1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Seven
Shayla Black
1001 Dark Nights
Bundle Seven
Six Novellas
By
Shayla Black
Laura Kaye
Lara Adrian
Heather Graham
and introducing
Skye Jordan
and CD Reiss
1001 Dark Nights
1001 Dark Nights Bundle 7
ISBN: 978-1-945920-15-8
Pure Wicked by Shayla Black
Copyright 2015 Shelley Bradley LLC
Hard As Steel by Laura Kaye
Copyright 2015 Laura Kaye
Stroke of Midnight by Lara Adrian
Copyright 2015 Lara Adrian, LLC
All Hallows Eve by Heather Graham
Copyright 2015 Heather Graham Pozzessere
Rendezvous by Skye Jordan
Copyright 2016 by Skye Jordan
Secret Sins by CD Reiss
Copyright 2016 Flip City Media Inc.
Foreword: Copyright 2014 M. J. Rose
Published by Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
Sign up for the 1001 Dark Nights Newsletter
and be entered to win a Tiffany Key necklace.
There's a contest every month!
Click here to subscribe.
As a bonus, all subscribers will receive a free
1001 Dark Nights story
The First Night
by Lexi Blake & M.J. Rose
Table of Contents
Foreword
Pure Wicked by Shayla Black
Hard As Steel by Laura Kaye
Stroke of Midnight by Lara Adrian
All Hallows Eve by Heather Graham
Rendezvous by Skye Jordan
Secret Sins by CD Reiss
Discover 1001 Dark Nights Collection One
Discover 1001 Dark Nights Collection Two
Discover 1001 Dark Nights Collection Three
Discover the World of 1001 Dark Nights
Special Thanks
One Thousand and One Dark Nights
Once upon a time, in the future…
I was a student fascinated with stories and learning.
I studied philosophy, poetry, history, the occult, and
the art and science of love and magic. I had a vast
library at my father’s home and collected thousands
of volumes of fantastic tales.
I learned all about ancient races and bygone
times. About myths and legends and dreams of all
people through the millennium. And the more I read
the stronger my imagination grew until I discovered
that I was able to travel into the stories... to actually
become part of them.
I wish I could say that I listened to my teacher
and respected my gift, as I ought to have. If I had, I
would not be telling you this tale now.
But I was foolhardy and confused, showing off
with bravery.
One afternoon, curious about the myth of the
Arabian Nights, I traveled back to ancient Persia to
see for myself if it was true that every day Shahryar
(Persian: شهريار, “king”) married a new virgin, and then
sent yesterday's wife to be beheaded. It was written
and I had read, that by the time he met Scheherazade,
the vizier's daughter, he’d killed one thousand
women.
Something went wrong with my efforts. I arrived
in the midst of the story and somehow exchanged
places with Scheherazade – a phenomena that had
never occurred before and that still to this day, I
cannot explain.
Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have
taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can
protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to
protect herself and stay alive.
Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.
And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a
point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.
And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that
he might hear the rest of my dark tale.
As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new
one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before
you now.
Pure Wicked
A Wicked Lovers Novella
By Shayla Black
Chapter One
May - Austin, Texas
Wasn’t regret a bitch? In fact, Jesse McCall couldn’t remember another time in his life when it had come off its leash and humped his leg so thoroughly.
As he emerged from the modern, mostly glass hotel, flashbulbs burst in his face, blinding him. He paused as reporters shouted questions his way. Beside him, his shark of a publicist, Candia, barked “no comment” in a nonstop loop as she led him to the waiting limo at the end of the crowded walk.
Jesse glanced at the big blue sky. Late afternoon blistered. Had it already been more than twelve hours since everything had gone so wrong? Why hadn’t he asked more questions or hung around longer? Something that might have prevented this fucking tragedy…
Raking a hand through his hair, he squinted as he dragged his gaze over the surrounding skyscrapers. He was in some downtown area. Austin. Yeah. Half the time he woke up and didn’t know what day it was, what city he’d preformed in, or who the hell he was lying next to. The life of a musician was frenetic and nomadic. Jesse had sold out one stadium tour after another since age sixteen. Twelve years later, he didn’t know any other way to live.
He reached into his pocket and tossed on a pair of Armani shades, thanking god he wasn’t hung over. A year of sobriety had ensured that, but still Candia strode beside him on her usual platforms, tense and waiting to flay him alive with her tongue the second they were alone.
When the limo driver opened the door of the sleek black stretch, Jesse climbed in behind his publicist as she settled into the leather seat and smoothed back the professional twist of her dark hair. Their chauffeur enclosed them together in the back of the car, and Jesse counted down to Candia’s imminent explosion.
