Stronger (Stark Ink Book 4)

by West, Dahlia

  “Baby, I’m sorry. What can I do? Can I call someone? Or—”

  “No,” she said miserably. “It doesn’t really matter. It’s not like it’s the first time. She’ll make it home. It’s just…”

  “Bad timing.”

  She nodded. “You’re messed up and she’s messed up and I can’t do anything about any of it.”

  Jonah tried to take her in his arms and comfort her. “Sienna, I’m fine. Really. I—”

  “No, you’re not. And I still want to hit you.” She sighed heavily and moved away. “But I’m going to clean you up, instead.”

  Jonah didn’t feel like arguing, so he sat down on the edge of the bed while Sienna rummaged around the bathroom. She emerged with a washcloth and helped him take off his torn T-shirt and his boots.

  He lay down on the bed as she ran the cool, damp cloth over his chest and shoulders. He closed his eyes, surprisingly enjoying the attention.

  Her smooth fingertips ran over the taut lines of his abdomen and he felt a now-welcome stirring even lower. She made a soft noise and he lifted his eyelids to look up at her. She was smiling. When she caught him looking at her, she said, “I guess you’re not that badly hurt.”

  He smirked at her. “Every bone in my body could be broken but that one will always be yours.”

  She laughed and smacked him lightly. He winced, though, and she gasped. “Oh, God! I’m so sorry!”

  He laughed, too, painful as it was. “It’s okay. I like it.”

  She frowned down at him. “You like it? That I hurt you?”

  When he realized what she was asking, he reached up and took hold of her hand. “Not like that,” he assured her. “I like not being thought of as damaged. In any way.”

  She ducked her head and looked at him under her lashes. The gaze alone had him twitching in his boxers again. “You’re not damaged,” she assured him as she ran her hand over his cock.

  It twitched from the attention she was giving it. God, he was always ready for her.

  She seemed more than ready for him, too. She hooked his waistband and eased down his boxers.

  Jonah lifted his hips despite the searing pain in his ribs and allowed her to tug them down. She ran the damp cloth over his shaft and cupped his balls in her other hand.

  He groaned and she stopped. “Does it hurt?” she asked.

  “No. It’s the exact opposite of hurt. I think I need you to do this a lot. Like, for the next few days. Yeah,” he said, closing his eye. “Yeah, I think I might be becoming temporarily paralyzed. You’ll have to bathe me.”

  He settled in for a nice, slow hand job, but before he knew what was happening, her long dark hair fell over his thighs. Her lips pressed against his shaft. His fingers brushed the side of her head as he tried to push her away. “No,” he groaned. “Sienna, don’t.”

  She paused and glanced up at him. A look of concern crossed her face. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No. No, you’re not hurting me. But… don’t do that. I don’t want that. You don’t ever have to do that.”

  Her brow creased deeply. “You don’t want it? Or you don’t want me to do it?”

  He hesitated. “Both. What’s the difference? You’re not—”

  “Because I want to. So, unless… you can’t. Then I’m going to.”

  Jonah took a deep breath and ignored the stinging behind his eyes. There she went again, always looking after him, always taking care of him. “I don’t ever want you to feel—”

  “Feel?” she interrupted. “Jonah, there are no words for what I feel. I’m horrified that you hurt yourself for me. I’m… grateful… that there’s someone in the world who cares that much about me. And those are just the ones I can name.” She ran her palms along his thighs, slowly. “Let me do this for you.”

  He sighed. He was too tired to fight her and he’d never win, anyway. “Just for a minute,” he compromised and closed his eyes once more.

  Her breath warmed him. Her soft lips dragged across his skin. When her curious tongue finally touched him, he fisted the sheets with his cracked, bleeding hands. If he died tonight, it was all worth it. He’d carry the memory of her to the other side and never let go of it.

  She licked him again, long, slow strokes this time, from base to tip. When she got to the head, she swirled the sensitive underside with her tongue, watching his reaction. She must have felt encouraged because she took him in her velvet mouth as far as she could manage.

