t trust me

  My body still craves that

  Your touch, your mouth

  Your skin up against mine
>
  Your heart, lying every time

  The bass came alive in my hands, dragging me through the song although I was unwilling. I didn’t want to go there tonight. It wasn’t as if I was suffering from some romantic heartbreak—that was rarely a part of my life, and for good reason—but the words still pulled at me. I knew all too well about memories you couldn’t force yourself to forget. Thoughts that plagued every time you closed your eyes.

  Like right now.

  Lindsey let out the piercing war cry that led into the second verse, and my eyes flew open. They caught on the cage, still circling as silver starlight sparkled over the women and men inside. Most wore jeans and a Brooklyn Dawn T-shirt. Some of the guys had ripped off theirs. Lots of glistening abs and tiny stomachs revealed by crop tops were on display.

  Only one of the people truly caught my eye. She was stunning.

  Her hair shimmered like a shaft of sunshine, reflecting light with every one of her sinuous movements as she stretched her arms far above her head. The man she was dancing with gripped her glittery hip, guiding her against him. Tiny virulent purple boy shorts cleaved to her ass, a match to the half shirt she wore. She glittered everywhere from some kind of body paint or a trick of the lights.

  Something was making her fucking glow.

  My fingers fumbled. I forgot the notes. Fuck, I might’ve forgotten who I was entirely the instant I realized who she was.

  It was fucking Daisy dancing in that cage.

  How? Why? She wasn’t a goddamn fan. She was one of Ripper Records’ hair and makeup artists. Not that I ever let her mess with me.

  She’d done plenty of that years before.

  She’d gone for me again earlier tonight when she’d set up that damn charity thing for teens against narcotics. A good charity, I was sure, but Kerry wasn’t a soundbite meant to sell tickets.

  Our tragedy wasn’t for public consumption. Yeah, I wanted to help people. I knew my sister would too. But it was still too raw. I didn’t want to use her death for my profit. Surely Daisy could understand that.

  Then again, she’d done it without even asking me. Now she was shimmying in a cage, rubbing up against some dude, some chick, yet another dude. Laughing. Tossing her fistable hair as if she’d never had a care in the world.

  Sparkles dripped off her ass. Her half shirt clung to her breasts like a pair of hands. Barely any fabric, just those mirrored bits of glitter that shook every time she gyrated.

  “Hey. You okay?” Zane sidestepped to me, still playing, and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Did a little too much pre-show partying, did ya?”

  The question wasn’t from left field. I’d had my nights of getting loaded before a show, although I was careful to put some time between them. Dependency wasn’t in my future. Not after all I’d seen.

  But it wasn’t a few extra drinks that had set me off tonight. I hadn’t touched a drop. No, my issues had started with that fundraiser, continued with the little intervention from Ricki from Warning Sign—if you need anything, I understand, I can offer an ear—and now had been topped off by Daisy’s Hustlers routine in the corner of the stage. All she needed was a pole.

  Even as I thought it, I wanted to kick my own ass. I had no right to get annoyed. She could do whatever she wanted. Big deal she was dancing. She looked amazing. She was definitely keeping the beat better than I was right now.

  When I didn’t reply, Zane just shrugged and gave up. He went back to his side of the stage, exchanging a look with Jamie I didn’t miss. She’d propped her booted foot on Cooper’s drum riser and was making the rest of us look like posers. Lindsey was hitting those notes that made the audience lose their freaking minds, and Jamie was rocking right with her even as she and Zane quietly worried about me.

  Screwed up Oz. He can usually play through his misery. Hand him a bottle or give him some equipment to destroy and he’ll be fine tomorrow. Room trashing is his antidote. It’s all good.

  Except it wasn’t.

  And Daisy was still dancing. Still rocking her ass and shaking her hair and giving the fans a show to go with Lindsey and Jamie’s—and hell, Cooper’s and Zane’s and Teagan’s—theatrics.

  Everyone was doing their job but me.

  Could be I was looking at this all wrong. Kerry had been Daisy’s best friend, so maybe she could do whatever she wanted there too. Could be she was just trying to do a nice thing to honor someone she loved.