“Damn it, we’re still on tour. The album just dropped last week.” She tossed her gray Prada briefcase onto the floorboard and shot him a frustrated stare. “The bad-boy image has always worked for you because you’re young and hot. But the public will view this as over the line. You want to give me the whole story now?”
As if she hadn’t heard every word he’d told the pair of detectives over the last three hours. Did she honestly think he’d held back? The interview had finally ended when they’d realized he knew nothing and hadn’t been in any way involved. Then the paunch-bellied one with the scowl had asked him to sign an autograph for his teenage daughter. With a few strokes of his pen, Jesse had been out the door.
“It’s already public knowledge?” He’d hoped she could keep a lid on this until he could figure out what to do, how to proces
s, what to say.
“TMZ and Perez Hilton are all over this shit. You even made CNN.”
So that was a yes. He sighed. “I swear, I don’t know anything else. After the show last night, Ryan caught me as I was leaving my suite. He said he’d met a girl and asked to borrow my room since he couldn’t find the key to his own. He was in too much of a hurry to get under her miniskirt to fetch another one from the front desk.”
Of course Ryan had invited him to join in, too. Girls and drugs, just like the good ol’ days. Jesse had declined and begged Ryan to come with him. No dice.
“Then you went out for a ride?” Candia asked.
He nodded. “Cruising around on my motorcycle helps clear my head after a show.”
And kept him away from the partying that had nearly ruined him over ten years of his career.
“Did you get a good look at her before you left?”
“You mean, did I know she was only sixteen? No. I barely glanced at her but I would have pegged her at well over twenty-one.” Definitely not a sophomore in high school.
“If you’d made him go to the lobby, maybe someone would have stopped him… Maybe he would have used the head up north.” She pressed her thumb between her eyebrows, obviously fighting off a headache. “Maybe… But it’s done.”
He wanted to be pissed that Candia had put this off on him, but she hadn’t voiced anything he hadn’t already thought. “At the time, I figured if Ryan was screwing some cute blonde, maybe he wasn’t getting high.”
Jesse scoffed at the terrible irony of that.
“Oh, he absolutely was. And he got her high, too.”
Yes, his bandmate and old buddy had overdosed the girl—in Jesse’s room. So naturally, everyone assumed he’d been involved.
“The press is having a field day.” At barely four thirty in the afternoon, Candia already sounded damn tired.
Jesse could guess who they’d cast in the role of scapegoat, even though he hadn’t been in the building when Ryan had pumped his jailbait hookup full of heroin and taken her to bed. Then, once his backup vocalist had realized the girl was unresponsive, he hadn’t called 911 for medical help so she might have lived. No. He’d apparently panicked and shot himself in the head, doubling the tragedy.
Besides being a PR nightmare, Jesse had lost a friend he’d been trying to save. And the staggered, grief-stricken looks on the faces of that girl’s parents when they realized their daughter was gone would haunt him forever.
“So, I guess social media is firing up with condemnation and hate.” He stared out the window at the thick traffic.
“Enough to make me nervous. You’ve got sympathy from the hard-core fans but… We have to cancel the rest of the tour,” she murmured. “The noise is too negative. You look like an insensitive asshat if you continue on as if nothing terrible has happened.”
“We had six shows left.” It could have been more, but he wished it had been fewer.
“Yep. That’s well over a hundred thousand disappointed fans. And those are merely the ones who held tickets. It sucks.” She hesitated. “You’ll be thirty in less than eighteen months. I’m starting to think the time has come to tone down your bad-boy-gone-wild image.”
She was right. Jesse didn’t bother asking if his parents would be proud. They’d cashed out on his fame years ago. His dad now played golf with celebrities. His mom trained other stage parents and gave interviews about where they’d gone wrong with their only son. He hadn’t talked to them in forever. But none of that mattered at the moment. Bottom line, Jesse wasn’t proud of himself.
He hadn’t been in a long time.
“We need a distraction,” she told him. “You should start an anti-gun crusade.”
Jesse shook his head. “Too political.”
“What about a series of PSAs about suicide prevention?”
“Ryan didn’t want to take his own life. He was simply too high to realize he shouldn’t. Besides, doing either of those things will look like I know I should have done more.”
Candia gave him a deflated sigh, then began chewing on her bottom lip as if sorting through the problem. “I’ll keep working on solutions.”
“While you think about my public image, find out how we can help the Harris girl’s family, like providing funeral expenses or whatever else they need.” He paused. “Have my lawyers work up a confidential settlement and set these folks up for life.”
