by Kendra Ashe
Dark Side Mysteries Book 1
Flirting With Disaster
Dark Side Mysteries
Kendra Ashe
Copyright © 2020 Kendra Ashe
All Rights Reserved
Night Raven Press 2020
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
More Kendra Ashe Books
About Kendra Ashe
Get A Free Kendra Ashe Book
Kendra Ashe Books
The Undertaker Series
Dead Man Calling
Dead Like Ted
Dead Freaks Tell No Tales
Dead at the Altar
Dead of Night
Izzy Cooper Mysteries
Kissing the Werewolf
Playing With Vampires
Witches and Whatnots
Witch of Christmas Past
Grim Grinning Ghouls
The Dark Side Chronicles
Flirting With Disaster
A Walk on the Dark Side
Kendra Ashe News
Subscribe to get news of new releases and get a free Kendra Ashe book.
Author’s Note
The Dark Side Mysteries are loosely based on the Immortal Destiny stories written under the name Lorraine Kennedy. Although the Dark Side mysteries are based on the Immortal Destiny stories, these are new stories.
Chapter One
Death isn’t usually the first thing I think of when I meet the kind of guy that takes my breath away. I know it was the last thing on my mind the night my world was turned upside down.
The Underground is one of those clubs that I normally wouldn’t go to. If you don’t like bad vibes, this isn’t a good place to go. It is a club known for lots of black leather, loud music, and sweaty bodies. Not my kind of hangout.
I’m definitely more of a classical music and wine kind of girl, but that’s mostly due to my being a wussy when it comes to anything dark.
Most would say that New Orleans isn’t exactly the place to live if you don't like the dark side of life, but it is my home.
The Underground is the embodiment of the darkness that lurks on the fringes of society.
Did I really want to walk into that darkness?
I stood in the parking lot and stared at the building, half tempted to get back in my car and drive away.
But I really needed this job.
I didn’t want to go back to ringing up drunks and other riffraff at the Quick Stop.
It didn’t look like much from the outside, but there had to be a reason why people were saying it was the hottest club in New Orleans.
As I made my way through the crowd, I couldn’t for the life of me, understand what the big attraction was.
The place was kind of small and cramped, especially when there was a full house, and it was definitely packed.
Most of the people in the crowd had to be in the Goth scene. In any case, it sure looked that way. From what I could see, black leather and tattoos were a fashion choice with most of the patrons.
I was beginning to wish that I’d stayed home and watched some TV. Even reality TV would have been better than this.
But not me. I had to be Miss Helpful and run an errand for my boss. If I’d known that helping Wren meant I’d have to go to The Underground and talk to some stranger who was most likely a criminal, I might have thought twice before volunteering.
If I ever wanted to do more than run errands for Dark Side Investigations, I had to show my boss I could handle more.
Besides, I hadn’t come to the Underground to see just any guy. I’d come to see Mason Romero.
Mason was one of the most popular musicians in New Orleans. His band was really making waves these days. It wouldn’t have surprised me one bit if they eventually made the big time.
Almost as soon as I stepped through the entrance, a brunette waitress in a black mini skirt stepped in front of me. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure.” I smiled. “A margarita would be nice.”
“Coming right up.”
Scanning the room, I searched for a place to sit. There was an empty table near the stage but I wasn’t sure if I should take it. I’d been to enough clubs to know the band reserved tables near the stage for their friends.
But since I couldn’t find an open table, I was going to take my chances. The most they could do was ask me to move.
A few minutes later, the waitress stopped by my table with my drink. “A margarita right?”
Nodding, I handed her some money. “You can keep the change.”
When the waitress was gone, I settled back to wait for the show. I wasn’t one to drink much, but I was nervous as hell. Seeing how I am a total introvert and had never been great at talking to guys, I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of approaching Wasteland’s frontman.
I knew what Mason Romero looked like, but that was only because his image was plastered all over the city. Whoever did his PR was doing a good job.
Now all I had to do is wait until I could catch him alone. Wren had been very specific about this. I should only deliver the message when he was alone.
Once I had delivered that message, I was so out of here. I could just imagine what kind of serial killers lurked around places like this.
As the lights dimmed and the stage filled with fog, I could barely hear the music over the cheering crowd.
When the fog cleared, I suddenly felt as if the air were being sucked right out of my lungs. He was only a few feet away and he was even better looking in person.
Mason Romero appeared ethereal beneath the red and blue lights, almost dreamlike. His fingers moved across the guitar strings so fast that it was like magic.
The music vibrated through the room, seeming to take on a life of its own. As he played, I sank further and further into the rhythm of the music. It was hypnotic – maybe even downright magical.
