Play Mine: Rockstar Romantic Suspense (Brooklyn Dawn Book 3) Read online

  Play Mine

  Brooklyn Dawn Book 3

  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 Mine

  © 2020 Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott

  Rainbow Rage Publishing

  Cover by LateNite Designs

  Photographer: Sara Eirew Photography

  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: September 2020

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  “You need to be careful.”

  The day the manager of my rock band said that changed my life.

  As Brooklyn Dawn’s newest member on probation, I didn’t think I’d have to worry about anything but rocking hard.

  I didn’t expect my tumultuous past to come out.

  I definitely didn’t expect us to be in danger.

  I never considered I’d need a bodyguard.

  Or that my best friend in the band, our drummer, Cooper, an ex-Ranger, would vie for that role—along with a much more personal one as my guy.

  Forget the bodyguard my label hired. Cooper is determined to take care of me.

  Onstage and off. In bed and out.

  When friends become foes and strangers become threats, trust is all I have left.

  But falling in love with the last man I ever expected to is just one more complication while I’m trying to stay drama free and most importantly, alive.

  Author’s note: Play Mine is a standalone friends to lovers rock star romance. The Brooklyn Dawn series has a suspense arc that goes through the entire series. It will be resolved in the final book. Play Mine ends in a happily ever after with no cliffhanger for the main couple.

  Contents

  Borg Talk

  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

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Brooklyn Dawn

  Oblivion World

  Quinn and Elliott

  Taryn Quinn

  Follow Us

  About the Authors

  Borg Talk

  Sometimes books are hard. Sometimes whole years are hard. 2020 seems to have that theme. This book was a major labor of love. We tried a little something different in the writing of PLAY MINE. We hope you see the love and laughter, maybe even dab away some tears, but in the end we hope you see our ongoing theme. One that shows up in almost all of our books.

  Found family.

  Sometimes the perfect family doesn’t come from your own bloodline, sometimes it’s created by a mutual love of music as in many of our rocker families. Shared passions and the need to create followed by finding one of a kind loves.

  Or in our case, by that mutual love of creating characters that resonate. Over the years Cari and I have become like sisters. We often call one another the borg because we can finish each other’s thoughts and do weird hoodoo in our books without checking in with the other—sometimes even writing separate chapters in the same day!

  It’s a little bit of magic that has made our writing stronger and crazier as the years go by. We hope you love Teagan and Cooper and this crazy Brooklyn Dawn family as much as we’ve loved writing them. There’s so much more to come.

  xoxo,

  Taryn & Cari

  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.

  Look at me that way again, and you may just claim what’s left of my heart.

  William C. Hannan

  One

  I hurried up the dark alley, looking over my shoulder with every sharp click of my low-heeled boots on the concrete. It had been awhile since I’d been a flagrant trespasser.

  Technically, I wasn’t trespassing now either. This wasn’t the first time I’d visited a venue after hours. It didn’t really count as trespassing if you had a pass to get you in, did it? Doubtful. But I’d definitely sneaked out to Purgatory.

  Not the actual realm between heaven and hell. I wasn’t sure where to find that particular portal and wasn’t in any hurry to know if that would be my ultimate fate.

  Certainly not for my current transgression.

  It wasn’t as if I’d hidden behind trees and Dumpsters as I ran down the sidewalk or anything. No, I’d taken a perfectly respectable Uber crosstown to the club where my band would be performing tonight.

  The driver had let me off down the street and I’d taken my time passing by a few interesting storefronts. At this time of night, it probably wasn’t wise. I’d gotten too used to being shadowed by Noah Jordan, my bodyguard.

  But I hadn’t even needed to duck my bodyguard detail, since those restrictions eased slightly when we weren’t traveling from show to show. Though I would have ducked, if said bodyguard had been, well, guarding my body.

  A metaphor for sure, since Noah had no use for it other than making sure I stayed in one piece.

  We were just coming back from a couple of weeks off. Starting tomorrow night, my life would get locked down even more. We’d been asked to curtail our extracurricular activities during this “troubling” time for Ripper Records—our manager Lila Crandall’s phrase, not mine.

  That wasn’t much of an issue for me, since I was single and had been since….

  Okay, yeah, not going back that far. My ex Pat was part of the distant past, and I didn’t have time for trips down memory lane. I was coping okay with singledom.

