Every good girl needs a bad boy to set her free!
To anyone on the outside, I had a picturesque life, like a scene on the inside of a snow globe.
I didn’t realize how I longed to be set free, until a set of blue eyes looking in, shook things up and shattered the glass around me.
It’s been five long years since I’ve seen Dylan Stark. The man who owns my heart. Five years since we last spoke. Touched. Kissed. Because, Dylan confessed to a murder he didn’t commit.
Everything changed since he’s been gone. There are things I need to explain. Secrets I’ve been keeping.
Now Dylan is back, and he’s dangerous as ever, because he still owns my heart. He shakes up my world and makes me want to confront the truth.
I don’t know if he can forgive me, so I’m not sure if this is our story’s end, or if we are at the start of a new beginning…
Stark Me is a second chance romance between a bad boy gone good, and a good girl gone bad.
“What the fuck happened?”
Sirens blare. My head hurts. No, it doesn’t hurt, it feels like it’s bursting at the seams. It’s about to blow into a million tiny pieces any second now.
I blink my eyes a few times to clear my blurred vision. Two sets of worried blue eyes stare back at me.
“Thank the fucking Lord,” Shea Sullivan says, gathering me into his arms. I want to push him away, because this only makes the sharp pain in my head worse, but I can’t.
It’s the other pair of eyes I can’t pull my stare from. The blue eyes with a storm, more savage than the tornado that tore Dorothy from Kansas, brewing in them. The deep blue eyes that narrow on me with anger and suspicion. The blue eyes that I long to see a hint of compassion in, even if it’s only for a moment. The eyes of bad boy Dylan Stark.
“What the fuck happened?” Dylan repeats, anger heavy in his voice.
His words hit me like a slap in the face. I don’t know what he’s talking about. I look around, and that’s when I see it. Blood. All over me. Smeared on my shirt. Covering my hands. A scarlet-streaked knife beside me.
Panic settles into my brain, clawing its way into my soul.
“Jimmy,” I whisper. “Where is Jimmy?”
No answers are given before the police storm the front door, guns drawn, arms extended ready to shoot.
“Hands where I can see them,” a voice booms.
We do as we’re told, and I notice that I’m the only one with blood on me.
My eyes are glued to Dylan, because whatever went down here, it’s going to affect him most of all.
“Where is Jimmy?” I demand.
Dylan doesn’t answer. He just stares at me, jaw clenched, a cold, hard look in his eyes, as he’s read his rights and a pair of handcuffs is slapped tight on his wrists. He’s angry, unresponsive, as they shove him out the door.
“Are you hurt?” An unfamiliar voice directs the question at me.
“Yes.” I touch my chest instinctively, but all seems fine. No cuts. No stab wounds. “No.” I’m confused. I look back down at my hands. If I’m not hurt, where did all this blood come from? “I mean, I don’t really know. My head is a wreck.” A new set of eyes evaluates me with scrutiny.
Shea’s taken outside, but unlike Dylan, he goes of his own free will, without the aide of cuffs or anyone pushing him forward. The officer watching me presses a button on the communication device attached to his shirt collar and speaks. I don’t know what he’s saying; it’s all jumbled, and my mind is on Dylan.
A team of two men come in. A penlight is flashed in my eyes, and sharp pain sears through my head.
“Fuck!” I say, screwing my eyes up tight and holding my head between my hands. “That hurts.”
After a brief examination of my body, one of the men asks if I can walk.
“Sure,” I answer, getting to my feet.
As soon as I’m halfway up, a wave of dizziness and nausea sweeps over me. I extend my hands to break my fall, because I’m going down and the floor is coming at me at warp speed.
The men are talking. I don’t know if it’s to me or to each other. Sound has left me. Sight, too. Darkness creeps in from the corner of my eyes and spreads inward until I can’t see anything but the comfort of nothingness it offers.