To listen to him play was to be pulled into a world of enchantment, where reality blended with fantasy.
But it wasn’t lighthearted fantasy. It was dark – chillingly dark.
What was wrong with me?
I seemed to be losing control of my thoughts and even my own body. As his music filled the small nightclub, my heart went into overdrive, beating dangerously fast.
As he played, his eyes were focused on his hands.
That was good. As long as he didn’t look at me I wouldn't have to slide under the table in embarrassment. I was sure that if he saw me, he'd know what I was thinking.
Suddenly, all my fears were realized when he lifted his head to peer out at the crowd. His gaze came to rest on me – icy-blue eyes locking with mine. It was like all the air in the room was gone. I couldn’t breathe.
Even if I’d wanted to, I wouldn’t have had the ability to pull my eyes away. He seemed to be looking right into my soul.
The dark hair that fell around Mason’s shoulders was glistening beneath the glow of the stage lights. The black leather he wore hugged his body like a second skin, leaving almost nothing
to the imagination.
It was a good thing I lacked imagination.
There was no way I was going to allow my thoughts to go in that direction. In fact, I was going to totally ignore the tingling sensation that was running rampant through my body.
This was business. That’s all.
The little voice in my head was doing it’s best to break through the strange hold he had on my eyes, but I still couldn’t look away. I was reminded of what Wren told me before I’d set out on my mission.
Whatever you do, don’t look into his eyes.
Those had been his exact words.
I could barely think. There was an odd pain behind my eyes that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.
Mason Romero stepped up to the microphone. While still holding my eyes captive, he started to sing. His smooth voice seemed to pulsate right through my skull until it was burrowing into my brain.
His words of unfulfilled passion and darkness touched something deep inside of me.
My mouth was so dry, I felt as if I’d just walked across Death Valley in the middle of July.
“You’re drooling. Take this.” A bald, biker dude with a British accent shoved a napkin at me.
Without an invitation, he sat down at my table. “Here now, take it and wipe the drool from your face. You’ll thank me later.”
Taking the napkin, I wiped my lips. Sure enough, there was spittle that shouldn’t have been there.
How embarrassing.
“Thanks. The drink is strong,” I said, lifting my margarita to my lips. That was about the time I went from one extreme to another. Suddenly, my mouth and throat were so parched that the alcohol burned.
“He has that effect on all the women,” the table intruder said, nodding toward the stage. “He’s bad news.”
“I'm fine. Thanks.”
“My name is Ax,” he said, offering me his hand.
I took it and was startled by the coolness of his flesh.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, without offering my name. I had no intention of mingling with the clientele of the Underground.
I was there to deliver a message. That's all. As soon as I'd done that, I was out of there.
I studied Ax over the rim of my glass. He was a biker. No doubt about it. His head was shaved bald and he was covered in tattoos, but it was probably the black leather jacket and silver studs that really gave it away. He had a different vibe than the other Goths in the room.
“Haven’t you heard? New Orleans has its very own Ripper. You probably shouldn’t be here alone,” Ax said.
He was right. Two women had been murdered in the Quarter in less than a month. The bodies dumped in the Quarter’s alleys.
“What makes you think I’m alone?”
“I watched you walk in,” he pointed out. "And you have that Little Red Riding Hood look. Did you come here hoping for someone to eat you up?”
The guy was totally giving me the creeps.
Just as I was thinking about asking one of the bouncers for help, Ax stood up. “I know. You want me to bugger off. I can take a hint. Just stay away from that one,” he said, pointing to Mason.
I watched Ax disappear into the crowd before turning my attention back to the band.
As spooky as Ax had been, he was right. It probably wasn’t a good idea to be here alone.
When I would get the opportunity to deliver my message so I could leave?
I didn’t feel good about any of this.
It wasn’t long before I was once again lost in the dark music that slid over me like a lover’s touch.
Now I understood how the notorious Mason could make women lose their minds. Most anyone who’d been in New Orleans longer than a few days had heard the rumors.
Mason Romero could conquer any woman.
It wasn’t just that he was off the charts gorgeous. His dark music drew women like moths to a flame. His melodies were nectar to troubled souls.
But I wasn’t one of his groupies.
Some women might lose their minds over Mason Romero, but I refused to be put under his spell.
The other members of Wasteland were just as dark. Their music was perfect. Not one of them missed a note or a beat. When the song ended, they started into a slow haunting melody and the music settled over me like a warm blanket.
Suddenly, I was struggling just to keep my eyes open. It was almost like I’d been drugged.
