Play Dirty: Brooklyn Dawn Book 1 Read online

  “Apologize for what? Throwing a drug addict out of your house? Nope.”

  “No. I appreciate that part.” Logan cracked his neck. “It was the volume in which you did it.”

  “Angel wasn’t feeling any pain. She probably won’t even remember it.” I would. I wouldn’t be able to get her glassy, blank eyes out of my head for a good fucking long time. Broken, shattered eyes.

  Fuck. I would not feel sorry for the little lamb.

  Logan opened his mouth, but twisted around when the sliding door opened. “Izzy.”

  “Don’t Izzy me,” she snarled. “And you.”

  I pressed my lips together against a smile. She was magnificent. Her dark hair lifted on the wind and whipped around her shoulders. If I wasn’t such a lost cause, I would have gone for her years ago.

  Liar.

  You never had eyes for Isabella Grace.

  The thought of her wiped the almost smile off my face. The woman I tried wanted to scrape out of my brain with a rusty spoon. But she’d burrowed in like a burr.

  Logan might have seen the light when it came to choosing Bella over her that summer, but I had never forgotten seeing them together. Logan and Lindsey York. Her soft, sweet features so open and guileless. The kind of woman who matched Logan.

  Not the kind of woman I should touch.

  My darkness would stamp out her light like tar-tinged ink. I’d known it the moment I met her in rehearsals for Logan’s summer festival. Yet I’d wanted her.

  God, I’d wanted her.

  She’d only seen one more man who would sniff after her and beg for the scraps she left in her wake. There’d been an abundance of us right here in Winchester Falls eager to do her bidding. The moment between us had been just one of many for her.

  And yet, in an instant of weakness weeks after the festival chaos, I’d let my dick do the thinking. She’d walked into the piano bar I’d holed up in. That halo of curls and those huge fucking eyes had nearly killed me.

  Losing myself in Logan’s castoffs had never been my style. Not until her.

  At least I’d gotten that mind-fuck out of my system.

  Liar. You haven’t touched another woman in three years.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  I blinked back into the conversation. “Honestly?”

  Bella folded her arms in the doorway. “I should send you home.”

  “Please do. I’m willing to go home. Right now actually.” I jogged up the paver steps of the patio around the pool to the bottom of the stairs to the deck. “Just let me get my suitcase. Maybe take a piss.”

  “No.” Logan smacked me in the back of the head. “We have one more song to figure out. Your protégé crashed and burned. Now we have to clean up the mess.”

  Bella frowned and the two of them spoke in some sort of silent language I didn’t understand.

  I turned around. “What?”

  Logan mirrored his wife with his arms across his chest. “Tell Izzy you’re sorry.”

  “Sod off.”

  The sliding track of the back door had me climbing two steps at a time. “Izzy. Isabella, wait. I’m sorry.”

  She leaned on the door, her eyes unflinching. “And?”

  “I didn’t mean to disrespect your house or scare the gremlins.”

  Her dark brows snapped down.

  “My favorite gremlins?”

  She squinted at me. “The hole in the door to the studio will be fixed before the two of you find your beds tonight.”

  “Iz.” Logan came up behind me. “Can we talk about that?”

  “Nope. You’ll be heading into town to get a new door and I expect it fixed before the morning. Don’t even think about coming to our bed until it’s finished.” She tossed Logan’s wallet and keys at him and shut the door again.

  I grinned at him. “At least the heater in your car works.”

  “Fuck off, Nash.”

  “I love when you speak to me so sweetly.”

  He shoved his wallet into his pocket. “I can’t believe I’m getting blamed for your bullshit.”

  I followed him to the truck around the front of the house. “Angel did that shit around your kids. That’s unacceptable.”

  “I agree, goddammit.” He slammed his door.

  I opened the passenger side and hopped in as he gunned the engine. “Does your wife know it’s after five? Is there anything still open in this godforsaken town? Aren’t the small town folks cleaning up after dinner and putting their nightclothes on before their two hours of telly, possible fifteen minutes of missionary sex, then lights out?”