  Take some notes there, asshole.

  But what the fuck had she been thinking to not even mention it to me? To not fucking ask me how I felt?

  You don’t matter to her. Why should she care what you think when you haven’t said more than a few words to her in the six months she’s been on this tour?

  We hadn’t been touring the whole time, of course. There had been holiday breaks and days off between legs of the tour, but we’d definitely been more on than off. Brooklyn Dawn’s tour bus accommodations were swanky enough to be on one of those fancy ass cable shows about rockstar digs, but that didn’t mean we never saw each other. Daisy had made friends with my bandmates, because that was who she was.

  Friendly. Sweet. Too sweet. She’d never quite realized the world wasn’t a fucking lollipop land you could just hop your way through, unscathed.

  Kerry had gotten hurt enough for all three of us.

  The crowd roared, and the cage rotated to a stop with a loud shriek that jarred me out of my head. My hands were clammy, for God’s sake. The song was over. The show was too, all but the encore. Lindsey was blowing kisses to the crowd, and Jamie had her arm slung around Zane’s neck as she let out a war whoop. Cooper spun his sticks through the air to show off his sick juggling routine before he jumped down.

  The fans in the cage spilled out, and the band raced into the back as the crowd’s energy ramped up into madness. Feet stomping, cheers echoing, cell phone lights flashing. No one was ready for the night to end.

  And I was just standing there like a zombie, barely reacting as one of the techs pried Vicki from my lifeless hands.

  “You okay, man?”

  I turned my head to find Cooper behind me. He gave a little nod toward the audience, where fans were pushing against the barrier and begging for more. Which we were going to give them after our super short break—as soon as I could get my ass off this stage.

  “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’m good.” I nodded at him and strode into the insanity backstage, heading right for one of the tables set up with food and beverages. I didn’t want a soda or a beer. An ice cold water washed the metallic flavor of bitterness out of my throat, and then I reached for the bottle of Glenlivet I’d requested just for tonight.

  That was how I toasted my little sister.

  To making it through one more year. May it not be the last.

  Gotta love my fatalistic Irish side.

  I uncapped it and tossed it back, swallowing again and again until the burn raged inside my chest. When I’d finished off a third of the bottle, I slammed it on the table and pivoted to find Lindsey staring me down. She’d just powered through an incredible set, and other than a few curls out of place, you couldn’t fucking tell. She barely seemed to sweat. That woman had been made for the stage.

  Normally, I reveled in her effortless ability. Tonight? It just pissed me off like so much else.

  “Let’s talk.”

  I followed her into the nearest alcove away from the hive of activity and buzz of voices. The thunder of the crowd was reaching ear-splitting levels. We were due back out there basically now.

  “What’s up?” I asked, as if I didn’t already know.

  “If you can’t do this, we can do the encore without you. It won’t be nearly the same, but we can make it work.”

  Although I knew she was trying to help, that wasn’t what it felt like right now. Instead, this was just one more episode of my input not really being needed.

  Theme of the evening.

  My palm itched, wanting The Glenlivet back again. I needed something to hold
on to right now, and for once, it wasn’t Vicki. My solace wasn’t inside her forgiving curves or her sweet strings.

  No, mine would be in getting drunk, alone.

  I tucked my hands under my armpits. “You do what you have to do. You’re the boss, right?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know you’re in a rough spot, so I’m not going to kick your ass for that snide comment.”

  “You are the boss. You and tall, dark, and deadly over there.” I jerked my chin in the general direction of where Jamie was holding court with her latest bunch of groupies.

  Men—and women—followed her around as if she was a god in leather and lace. She kept trying to break free, but there was always someone grasping at her.

  “I’m offering you an out as your friend. That’s all.”

  “Awful lot of friendship being tossed my way tonight,” I muttered.

  “Maybe you should take some of it and knock the chip off your shoulder.” She patted my arm none too gently. “Free advice, pal.” She turned away. “Time to rock,” she called to the others, who shouted and followed her back to the stage.

  I debated grabbing my bottle but decided against it. I could do a four-song encore.

  I hoped.