  She released him, shaft glistening from her saliva. Not all of it, though. A pearl of pre-cum beaded at the head and she gave him a dark look before pressing her tongue to it.

  Jonah felt a tightening in his belly. “Oh, God, baby,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Give me more, Jonah. You taste so good.”

  His slit wept at her demand and she rubbed it on her lips, savoring the taste.

  Jonah gasped. “Okay. Okay, that’s enough.”

  She shook her head. “Come, Jonah.”

  “No,” he rasped. “Not in your—”

  She closed her mouth down around him, lips forming a seal, sucking hard.

  Jonah reached out with his hand, but she caught it and held it firmly.

  “Sienna!” he breathed, but it was too late. He surged, pumping thick jets into her mouth.

  She swallowed greedily while squeezing his hand gently.

  “I told you not to do that,” he admonished.

  She pressed her cheek to his thigh, catching her breath. “I don’t care. I can’t lose you.”

  “Sienna, you’re not going to lose me. I’m—”

  “You’re not fine. Don’t tell me you’re fine. I can’t hit you. I can’t make love to you. But I could do this, so I did. I had to be with you. You can understand that, right? I had to have you any way I could.”

  Jonah sighed and stroked her hair. “Yeah. I can understand that.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Jonah awoke beside Sienna and listened to her even breathing. She was still asleep, despite the sunlight streaming into the apartment. It was understandable. He’d put her through hell last night. His neck and shoulders screamed in pain as he twisted his head so he could see the clock on the nightstand. It was only eleven in the morning.

  Adam would be downstairs, though, going through the books or cleaning the shop.

  Jonah lay perfectly still, testing his limbs. His hands ached from the punches he’d thrown; bareknuckle on bone took a while to heal. His torso felt like he’d been run through with a hot fire-poker. He couldn’t see out of his right eye, swollen as it was. He rolled his tongue in his mouth and tried opening his jaw. That worked, at least.

  It took him ten full minutes to work himself out of bed, a combination of not wanting to wake Sienna and not wanting to pass out from pain. He hobbled to the bathroom, washed his face carefully with water from the tap, and looked at himself in the mirror.

  Well, he still had his brains, he thought to himself. Such as they were, considering some of the choices he’d made lately. Looks weren’t everything. And chicks dug scars. He frowned, though, because Sienna probably wouldn’t. Every time she looked at him—certainly at his eye, which was bound to have a scar—she’d be reminded of last night. He turned off the tap and dried his face with a towel. He’d have to spend the rest of their lives making it up to her, then.

  And he’d start today.

  He stepped out of the bathroom, located a pair of gym shorts, and slowly tugged them on. Not bothering with shoes, he slipped out of the apartment and headed down the stairs to the shop below.

  Adam must have heard him come down but didn’t turn around. The morning newspaper rattled in his hands. “The whole fucking town went nuclear last night,” he said over his shoulder. “Jesus. There was a shootout. Two cops are dead, another committed suicide. Four buildings burned completely to the ground. Some kind of explosions. I swear to God, Jonah,” —he turned in his chair— “I don’t know if the Apocalypse is upon us or— Oh, Jesus!”

 
Adam leaped up from his chair while Jonah tried to ward him off with his hands. Raising his arms sent a spike of pain radiating through him and he winced.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine,” he told Adam.

  Adam stood before him, agitated, looking shocked and unsure. “Were you involved in any of this?” he asked, snatching at the paper.

  Jonah craned his neck to see the front page. Rapid City Rage. “Nope,” he replied. “Not me.”

  Adam glared at him. “Jonah, you—”

  “I swear, Adam. I don’t know about any of that.”

  “Well, what the fuck happened to you, then?!”

  “It’s complicated,” Jonah replied. He groaned and limped across the black and white tile floor to his own workroom. “Gonna stretch out for a minute,” he called over his shoulder. It was a chore just lowering himself into the reclining chair.

  “Hang on,” Adam snapped and disappeared from the room. He returned seconds later with a small icepack he must have gotten from the small fridge. “Put this on…your…whole body.”

  “It’s really not that bad,” Jonah insisted.