  “You’re a bastard.”

  I shrugged and snapped my seat belt in place. “At least I can last longer than fifteen minutes. How about you, boyo?” When he didn’t answer, I relaxed in my seat. “There’s nothing wrong with a quickie sometimes, so don’t feel bad about yourself.”

  “Considering you’re applying for monk status, I think you should shut your mouth while you’re ahead.”

  My default setting was silence, so it wasn’t a hardship. Sunset was sitting on top of us already. Fall had soundly trounced summer into submission. Hell, outside it was closer to pre-winter. Even so, I warmed my hands on the vent for just a few minutes before flicking the heat down to a normal level.

  Logan seemed just as deep in thought as I liked to pretend to be, so the silence wasn’t an uncomfortable one. I didn’t know what the hell we were going to do to fill Angel’s slot.

  Most of the Christmas project had hinged on her rising fame. Her breakout single and the two songs we’d released from her upcoming EP were breaking the damn internet.

  Now?

  While we had a decent lineup for the album, they were all the same people we normally included. A few of the usual singers had cycled out due to previous commitments, but when I’d started working with Angel earlier this year, she was a star on the rise. I was damn choosy about whom I worked with, and luckily, I had enough money to be as discerning as I pleased.

  Angel was the first artist I’d actually been excited to work with in a damn long time.

  I tipped my head back against the headrest. I’d thought she was smarter than most. Wise enough not become a statistic in the music and fame grinder.

  Shocker, I was wrong.

  She’d been pushing back the recording of this song for months. Now I knew why.

  I cracked my knuckles, my thumb worrying over the scars on my left hand absently. When Logan took a left off his access road instead of a right into town or toward the highway to civilization, I slanted a look his way.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “A friend’s workshop.”

  “I am not in the mood for people.”

  “It’s not really a social call. Besides, Jacob isn’t exactly a conversationalist. You should get along.”

  “Great.”

  We drove on a teeth-jarring road toward a clearing. A surprising amount of farmland filled the limited scope of Logan’s truck lights. Instead of going toward the main house, he took a gravel road toward a barn.

  “Did you call ahead?”

  “Nope.”

  “And you know he’s out here?”

  Logan jammed his gear shift into park. “He’s always out here. The old man is either in the store, the field, or out here. He never sleeps.” He got out of the truck without another word and left me to either stay or follow.

  I was tempted to hold my ass in the truck, but it was fecking cold. Which he knew.

  Bastard.

  I hopped down and followed the golden light to the open doors. The whir of an electric blade of some sort marred the silence of the night.

  Even the bugs didn’t want to sing tonight. They had the right idea.

  A whiskey and a fire sounded perfect. Too bad I was unable to just have one whiskey. Hot cocoa just didn’t have the same ring now that I was out of nappies.

  The clatter of wood against wood and the sweet scent of sawdust greeted me as I finally caught up to Lo
gan. He was standing off to the side, leaning against the opening of the barn. I glanced at the older man with silver hair bent over the cutting bench, then back to Logan.

  “Do we say hello?” I whispered out of the side of my mouth. The guy had bright yellow headphones on, but I had a feeling he didn’t miss much.

  “Not when the blade’s on. Not unless you’d like your hands fed into the machine next.”

  I tucked my hands into my pockets. “I’m good.”

  It took about ten minutes for the boards to stop clattering to the hay-strewn floor. “What are you looking for, Logan?”

  I gave Logan a side-eye. How did his friend know we were here? He hadn’t turned around once.

  “Nice to see you too, Jacob.”

  The older man powered down the circular saw and pulled down some sort of guard before locking it in place. He pulled off his ear protectors and plastic glasses before setting them on the bench.

  “I can smell your city from here.”

  “All I can smell is sawdust,” I muttered.

  “You’ve got a shit nose.” Jacob leaned against the sturdy workbench. “Who’s your friend?”

  He asked Logan, not me. I glanced at the floor to hide a smile. Ah, small town, where no one knew who the fuck I was. It was refreshing, if a little odd.

