Stronger With Us (The Strength Series Book 3)

by JA Hensley

  JA Hensley

  Copyright © 2016 JA Hensley

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1537079486

  ISBN: 1537079484

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for adult readers.

  Cover design by Kate Roth

  Cover photo by Eric David Battershell

  Cover model Burton Hughes

  Edited by Silla Webb and Danielle Goodwin

  Formatted by AMJ Publishing

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my husband and daughter. Thank you for supporting me while I write, make swag, and travel to signings. I love you more than you will ever know!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgements

  1

  "Harder, fuck me harder,” she screams loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Part of me wants to just stop and get out of here, but wasting an orgasm is stupid. Instead, I pull out and flip her over so she’s on her knees. I push her head down to the pillow and hope that it will drown out the noise.

  I grab her bony hips and push my cock into her pussy. She’s not all that tight, but it really doesn’t matter. I’m close to getting off and then I’m out of here. She seems like a clingy one, and I don’t have time for that.

  “Oh, yeah, just like that, Jason,” she mumbles into the pillow. I don’t bother correcting her about my name. I slap her ass and then start pounding into her like she’s about to get away. Of course she continues to wail and shout profanities, but I tune her out. I’m focused on the prize and it’s within my grasp. A few more thrusts and I’m coming like a freight train. Thirty seconds later I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, dealing with the condom and looking for my clothes.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay,” she asks as she runs her hand down my back. All I can think about is getting the fuck out of here and away from this crazy woman.

  “Sorry, but I’ve got an early meeting, so I really need to get going,” I say as I pull my pants up my legs.

  “When can I see you again?” she asks in a whiny voice that sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard. I’ve really got to be more selective about who I fuck.

  “Not sure, babe. I’m going to be out of town working for the next few months. How about I call you when I get back?”

  She pouts, no seriously; she actually pouts her lips and looks at me like a lost puppy. I’m sure she thinks it will make me stay, but it only helps motivate me to find my shoes faster. Once I’ve put on the right one and have the left in my hand I turn around and look at her again. Why can’t these whores just understand that if they’re going to give it up after a few drinks that no man is going to want to stick around for the long-term? I try really hard not to think about how many other men have been in this same predicament with her.

  “Gotta go. See ya,” I say as a bolt out of the bedroom.

  Once I’m safely in my truck I breathe a little easier. That was not my proudest moment, and I briefly wonder what the fuck I’m doing with my life. I’m thirty-two years old and still fucking bar sluts. Not that I’m looking to settle down and have a wife and kids, but there’s got to be more out there than this. Maybe I need a regular fuck buddy who understands what that means. Someone who knows that it’s about the sex, not about feelings. Someone who won’t get all caught up in some bullshit insta-love and expect something I’m not ready to give. I laugh out loud. There’s no woman on Earth like that. They all want the fucking picket fence, the minivan, and the 2.3 kids that all their friends have. I’m not sure exactly who makes them believe in that fairy tale bullshit, but I’m quite certain there are a lot of men out there who would agree with me that an orgasm doesn’t require a life-long commitment.

  The drive back to my apartment is uneventful, which at three in the morning, it should be. As I park in my reserved spot my phone buzzes with a text message.

  7am meeting at HQ. Shit’s hit the fan.

  So much for getting any sleep. This is the kind of thing that makes my heart race. I doubt that there’s anything really wrong, but the lack of detail drives me insane. It reminds me of when I was in Afghanistan and we’d get orders to take a village. You never knew what you were walking into; your life was on the line with every step. I used to enjoy the adrenaline rush, but the older I get, the more it just pisses me off. My brother would call me a pussy if he knew, but he’s always been the hero and I’ve always been the fuck up. Just ask my father, he’d happily tell you how Jude is the disappointment.

  I get out of the truck and head inside to get the whore’s stink off me. Hopefully that will help pull me out of this funk and be ready to fight another day.

  The office is buzzing. All the local agents are here, even those who’ve been assigned to smaller undercover operations in the area. Everyone seems on edge and no one seems to know what’s going on. I see my brother’s former partner, Kevin Turpen, sitting in the back, seemingly unaffected by the confusion going on around him.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?” I ask as I sit down next to Kevin.

  “Same shit, different day. What’s going on with you?” he asks without looking away from the crowd in the front of the room.

  “Nothing much. You seem awfully chill in a room full of nervous Nellies. You know something about this?”

  “Nope. I just figure there’s no reason to get all worked up until you know what’s happening. Waste of energy if you ask me.”

