Stark Me

By Lily Ryan

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.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lily Ryan
• Release date: May 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386551904

Book preview

Lily Ryan

Stark Me

First printing, 2017

Copyright © 2016 by Lily Ryan

Cover art copyright © by Imagination Uncovered

Cover photograph copyright © by Imagination Uncovered

Book design by Lily Ryan

Editor Vivid Words Editing

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the publisher.

The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Published by: Lily Ryan

Publisher’s Note: The author and publisher have taken care in preparation of this book but make no expressed or implied warranty of any kind and assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for incidental or consequential damages in connection with or arising out of the use of the information contained herein.

Printed in the United States of America

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For

Colin O’Donoghue for getting me Hooked on the bad boy.

Chapter 1

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.

*

My eyes flutter open. I’m lying in a bed, and the smell of antiseptic burns my nose. My head hurts. I want to turn onto my side, but I can’t. Something stops me.

My wrists are strapped to the rails on either side of the bed. An IV is taped to my left hand. I follow the leads up to a bag with clear liquid inside it. Something is being pumped into me.

The hospital. That’s where I am.

It’s about time you woke, Shea says, getting to his feet from a chair on the side. You had me worried, Leila.

I close my eyes. I don’t know why I’m here, but finding Shea instead of my parents doesn’t reassure me.

Do you want a sip of water? he asks, as he pours some from the small mauve container into a plastic cup.

Yes, please.

Gently, carefully, Shea helps me lift my head with one hand, as he brings the cup to my lips with the other one. I take a small sip. When I’m done, he settles my head back down on the pillow.

What happened?

He smirks. Seems there are a whole lot of people ready to ask you that very same question.

Me? Why?

They’re looking for an official statement. In fact, I shouldn’t even be in here, he whispers, bringing his face close to mine and stroking my hand gently. But I couldn’t stay away. I needed to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you’re okay. It’s one of the perks of being the son of the police chief.

Shea, please. Tell me what happened?

I can’t. Not before you give a statement. All I can tell you is that, even though you don’t feel the same and you broke up with me, I promise I won’t turn my back on you. No matter what. I’ve always got your back, Leila.

I broke up with you? When. . .?

He strokes my cheek with his thumb, and I’m overwhelmed with guilt. I’d been thinking of it for two weeks, waiting for the right moment. But to hear that I actually did it, that I actually broke up with him and have no recollection of it, is killing me.

Right before you took off for Krazy Comics. It’s a good thing I raced there after you.

Shea, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, tell me what happened.

I told you, Leila, I can’t. But I’ll help any way I can. Just say the word, and I’ll hire the best attorney possible for you.

You’re scaring me.

Listen, I have to go. There’s an officer outside your door. I promised I’d let them know the second you woke.

Shea, wait. Desperation colors my voice, and I don’t like it. Please call my parents. I’m scared, and I need them.

He smiles, his blue eyes shining, and leaves the room.

Two officers come in after Shea.

I actually I wish he never left. My head is wrecked. Everything makes the pain worse. Moving. Speaking. Opening my eyes which feel like they’re about to shoot out of their sockets. I’m scared and vulnerable. And confused.

So fucking confused.

Shea offers the comfort of familiarity. He’s like a security blanket I can hold on to, and right now I need something to grasp on to tight.

The questions start in rapid-fire.

Name. I answer.

Date. The cops exchange a glance at that response.

Now the fun part. What happened at the Krazy Comic Book store?

My stomach drops at the mention of Krazy Comics. It’s where Dylan Stark works, when he can be bothered going to work. But it’s owned by Jimmy Jones, Dylan’s legal guardian since he was fifteen.

Dylan? Is he okay? Did something happen?

No answer. The men exchange another look. The officer closest to me smirks, a gleeful darkness in his eyes.

Don’t you worry about Stark. He’s going to get exactly what he deserves.

Those words prick at my skin and increase the pain in my head. A cop saying that about Dylan can only mean trouble.

Is he here? Can I see him?

No need to worry your pretty head. The trash has been taken out, the second officer answers. And don’t try to help him. You’re in a heap of trouble and need to be concerned about yourself right now.

Panic settles in my chest, and my mind melts, trying to remember, to know what they’re talking about. It’s useless trying to sort out their cryptic communication. I need someone to give it to me straight.

I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know what I’m doing here.

Is that your official statement? the first officer asks.

Yes.

You have the right to remain silent.

What. The. Fuck?

Tears stream down my cheeks as I’m read my rights. I want my parents. Where the fuck are they? Why aren’t they here? They’re never here when I need them. Aren’t I entitled to a phone call?

I’m under arrest? What for?

For robbing the Crazy Comic Book store and the murder of Jimmy Jones.

Jimmy. Murder. Can someone shoot me? The pain searing through my heart is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Jimmy is dead. Heavy sobs overpower the stream of tears spilling from my eyes. My body shakes from fear and shock as I sob loud and ugly.

Oh my God. Dylan. Where is he?

Don’t get any ideas about trying to escape, the first officer says, motioning toward the cuffs holding me to the bed. These aren’t coming off. And even if they do, we’ll be right outside your door.

I tug on my restraints. I can’t get fucking loose. I need a nurse. No. I need a fucking shrink, because I’m hearing things. Jimmy can’t be dead, and I can’t be under arrest for his murder.

Hey. Shea saunters back in. He approaches the bed and runs his fingers up my arm. You need to settle down.

I can’t. I’m. . . I’m under arrest. For fucking murder. Shea, you know I wouldn’t. . . I couldn’t kill anyone.

I know. He leans in close, bringing his face to mine, eyes intense. I’m here to help you. But you need to calm down or else I’m going to get kicked out. Leila, I need you to tell me what you remember.

I shake my head. Big mistake. I fight down the