  “Musician pal from the city.”

  “Obviously.”

  I looked up with a frown. I had my hair shoved under my hat—yes, it was one of those slouchy hats like the hipsters wore. Only I’d actually owned one far before it was fashionable. Probably didn’t much matter to this guy though.

  Otherwise, I was wearing ancient jeans and a flannel over a T-shirt like the both of them.

  “Boston Irish or the real deal?”

  “Dún Laoghaire.” My usual light accent thickened toward Dubliner the moment I said the name of my hometown.

  “Fancy. Looking for a medal?”

  My eyebrows shot up and I let out a half-laugh. “No, sir. Just a door evidently.”

  “What now?”

  Logan rocked back on his heels. “Studio door to be exact.”

  “Do I look like a Home Depot?”

  “No, Home Depot is actually a few towns over and wouldn’t know what to do with a soundproofed set-up if I gave them schematics.”

  “And I do?”

  “Shut up, Stacks. You helped me design the damn thing.”

  Stacks? Seemed way too familiar for someone who looked like he’d been in the Marines or maybe the Navy. Probably Navy. He seemed to have that bearing. Not that I had any idea about that sort of thing, but growing up in a port town, I’d seen plenty of weathered men just like him. Ireland was full to the brim with boaters and farmers.

  Logan was right. I instantly felt a kinship. That was a rarity in my life.

  The older man picked up a rag and brushed off the sawdust from his jeans. “You’re lucky you showed up after my wife made dinner.”

  “Or unlucky, depending on your point of view.” I ignored my growling belly. It had been a long day of arguing and calling in favors. My tally of favors wasn’t exactly in the plus column these days.

  Logan had been on his phone a bit himself, but he’d been less than forthcoming with any details on how he’d fared.

  Unfortunately, Logan was already on the record, so I couldn’t even make him do a song at this point. He was semi-retired these days, so it would help sales some, but Angel had been our ace.

  And our charity backers were already crawling up our asses about finishing the collection to get the album to press. Not just the vinyl, but the record pressings were limited. There were only a few places that could actually do it these days, and they knew they had us by the short and curlies.

  “If you’re looking for a food handout, a farm is the best place to be, boy.”

  “I’m not.” My back went up immediately. Jacob only raised his eyebrow at me. “Sir.”

  He gave me a smile that was more chilling than reassuring. I glanced at Logan, who was tamping down his own amusement.

  “All right. Let’s see what we can do. I’m going to need some help. Sure those soft hands of yours remember how to work wood, Lo?”

  “Not all my calluses have melted away.”

  “Speak for yourself.” And here I was, the asshole muttering in the corner. Maybe they wouldn’t notice if I walked back to town.

  It took some doing, but Jacob did have the blueprints and an excruciatingly detailed list of steps to make the door. It was a rectangle, for fuck’s sake. It shouldn’t require an engineering degree to get this done.

  Not being an expert in this particular subject, I kept my mouth shut. I was mostly in the way and desperately wanted a cigarette by the time we had the majority of the door set with clamps, glue, and other various woodworking gadgetry.

  Finally, Jacob stood back. “Needs at least an hour to dry. You sure Bella won’t let you come back and get it later?”

  “Unless I want to sleep in my truck—nope.”

  “Well then. Beer?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m good.” I shoved my hands into my hair under my hat and walked out into the night. The night sounds were a bit closer this far out into New York’s version of the heartland. Hearty frogs and a few brave crickets sang their night songs.

  This was one nice thing about visiting Logan. I had a semi-solitary existence in New York City, but it wasn’t quiet. Well, outside my soundproofed rooms anyway. And for the most part, I enjoyed the busy, buzzy city.

  But sometimes the quiet was welcome.

  “Catch.”

  I turned toward the voice just in time for a water bottle to come sailing at my head. Quick reflexes and a lifetime of rugby and football as a lad kept me from getting beaned in the head. “Thanks.”

  “All you had to say was you didn’t drink.”