  “Well, okay then,” I mutter. I wish I had that outlook on life. It probably would have saved me a bunch of crap. My thoughts are interrupted by an abrupt silence. I look up and everyone has stopped talking and is scrambling for a seat as the regional director of the DEA walks into the room followed by several supervisors. Up until a few months ago I was one of those guys; always following the big wigs around and running operations. Now, not so much.

  “Thank you for being on time this morning,” RD Flores says. “I know most of you are wondering what this is about. There have been many rumors floating around, but I’m here to give you the
facts. The federal government has decided that they are going to make some changes in how the DEA operates. The current administration doesn’t feel that we’ve been all that effective in the war on drugs in this country, especially in Florida. So, as of today, many of our operations have been suspended or closed. Many of you will be reassigned to the Miami office, where the President feels we should be concentrating our efforts. The Tampa office will be run by a skeleton crew for now and is slated to be shut down completely by the end of the year. Your direct supervisor will meet with you individually over the next two days and give you the new assignment. That is all.”

  As the regional director walks out with his “yes men” in tow, the room erupts in a cacophony of curse words and fists pounding on desks. I look over at Kevin and find that he’s not moved a muscle.

  “Are you okay?” I ask hesitantly. His lack of response could be taken a couple different ways.

  “I’m not thinking about blowing up the building, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Kevin answers somberly. That does make me feel a little bit better.

  “So, what are you thinking?”

  “Honestly, I’m trying to decide if it’s even worth the bullshit. If the president of the United States doesn’t think we’re doing our best, then what the fuck are we doing it for? I certainly don’t get gratitude from the shitbags we send to prison. The prosecutors are never satisfied with the evidence we produce, and the defense attorneys are tiresome, at best. So, I’m thinking this is my way out. I’ll ask for early retirement instead of being transferred. The last place on fucking Earth I want to live is Miami.” He shakes his head and stands up.

  “I hear that. My Spanish sucks, and there are too many fucking tourists down there.” What the fuck am I going to do? With my track record I’m sure to get a shit assignment in the worst possible area. I feel a hand on my shoulder and see Kevin looking at me with pity.

  “You may want to think about getting out too, Jude. This won’t turn out well for you,” Kevin says as he walks away. How does he always know what other people are thinking?

  I stay where I am while the room clears out, trying to decide how to play this one. There’s nothing holding me in Tampa. My father still lives in Minnesota and Colin is living with Becca in northern Florida.

  “Schafer, my office, now!” My commander interrupts my thoughts with his shouted order. I really hate that guy. He reminds me a lot of my father, and that is not a good thing. Being the petulant child that I am, I take my time getting up and walking to his office. When I finally get there I know it’s going to be ugly. The Regional Director, the Special Agent in Charge, and a man I don’t recognize are all waiting for me.

  “Close the door and take a seat, Agent Schafer,” I’m ordered by the unknown man. Based on everyone’s facial expressions, I comply without complaint. The director walks around the desk and stands in front of me.

  “Schaefer, it’s no secret that you’ve been a pain in my ass since the day you started here. You’re insubordinate, irresponsible, and reckless. You’ve also gotten the job done every time you’ve been given an assignment. That’s the only reason you’re still here. If it had been up to me, I would have fired you years ago. However, now that things are changing, I have my chance. Do you think you should be given a new assignment, Agent Schafer?”

  I take a second to work out how I’m supposed to answer that question, never breaking eye contact with the pompous ass standing in front of me.

  “Sir, I have no doubt that I should be given a new assignment. As you just stated, I always get the job done. What did you have in mind?” I ask as I lean back in the chair. This should be interesting.

  He shakes his head and scoffs. “You really are an asshole, aren’t you, Jude? Just when I think you might actually show some humility, all you prove is that you’re a cocky son of a bitch.” He walks back behind the desk and gestures toward the man I don’t know. “This is Special Agent Williams. He has been tracking your activities for the past four weeks. Do you know what we’ve learned about you? You’ve had a very busy month. In fact, last night you were seen leaving the house of Senior Agent Vaughn’s daughter. You fucked her, didn’t you?”

  My mind is racing trying to figure out who Vaughn is and why his daughter is significant in this meeting. I never asked that chick her name, and I didn’t really care. My sex life has gotten me in trouble before, but this seems to be more serious.

  “Vaughn is the Liaison to the Agency Director in Washington, DC. You’ve pissed off the wrong people, Schaefer. In fact, based on the call I got at six this morning, you’re done. Vaughn wants you out of the DEA. So, you have exactly fifteen minutes to clear your desk. You’ll give your badge and credentials to me now and Agent Williams will escort you out of the building. Any questions?”

