Play Mine (Brooklyn Dawn #3) - Cari Quinn Page 0,3
night? I didn’t know why. We hadn’t talked since… God, I didn’t even know. They’d never found him to serve the restraining order I’d put in place after the break-in. In time, it had expired. I hadn’t heard from him in years so I hadn’t sought to get it renewed.
Now I was trembling, unsure what the hell to do, and he was on my phone.
I dismissed the call and forced myself to take a steadying breath. Then another. I shoved my phone in my 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.