Maybe the bald guy had spiked my drink with something when I wasn’t looking.
But I was sure he hadn’t. My drink had been in my hand the entire time I'd been sitting at the table.
So what was wrong with me then?
If I listened to the music much longer, I would pass out. I had no idea how much tequila they’d put in my drink, but it must have been some powerful stuff, especially since I’d barely touched it.
What I needed was a break. Maybe if I splashed some cold water on my face I’d feel better.
Sliding my chair away from the table, I stood up and that’s when the room started spinning.
I was such a lightweight that even a little tequila was too much to handle. When the dizzy spell passed, I made my way through the crowd, toward the lady’s room.
I needed more than cold water. What I needed was a trip to Starbucks.
Chapter Two
Cupping my hands beneath the faucet, I splashed cold water on my face. I was so flushed and hot that the sudden change of temperature brought on another dizzy spell.
Gradually, the feeling subsided and I felt a little better. Still, I couldn’t stop my hands from trembling.
After splashing more water on my face, I gazed at my reflection in the tiny mirror above the sink. The eyes of a stranger stared back at me. My skin was way too pale to be healthy.
There was no doubt about it. I had to get more sun. If my face got any paler, I’d pass for a reaper.
What had just happened out there?
The music had somehow tapped into the pain that I worked so hard to keep buried. Sometimes I even managed to bury it deep enough that I could forget, but only for a while. Maybe it was the anguish I’d sensed in Mason Romero’s music that brought it all to the surface.
Now I was just being overly paranoid.
It wasn’t all that unusual for music to stir dormant emotions.
It had been such a long time since I’d felt the pain quite so intensely. When it did jump out at me like that, it always kicked my ass.
Mostly, I hid my emotions behind a smile. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. Tonight had been one of those times it failed.
But what I’d felt had been more than grief. Beneath the fresh wave of pain, I’d felt something else.
The entire experience had my head spinning. I didn’t want to think about it anymore. All I wanted was to do my job so I could go home.
Pulling the last paper towel from the dispenser, I dried my face. As an afterthought, I took the brush from my purse and ran it through my hair. Once I was satisfied that I looked somewhat normal again, I slipped it back in my purse and left the restroom.
Light in the club was basically non-existent. What light they did have was insufficient, especially in the little hallway where the restrooms were located. If they’d had lights like a normal nightclub, I might have noticed the figure lurking in the shadows.
By the time I realized he was there, it was too late. A hand came at me from the darkness.
What escaped my lips was something between a scream and a sob. At first, I was too startled to think of running.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said in a voice that was as cold and smooth as steel. If I hadn’t recognized him, I would have run away, screaming my head off.
I let him lead me toward the exit. By the time I’d recovered, we were already outside. It was dark – too dark to feel comfortable with someone I didn’t know.
With a moon that was only half full, it was dark as hell outside. There was a small neon light that hung above the main entrance, but
it didn’t put off enough light to illuminate the parking lot.
“Who are you?” Mason Romero demanded, narrowing his eyes to slits.
Pulling out of his grasp, I gave him my own version of a death stare. "Excuse me, Mr. Touchy Feely. Someone sent me to give you a message,” I said, making sure to avoid eye contact.
When he’d been on the stage, I’d discovered just how hypnotic his eyes could be. I couldn’t let him get under my skin again. He’d somehow hypnotized me and I wasn't going to let it happen a second time.
A smile softened the hard line of his mouth. “Okay. You now have my undivided attention.”
I couldn’t make my tongue work. The words I'd been about to say froze in my throat.
Taking a step closer, he grabbed my hand. “In fact, ma cherie, you’ve had my attention since the moment I set eyes on you.”
His sweet spicy scent was beyond distracting. Suddenly, my head was filled with the image of tangled, slippery bodies, moving together in the most erotic of dances.
Blood rushed to my cheeks.
Where had the thought come from?
I pulled my hand from his.
There was laughter in his eyes.
Had he guessed what I’d been thinking?
But he couldn’t have. That was impossible.
Clearing my throat, I said, “Wren Ashland sent me. He needs to see you as soon as possible.”
The amusement in his eyes disappeared. Now those dazzling blue eyes were as cold as ice.
“I told him never to contact me.” Although his voice barely rose above a whisper, I sensed danger.
He was really pissed.
My survival instinct kicked in and I took a step back. “Don’t get on me. I’m just the messenger.”
His demeanor changed abruptly. Smiling, he said, “And a very attractive one.”
What the hell?
His mood changed so quickly it was like he’d flipped a switch.
How was I supposed to react to someone who could be angry one minute and coming onto me the next? I did the only thing I could think to do.