  Over the past few years, I’d even managed to go on some dates. I’d let friends set me up a couple times. Right before I’d gotten the Brooklyn Dawn gig, I’d even tried Tinder.

  But I hadn’t slept with anyone since Pat. Maybe I was destined to be alone forever. God knows my fruitless crush on Noah hadn’t gone anywhere. I’d channeled halfhearted energy into getting him to notice me. He had not. So, I’d moved on.

  Clearly, I didn’t know how to do relationships right. I definitely didn’t trust my choices. And somehow, even though it had been a couple of years since my ex, I still felt…stuck.

  At least my adult toy collection was currently at its peak, both in quantity and quality. If I kept it up, I’d probably achieve that All-Star membership with my online shop of choice like my high school friend Elle, though to me she would always be Ricki.

  Hey, a girl had to have goals.

  I bumped into a trash receptacle and had to slap a hand
over my mouth to keep from screaming. Guess I was more spooked than I’d realized. Then again, it was freaking late.

  Quickly, I used my laminated access pass at the side entrance. The door was almost indistinguishable from the wall surrounding it. When the security light glowed green, I slipped inside and leaned back against the door, my heart beating way too hard.

  I shuddered and wiped my sweaty palm on my night creeper-style black pants. For heaven’s sake, I hadn’t done anything illegal. I had a pass, and I was one of the performers tonight. I’d done this before at venues we’d played at, although it had been a while. But I was starting to remodel my place, and I’d temporarily put most of my instruments in storage. My stage piano was here, unused. So, why not?

  This whole adventure was just proof that I was not cut out to be a bad girl. How had I managed to join one of the most successful rock bands in the entire world?

  A question for the ages.

  If I’d been smart, I would’ve been home in bed, pretending to sleep. Toy time optional.

  Maybe I should try melatonin again, weird dreams and all. That had to be better than burning off excess energy by playing alone in shadowy clubs.

  The security lights near the ceiling provided the only illumination. A hush had fallen over the place that didn’t entirely seem natural, as if all the loud music and sounds of talking and laughter had been cut off like a cord pulled from an amp.

  I gripped my throat and forced myself to keep moving. This was not the ideal environment for a chick who jumped at spotlight switches and startled every time someone dropped a guitar pick.

  After hurrying up the hallway, I moved into the main area of the club, which contained a mix of booths and overturned chairs on tables. The long bar gleamed even in the low light off to one side, and in front, the wide expanse of stage beckoned.

  I crept toward it and then climbed the short flight of stairs on the side. The floor was reflective black tiles, perfect for magnifying the lights. Normally, the stage would be empty, but we’d arranged to have some of our equipment brought in around closing time so we would be ready to go for an early-ish band meeting and then rehearsal. At least two was early for me.

  Once upon a time, I’d been a morning person, back when I’d temped as a legal assistant from nine to five while Pat went to his shared office space and worked on his art in a safe, non-judgmental space. I’d never understood how our empty townhouse had been unsafe or judging him, but in retrospect, I hadn’t understood a lot about him.

  I took a steadying breath and moved toward the curved bench placed in front of my keyboard. In the arenas, I used my designer pink Steinway Grand piano, a gift from my far too sweet parents for joining the band. At smaller venues like this one, I made do with a portable piano rig.

  But my special riveted padded bench came with me everywhere.

  I slid a loving hand across the leather, molded precisely to my own shape after many hours of rehearsal and shows, then sat down and ran through a quick set of scales. Limbering up my fingers as an athlete would, warming them so that I could do the tricks I saved for my own personal concerts. Hand over hand, occasionally even behind my back. Fun stuff that amused me and had no place in Brooklyn Dawn shows.

  In a band full of big personalities, I was happy to just play a support role, quietly and competently. Well, mostly quietly, except when I’d had a little too much tequila.

  I rolled my achy, tense shoulders and forced myself not to look out into the empty audience. Already I was going to that place in my mind where I imagined a crowd listening to me as I played. The sound of the notes rang out so clear and true, luring me to play one of my favorites. “Moonlight Sonata” was a moody, desolate piece, at least to me. But instead of helping me relax as it usually did, the nerves buzzing along my spine only grew.

  It’s just thoughts of Pat crowding in. And hello, middle of the night, weirdo.

