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

keep her safe. Hated that she was afraid of me. Hated that she went through that bullshit with Pat. Hated that she didn’t think she could tell me—tell us.
Fuck.
I swung through the door and found a few similarly dressed security people. A little less camo than Noah, but then again, Noah didn’t bother trying to blend in. Even when we’d been in the same unit, he’d been more interested in getting the job done than interacting with the guys.
He’d been a senior officer, but not in my direct chain of command. He’d always been the one to do the most dangerous ops with very little downtime between jumps. Hell, most of the stuff Noah had been involved in was so classified, he couldn’t talk to us about it anyway.
The Rangers was already an elite force, but sharpshooters like Noah and Quinn Alexander were often used for ops I hadn’t been privy to. Then I’d left.
Noah hadn’t left by choice. Unlike me.
That oil sludge slice of memory didn’t need to come out today. I threw it back in the box it belonged in and headed for the side entrance.
“Dallas.”
I turned and swore. “Right. Sorry.” I held out my hand. “Riggs, right?”
He nodded. His gaze was as direct and reserved as the smoke gray color of his eyes. He had the rigid bearing of the military. The way he sized up the space and our location to others in the room told me he wasn’t just hired muscle.
“Navy?”
He nodded. “Good guess. Noah mentioned you were a Ranger.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, don’t hold it against me.” He didn’t get much more approachable so I tried a different tact. “I’ll try not to be an asshole about this shit. I know you’re only doing your job.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Emphasis on try.”
“Understood.” His lips twitched, but humor didn’t soften his face. Guess I’d have to work on that.
“I need some air. Is that cool?”
“As long as I go with you.”
I sighed. “Well, come on. They’ll be looking for me any minute.”
“Mr. Dallas.”
Lila’s chilly, even voice had me swallowing the growl threatening. Couldn’t people leave me alone for one goddamn minute? I didn’t turn around, but I did pause before pushing my way through the side door.
“We need you for photos.”
I fisted my hands. “I need a minute.”
“I’ll see you in five.”
I slammed through the door. I frowned at the plexiglass window rattling slightly in the frame. It didn’t seem to match the high-end aesthetic of Purgatory.
This must’ve been where Teagan had been this morning.
I stalked down the alleyway then stumbled back a few paces when I spotted the line of people outside the venue. It was a decent-sized club, but definitely not the arenas we were used to.
Glass crunched under my boots. Was this the alleyway Teagan had flown down in terror?
My shoulders ached from clenching every fucking muscle. I was in no headspace to do a damn show. Or maybe I was. Beating the shit out of my skins might actually kill some of this frustration.
But there was no way I could handle fans yet. And I was going to have to.
Soon.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets for my AirPods. My pregame mix of songs was the only thing that chilled me out. Especially after everything that had gone down today, I was edgy as hell.
Screams drove me through a set. But schmoozing required a certain sort of patience I did not have at the moment. Talking was overrated.
Especially when it was the chirpy, incessant small talk of strangers. Since beating people quiet was frowned upon, I normally used a little Godsmack before these sorts of things to keep me sane.
I loved the road with my whole heart. My mom and sister were my number one—then touring. Even more than the actual writing of music. I left that to the rest of the band. Most of our songs were written with a piano and guitar. Some during sessions. Some were simply created on the damn bus.
We actually did most of our recording live in the studio, but I was a beast about using drum fills. It was me or nothing. If I couldn’t do it alone in the song, then it didn’t get used. So, they used a lot of my drums at the very end of the recording and production because songs often went through a ton of changes.
But this in between time—when we weren’t really on the road, but not really off, either? Yeah, this was utter shit. And now I was supposed to play nice with reporters or executive VIPs, which were far different than fans.
Fans were the bonus round of this crazy life. There were a few loose screws here and there, but by and large, they just wanted to be in our space for a few minutes and let us know what our music meant to them. Those were the moments that made the endless round of hotels and busses worth it.
Then there were the groupies. For a time, they’d had their place in my life, when this circus was still new and my dick was less discriminatory. When I chased the high of a good fuck to get rid of the darkness and doubt.
Like any drug, it eventually stopped working. At first, I looked for more of it, but I’d never been the guy to pass around girls like they were party favors.
I’d been raised by a strong woman and had a little sister, so there was no way I could compartmentalize that shit for long. I was a helluva lot more discerning these days.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. My warning alarm.
I boosted the volume on Metallica, but I couldn’t turn back time. The worst of the worst was waiting for me.
VIPs were the shit stains on the bottom of my stall boots back at my mom’s ranch.
I wished like hell Teagan and I could get a break tonight. We both could use a quiet night in after today. Some takeout Thai, some music,