“But you had nothing to do with her death.”
“All those parents know is that the last time their daughter walked out the door, she was coming to my concert. She’ll never be home again because of the choices my bandmate made. They will never recover from that loss.”
Candia got quiet. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Great. I appreciate you coming with me to talk to the rest of the band.” They’d all been devastated but not stunned when he’d broken the news. “And when the police contact Ryan’s parents and you get the details of his funeral, let me know.”
She nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Thanks. So…I guess you’re canceling my appearances for a while?” When she nodded, the career-driven part of him grimaced. The rest of him exhaled in guilty relief. He hadn’t had a day off in years.
“I’m afraid you won’t be visiting Jimmy Fallon with this album,” she quipped. “I think it’s better if we proactively back out on these appearances for now, citing grief over the loss of your friend. We’ll have an easier time rebooking in a couple of weeks, once this crap has died down.”
“Wait. Maybe I should use those appearances to tell everyone that I had nothing to do with it.” But he couldn’t deny that on plenty of nights in the past, it could have been him—and everyone knew it. The fact that Maddy Harris had died in his hotel room simply splashed another stain on his already bad reputation. And it sure as hell made him feel shitty, too. What a waste of life…
“That’s not what they want to hear. ‘Rock Star Overdoses Underage Fan on Sex and Heroin’ makes for a juicier headline. Until the police finish their investigation and release the details, people will assume you had a hand in the incident.”
He sighed. “So what do you want me to do?”
“I’m going to issue a statement expressing your grief and deepest apologies to the Harris family. You’re going to disappear—way off the radar—until I say otherwise. No swanky resorts. No high-profile outings with Taylor Swift. And absolutely no intoxication. Think sober monk.”
No one would ever believe that.
“I’ve got it.” She snapped her fingers and excitement lit her eyes. “You can go to rehab.”
Jesse scowled. “I’m not an addict.”
“But it would look good. Repentant.”
“It would also be pointless. Everyone goes to rehab and no one cares. No.” He glared her way. “If I hole up, this dies down.”
“All right,” she said grudgingly as the limo stopped in front of the executive airport outside the city. “But I don’t want to see a Twitter or Instagram pic of you for at least the next two weeks. Once we’re back in L.A., hide out in your house. That should work. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come out.”
His ultra-contemporary house was decorated with every luxury and technological delight known to man, not to mention blessed with sick city and ocean views. But it had never felt like home. Despite the place being eight thousand square feet, Jesse couldn’t imagine being cooped up there for the next fourteen days. It would only remind him of everything wrong with his life.
“Paparazzi know where I live. If I get on that plane with you and go to L.A., they’ll figure it out. So will fans.” Even now, he imagined that if he looked at his phone he’d find a full voicemail box and hundreds of text messages. He couldn’t deal with anyone else’s expectations right now when he’d done so poorly at meeting his own. “If you really want me to disappear, we’ll have to come up with another plan.”
“You’re well known on every continent but Antarctica. The press woul
d spot you almost anywhere you travel, especially if you take a security detail. They seem to have eyes and ears at every airport. I…” Candia huffed. “I need to think about this.”
“I’ll give it some brain power too, come up with a few ideas.” Though he had no idea what to suggest, Jesse did know that what he’d done in the past—disappearing into the bottom of a bottle with some recreational blow and a woman under each arm—wasn’t going to do a damn thing to clean up his image.
“Ideas?” She sounded as if that horrified her. “You? No.”
“I’m a grown-ass man. And I’ve learned a few things over the years.” He lowered his sunglasses and stared at her over the rims. “Go. You handle the press. I think I might know how to disappear.”
When the driver opened the limo door, Candia grabbed her bag and turned to him. “You sure? Can I really trust you not to fuck this up?”
“Yeah. I know how much is on the line. Call me when the coast is clear.”
* * * *
Jesse wiped his palms down the front of his jeans, then rang the doorbell. Hell, he didn’t even know if Kimber was home. And that scary bastard she’d married—had it really been almost five years ago?—wouldn’t be thrilled to see his wife’s ex-fiancé, especially this late at night. If he was lucky, Deke Trenton would slam the door in his face. More likely, the big operative would try to beat the shit out of him.
After a gut-tightening moment, the porch light flipped on and the door swept open.
Deke towered in the doorway, a beefy forearm braced against the jamb, blue eyes raking him with a scathing glare. Then Kimber’s husband sighed and looked over his shoulder, back into the living room. “Kitten, your personal Bieber has decided to drop in.”