  I shrugged and broke the seal on the bottle. The devil in my brain was a little too active. Normally, it was a non-issue. Living in New York City with musicians all around me meant booze was everywhere. “Don’t like to make people uncomfortable.”

  “I’m not uncomfortable.” He held his own bottle of water. “Maybe it’s you.”

  I lifted my bottle. “Touché.”

  “It was either my wife or the bottle. She wins every time.” Jacob took a sip and surveyed his land.

  I was shite at smalltalk. “Sounds like a good reason if you need one.”

  His white eyebrow winged up in the sliver of light from the barn. “Touchy one. Keep it up, I’ll have you cutting firewood.”

  I flexed my free hand against my leg. It was still sore from earlier. Add in some sanding and stacking of lumber—yeah, it was way more manual labor than I was used to. “If you wanted some blood to help your crops grow, should have just asked.”

  “I already have some of that. Sacrificial virgins are only used around harvest.”

  My lips twitched. “Where’s Lo?”

  “Groveling to his pretty wife.”

  “Is it working?”

  He took a long sip. “Nope.”

  “She’s a good woman. Too good for him, and yet she endures.”

  “The best of them do.”

  Our conversation lagged after that, but it was a good silence. Jacob didn’t require inane conversation, which I appreciated. I hated filling the void for no reason. I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me—well, other than we were both alcoholics. If I had a chip for everyone who was, I’d be even richer.

  Not that I did the chip program. A few days of night sweats after I’d gotten out of the hospital had been enough of a detox program for me. After I’d been weaned off the drugs in the burn unit, saying no to whiskey and the rest seemed easy.

  Most nights anyway.

  Logan strolled over to join us. “Izzy said we can come get the door tomorrow morning since you stained it to match the downstairs. Not sure why you get the hall pass and I don’t, but there you go.”

  “Because she lost her mad. Takes a w
hile to navigate a woman, Lo. Someday you’ll get it.”

  “I just try not to piss her off.” Logan laced his fingers behind his neck to stretch. “Nash brings out the best in me.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Not a compliment.”

  “Ah, but you meant it to be, fecker.”

  Logan flipped me off. I did miss our easy banter. No one quite got me like Lo. A lifetime of playing any dive that would take us when we were young and stupid would do that to a body. Even my best friend Kyle and I didn’t quite have the same history. Probably why I barely bitched when Logan dragged me into his schemes.

  Except this one.

  What the hell had I been thinking saying yes to a damn Christmas album?

  I’d been mixing the fucking thing for weeks now. They weren’t exactly the typical standards. Most of the artists had either written a song with me or Lo, but they were all mostly happy. Rot your teeth out of your head sweet for a few of them. Just what the general public wanted.

  People who were not me.

  “Thanks for letting us interrupt your work and for appeasing my wife.”

  Jacob lifted a shoulder. “She knows if she doesn’t make you do things right away, they don’t get done.”

  Logan grunted, but didn’t dispute it.

  One way we were very different. My studio was ruthlessly set up the way I wanted it. Logan was more laid back about such things. The end product of his music was amazing, but there was a rawness I had trouble allowing to live in my production.

  Then again, that was why Logan was universally loved, while I was an acquired taste.

  “We’ll get out of your hair.” Logan held out his hand. “Thanks, Stacks. Saved my ass again.”

  “I’m just racking up the favors for a big one.”

  “Yes, I live in fear of the day you actually cash them in.”

  Jacob shook his hand and hauled him in for a man-hug. Easy as you please with each other. I just didn’t understand that.

  I didn’t have that with anyone. Not even Kyle—and he was my best mate on the planet.

  The niggle between my shoulder blades made me grit my teeth. Things had changed, because of me. But we were still close.

  Still trying to be.

  We loaded materials into Logan’s truck. Something about plumbing the door with a new frame. Whatever. All that building crap was lost on me. I paid people to do it. Logan liked this shit. I didn’t know the story of the blueprints and Logan’s house, but I’d inferred enough by spending the evening with them. Listening to their stories and seeing the love that flowed so freely between them.