  “No, sir, questions seem to be a waste of everyone’s time,” I say as I stand and hand over my agency-issued wallet that contains my badge and identification. “I don’t keep anything personal in my desk so there’s no need for an escort. I’ll see myself out.”

  He grabs my arm as I make my way toward the door. I stop and look him in the eye, refusing to back down. “Don’t fuck with me, Schafer. If I even get a hint that you’re still messing with old cases, I’ll have you arrested so fast your head will spin. Now, as I said, Agent Williams will escort you out of the building. Be a good boy and do as you’re told for once,” he says as he shoves me out the door that Williams has opened.

  The walk is silent, only the sounds of our footsteps echo in the hall. Thankfully it’s a short distance to the exit and as the door slams behind me I take a deep breath. So, this is what freedom feels like.

  2

  The walk of shame. It's something I've perfected in my twenty-five years that I'm not particularly proud of. As I slip out of his bed as quietly as I can, I take a look around. It's a fairly nice place, definitely a bachelor pad. I find my bra hanging from the curtain rod, how did it get all the way up there? My pants are on the dresser. He rolls over and I freeze, not wanting to make any noise to wake him. I glance over toward the closet and see my shirt and panties, so I tiptoe over and pick them up. I slink out of the bedroom, not looking back at the sleeping figure in the bed.

  I throw my clothes on as fast as possible and make my way to the car. One thing I've learned is that I always drive to dates so I can leave whenever I want. If you've ever made the mistake, you know how it feels to be trapped at a guy's place. Once I'm safely buckled in, I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. Not my finest moment, but I got what I needed. Thoughts of my mother threaten to invade, so I crank the engine, turn up the radio, and speed off toward home.

  I know what you're thinking. Why do I get myself in these situations? Well, I don't believe in commitment. Men can't be trusted with anything, especially my heart. It's much easier to keep things casual, get the orgasms I need, and move on. I used to believe in the fairy tale of happily ever after, but not anymore. Nope. My motto is to just get off and get out. I know my friends don't agree with me, especially Rebecca. Since she found Colin she's been like a lovesick puppy, trying to convince me that not all men are pigs. I will admit that with what I've seen so far, Colin seems like the real deal for her. If he can keep her ex away, things should be fine.

  I pull my car into the garage of my condo and wait for the door to close before getting out. I'm not really paranoid or anything, but I've always been careful. I understand that living alone can be a risk so I try not to take any chances. Once the garage is sealed, I make my way into my place. I drop my purse on the kitchen counter and look at my phone. Fuck. It's dead again. As I plug it in, I think that I’ve got to get a new one soon because this is happening more and more often. Checking the time on the stove clock, I see I've got about two hours before I have to start my 7 a.m. shift. Just enough time for a hot shower and to get my head on straight.

  Lathering my hair, I can’t help but think about where my life is going. I like my job, but I know I don’t want to
be an ER nurse forever. My dream is to be a flight nurse. I’ve applied more than once, but I always get passed over. It’s starting to become a joke around the ER because the application process happens quarterly and everyone knows I’ll put in for it every time. The next round is in two weeks and I have to decide if I’m going to put myself out there again or just say fuck it and move on.

  Once I've got my long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and some light makeup on, I'm ready to go. I've got enough time to swing by the local coffee shop for breakfast so I grab my phone and get in the car.

  Traffic is still light at this early hour so my commute to the hospital is only twenty minutes. Freedom of Espresso is on the way and they have a drive-thru. I place my order and drive to the window.

  "Hey, CJ, how's it going?" I'm greeted by Amber, my favorite barista.

  "Not too bad, heading in for twelve," I roll my eyes with my answer.

  "Well, good thing I put an extra shot of white mocha in your marble macchiato today," she says as she hands me the large cup of heaven. Rebecca may covet her caramel, but it's only vanilla for me.

  "Thanks, babe. You're too good to me. I'll see you tomorrow," I say as I hand her the money and drive away.

  I take the first sip of my drink at the red light because I know exactly how long it lasts and I want to enjoy as much of my coffee as I can before I get to work. Thankfully the drive is uneventful and I actually get to finish it all by the time I pull into the parking lot.

  As I get out of my car, I hear the sirens and I know what that means -- my shift just got going. I rush into the ER before the ambulance arrives. I run to the employee lounge to lock up my purse and clock in.

  “We’re losing her. Charge the paddles and get an OR ready,” the doctor yells at the six of us in the room. I’m pulling the crash cart toward the bed while Jonathan hurries to the phone to call up to the operating rooms. Even though I just got to work, we’ve done this so many times that its second nature. We don’t even bump into each other anymore.