  “Yeah, you keep saying that, but all I see is a guy who’s been through a meat grinder.”

  Jonah closed his eyes and wiggled his toes. They still worked. There was so much to be happy about. “I’d like to sleep for the next six weeks,” he said. “But I can’t. I have a concussion.”

  “Any broken bones?”

  “Possibly,” Jonah admitted.

  “So, what the hell happened?”

  Jonah opened his eye and looked up at Adam. “I’ll tell you. I promise. But first… can we call Dalton? Get him over here?”

  Adam looked at him skeptically. “Did he set fire to half of Rapid City?”

  Jonah’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know. But I doubt it. He’s got Zoey and DJ now.”

  “You’re right.” Adam reached for the extension on the wall and shook his head. “I hope to Christ that the crap that went down last night was no one we knew.”

  Jonah pursed his lips and looked away.

  Adam caught the glance, though. “What? Do we? Jonah, we don’t know anyone— Oh, no! Oh, hell no! You stay away from that shit, Jonah! If a bunch of ex-special forces nutjobs want to go around blowing up our fucking town, you stay out of it!”

  “They didn’t!” Jonah argued. “I mean, I’m pretty sure they didn’t.”

  Adam cursed and slapped the button for the speakerphone.

  A groggy Dalton grumbled into the phone. “Somebody better be dead,” he groaned.

  “They are,” Adam bit out. “A lot of someones.”

  “What?! Who?” Dalton demanded.

  “Apparently, our baby brother just took out half the fucking town.”

  Dalton was silent a moment. “By himself?” he finally asked.

  Adam glared at Jonah. “I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure out if he’s the Dark Knight or the Joker in this deal.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Adam disconnected the call and cradled the receiver.

  “I swear to God,” Jonah told him, “Shooter and his boys did not lay waste to the town. They looked…. remarkably clean when I saw them last night.” Jonah bit the inside of his lip, though. Because one man—one man dying on a Formica table—hadn’t been too clean at all. In fact, he had looked like a man who’d gone to war on the whole town. And lost.

  “You saw them last night?”

  Jonah nodded. “They checked me out.”

  Adam grunted. “They didn’t call me.”

  “I told them not to.”

  Adam’s eyes narrowed. “And they didn’t send you to the ER? I swear to God, when I see Shooter—”

  “The ER was kind of crowded last night. We stopped there first but… Rapid City Rage.”

  Adam snorted. “Yeah. I guess the devil came to town last night. And he left one hell of a calling card. Do you need anything? Tylenol or—”

  “Got anything stronger than that?”

  Adam frowned. “I’ve got a bottle of whisky in my desk.”

  “Pass,” said Jonah, waving the offer away. “I’ll take the Tylenol, though. The whole bottle, please.”

  Adam disappeared again and returned minutes later with considerably less than half a Tylenol bottle. He held out a glass of water and Jonah was grateful anyway. He swallowed the pills and the rest of the water, swirling it around his mouth, tasting old blood. It was not particularly pleasant.

  The bell over the shop door jingled and the unmistakable sound of Dalton’s heavy boots thudded on the tile floor. His deep-timbred voice carried into the workroom. “So, the radio says that one, or possibly two, of the four horsemen rode in on that storm last night. Is Adam covered in boils, by any chance? Better question, would we even notice? And what—” He was re-pocketing his keys when he appeared in the doorway to Jonah’s workroom. He caught sight of Jonah and his face darkened. “All right,” he said. “What time are we rolling out to kill this fucker? Or is it multiple fuckers?”

  “Not necessary,” Jonah replied.

  Dalton arched a brow at him. “No? Well, fucking hell. Good on you, boy.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I’ve got power tools. And a couple of tarps. Are we disposing of… anything?”

  “Jesus Christ!” Adam shouted.

  “What?!” asked Dalton. “I don’t care what he did! We’re taking care of it because he’s our brother! You don’t have to come.”

  “I’m coming!” Adam argued loudly. “I mean, I’m not coming, because there’s no body to dispose of.” He hesitated and then glanced at Jonah. “There’s not, is there?”

