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

back pocket so I wasn’t tempted to look at it and slowly rose to my feet, wishing I had a weapon. I had a small, illegal bottle of pepper spray in my purse at home. Why hadn’t I brought it with me?
Stupid. My life was a series of bad choices. I sincerely hoped this wouldn’t become another one.
I glanced around. Nothing seemed out of place. I didn’t hear anything. Could I have imagined the noise? I was certainly skittish enough tonight.
Swallowing hard, I reached up to redo my hasty topknot and huffed a few loose curls out of my eyes. I was freezing, my typical fear response. Didn’t matter that it was the middle of June or that I’d worn a thin jacket in deference to the late night breeze. The air conditioning was pumping in the club, and my fight or flight response added a layer of goosebumps.
I really wanted to run. I wasn’t supposed to be here anyway. Maybe someone who wasn’t supposed to still be here had stuck around. Hell, someone could have followed me.
Or I could be having one hell of a waking dream-slash-nightmare.
Whatever the reason, I wasn’t going to be able to relieve some stress by playing my heart out for a crowd that didn’t exist.
And I also couldn’t just back up and run away. I’d done that far too often. If there was a threat here, I’d deal with it.
I rushed to Cooper’s drum riser and felt around behind his kit. He kept a spare set of sticks in a pouch there. It wasn’t a traditional weapon, but if I had to nail someone between the eyes with a pair of walnut sticks, I would. Better to be prepared.
The best defense is being pissed off at needing a good offense.
I slipped the sticks out of their protective sleeve and gripped one in each hand as I approached the open doorway to the area behind the stage. I wasn’t helpless. Not anymore. I had a gun at home and I knew how to use it. I’d taken Krav Maga. As small and petite as I was, I wouldn’t be someone’s victim again.
Even if I was shivering inside and out.
It was dark enough backstage to make my belly twist like wet ropes, frayed against the skin. I wanted to turn around. My feet seemed stuck to the floor. But I tightened my hold on Coop’s sticks, letting their solid weight in my hands remind me that I wasn’t some defenseless bird. Coop himself had reminded me more than once that a man had many weak spots. His instep. His eyes. And hell, no one could dispute the power of a swift knee to the junk.
I would use whichever of those tactics I needed to. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t have to use any of them and would walk out of here feeling strong.
Okay, so maybe I’d cool it with the late night solo club practice sessions. I could buy a portable keyboard to use at home until the renos were done and I could get my precious instruments back out of storage.
A sudden creak had me fumbling on the wall for a light switch. Shit, there had to be one in here. Another sound came from behind me and I whirled, shoulders braced, only to see more endless dark. I swung my arms out, suddenly claustrophobic, the darkness that enveloped me as solid as a wall.
Can’t see. Can’t breathe. Can’t think.
Something clattered to the floor, pelting my feet. I barely felt the pain as I bolted out of there.
I ran across the stage and stumbled down the side steps then raced down the hallway to the side exit. It was locked from the inside and I slammed my fists on the glass, rattling the door in the frame. I didn’t consider myself terribly strong, but I was so freaked out that I was pretty sure I could have broken the door with the power of my mind.
Glancing around frantically, my gaze landed on the “in case of fire” glass box attached to the wall. I didn’t know what it was called or if it even worked the same way as it had when I was in school, but I yanked on the lever and pulling out the handled blade inside.
I didn’t think. Didn’t give my frenetic mind a chance to reason my way out of this. I just whacked at the door until the glass broke and alarms blared and I could shove my arm through the broken glass and wave my pass over the sensor.
The lock unsnicked and I burst into the alley, gasping for breath as if I’d run miles. My gaze pingponged around the narrow space until I oriented myself enough to glimpse the street at the opposite end. A yellow cab was chugging by and I sprinted toward it, shouting like an idiot over the still-screaming alarm as I flagged down the cabbie.
The older man stopped the car and rolled down his passenger window, his forehead puckered with a frown. “Hey, lady, you okay?”
“No. I’m not. I need a ride. Please.”
“Okay, okay, lady. Where to?”
Biting my lip, I hesitated. I’d never been to Cooper’s place. Now that I thought about it, that didn’t make much sense. We were tight. He was my best friend other than Ricki, and she was so busy with her own band and her husband and probably endless baby practice that we rarely saw each other lately.
But Cooper and I were in close quarters all the time. Onstage, on the bus, and otherwise. Through strain and weirdness and late nights of bad diner food and stupid jokes I doubted anyone else would get.
He was my center.
The sound of sirens got my mouth going even as my brain rebelled. I couldn’t run away. I’d caused property destruction. It didn’t matter I hadn’t meant to.
God, I hated being the woman who ran to a man. I’d promised myself I never would do that again. But everything felt like it