  My hands moved without me telling them to, which was a good thing since my mind was racing in concert with my heart. But the music eased me even as I glanced around, half expecting to catch a movement out of the corner of my eye.

  Maybe Coop had followed me. He was my closest friend in the band and we hung out often. At least we had before the latest Ripper Records chaos had opened up a rift between us.

  He didn’t make a habit of lurking around my place when I hadn’t invited him over, but lately, he was fairly obsessed with keeping an eye on me. That was a less worrisome thought than thinking someone else could be here with me.

  Nah. That was just nerves talking. Much better to focus on my fingers gliding across the keys as I played Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” than to work myself into a frenzy over nothing.

  Hadn’t I sneaked out tonight for the thrill of pretending to play for a crowd of my own? Now I was freaking out about shadows.

  Think about Coop. Just Coop.

  A smile curved my mouth. He wasn’t a hardship to think about. No one could make me laugh like he did. Every now and then he called me “little redhead girl” after Charlie Brown’s crush. I didn’t even know where he’d picked that up, but he teased me with it when I poked at him about his love of peanut butter and banana sandwiches—gross—or his solitary ways to relax. He loved to go on long hikes anytime our bus was parked and we weren’t needed for band stuff. Mostly because I wanted to hike with him. Silence between us was so easy and natural.

  Or it had been before.

  Things between us had been strained since Lila told us about the threatening letter she’d received at home and a little—very little—about my aggressive ex had come out. Coop had been hurt I hadn’t gone to confession about my past relationship, but I hated talking about Pat. Or thinking about him. I also didn’t like remembering the woman I’d been then.

  And worse, wondering if I could become her again with someone else.

  I’d been so shocked Lila had found out about Pat that only fragments of the ominous letter remained in my memory. Someone had a score to settle with Ripper Records, and that meant we were in the crosshairs as much as anyone else since we were in the middle of a big cross-country tour.

  Lindsey, our lead singer and one of the de facto leaders of the band, hadn’t wanted to cancel any dates, never mind the tour itself. Why would she? We were selling out venues left and right. If we didn’t meet our commitments, our crew and all the various people part of the Brooklyn Dawn juggernaut would be out of a job for however long this threat remained. Not to mention disappointing the fans.

  Nope, the show must go on. Period. As a band, we all agreed on that.

  But doing shows and even innocuous stuff like riding in style in our tricked out tour buses wasn’t the same right now. Nothing was. Not when we had bodyguards lurking around us at every turn when we were on the road.

  And it wasn’t just us. We were on a double header ticket with Warning Sign, Ricki’s band, and they had the same deal. As would Oblivion when their world tour began later in the year, along with some of Ripper’s other larger acts. Lila’s husband Nick was a guitarist in Oblivion, and the letter had been delivered to their home, so naturally, Oblivion would get a lion’s share of the security budget. Their bodyguards probably would have bodyguards by the time their planes were wheels up.

  So much of our world was in flux right now. I didn’t doubt the nameless specter hanging over our heads had something to do with my recent inability to sleep. I could only blame the full moon for my insomnia so many days of the month.

  I stumbled over the keys, losing my place. I blew out a breath and tipped my head back, focusing on the few lights still on above the stage until they swam and shimmered.

  Keep it together.

  With effort, I shifted my gaze toward the main section of the club and imagined fans filling the seats, standing behind the booths, lining up along the bar. I willed my fingers to play the opening notes of one of Brooklyn Dawn’s biggest hits to date, “No Escape.”

  Almost without realizing it, I began to sing along with
the music, strengthening my voice as it faltered. As it wobbled and caught. But I kept going. This particular song was difficult for me. Too much of my past was held prisoner in lyrics and a melody I hadn’t written yet felt down to my marrow.

  he told me he was poison

  I didn't listen

  he swore he was no good

  but I saw only stars

  in his eyes

  in my heart

  I got off on the lust

  and the need

  oh, how he needed me

  it was hard to see

  that the stars were blinding me

  cracks in the sidewalk

  make me fall

  poison in my blood

  taste it all

  but i know when you call again

  there’s no escape

  no escape for me

  A sharp, high-pitched sound like feedback screeched through the empty club, and I jumped, banging on the keys.

  I almost took a header off the damn bench, just as I had at Ricki’s engagement party. I’d met Noah that night. He’d helped me up and carried me out of there like a white knight. Of course I’d developed a little hero worship toward him. A little crush.