  Jonah chuckled and then suddenly couldn’t seem to get enough air. He waved his hand at them. “No,” he wheezed. “No one’s dead.”

  “Okay,” Adam replied. “Okay, then. But if there was,” he added, glaring at Dalton, “I would come.”

  “Probably can’t move a body with those chicken-arms you got,” Dalton muttered.

  “Fuck you!” Adam shouted.

  Jonah snorted. “Do you even lift, bro?”

  “All right, look,” Adam said, standing up so fast the wheeled stool spun across the room. It banged off the wall behind him.

  “Whoa,” said Dalton, taking a step back.

  But Adam turned on Jonah and pointed a finger at him. “Whatever this is,” he said, gesturing to Jonah’s face, “this is done, right? Right?”

  Jonah nodded solemnly. “Yep. It’s finished.”

  “And you,” he said to Dalton, “you don’t stop fucking around and I’m going to knock your ass out and scratch Pussy on your damn forehead.”

  Dalton grinned widely. “If you do, I’ll just write Eater after it. Truth in advertising.”

  “Speaking of that, I need new ink,” Jonah declared. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He needed to lie down again soon. “Probably not today, though.”

  “I thought of Pussy Eater first,” Dalton quipped. “That one’s mine.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Jonah warned. “Sienna’s asleep upstairs.”

  Dalton frowned. “Well, this conversation just got all kinds of awkward.

  Adam perked up. “Is she okay? She didn’t get hurt in whatever happened to you, did she?”

  Jonah shook his head. “Nah. She’s fine. Laid another girl out actually. Stone cold.”

  Dalton smiled and nodded. “I knew I liked that girl. She keep her thumb out?”

  Jonah beamed. “She did. Like a champ.”

  “These Stark women. They are bad-ass,” said Dalton. “Okay, so if you don’t need anyone killed or transported, why am I here this early in the morning?” He looked expectantly at Jonah.

  Jonah was silent for a moment, rehearsing exactly how much he would say.

  Dalton frowned and looked at Adam. “So…this feels like an intervention. But I’m telling you, I don’t need one. I know I haven’t been around lately, but, I mean, you know.” His large grin told Jonah all he needed to know about
how things were going with Zoey and DJ.

  Jonah sat up in the chair. “Actually,” he replied, “it is an intervention. But it’s not for you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  A week had passed and Jonah was on a much-needed vacation. Though there seemed to be no permanent damage from the fight, his hands were still a bit swollen and bruised. Which made his job performance suffer. Nobody wanted a piercer with limited dexterity near their intimate parts.

  So, Adam had given him two weeks off—the first vacation Jonah had ever had since starting at Stark Ink. It was odd not keeping to his regular schedule of work and the gym, but he was enjoying it. Especially now, as he watched Emilio haul box after box of Sienna’s stuff up the wooden stairs and into the apartment they were now going to share.

  “Damn, chica!” he shouted, heaving a cardboard box onto a chair. “You seriously bought more shit just to bring over here?!”

  Ava and Sienna were in the kitchen unpacking newly purchased utensils. Jonah had been fine using leftover plastic forks from fast-food places, but apparently Sienna was used to the finer things in life. Like napkins.

  Jonah was just fine letting her take over the kitchen. And the bathroom. And the closet. And pretty much every inch of usable space in the place. He hoped she didn’t get taken out, though, by the burritos that he’d been hoarding in the freezer.

  “Jonah!” Sienna chastised as she held up a fistful of ketchup packets.

  “Hey, that’s a food group,” Emilio declared.

  Jonah pointed to him. “See? He gets it.”

  Sienna huffed and Ava rubbed her friend’s shoulder. “I know, I know,” Ava told her. “Socks and underwear. Pick your battles.”

  Sienna opened the freezer before Jonah could stop her. She screeched as dozens of individually wrapped processed food-like products scattered on the wooden floor.

  “Oooooh,” Emilio said, getting up from the couch. “Burritos!” He snatched one up and threw it in the microwave. As he waited for it to get hot, he cast Ava a frustrated look. “So, why don’t you have so much crap at my place?”