Lead Me Home

Book 3: Fight for Me

by A.L. Jackson

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

An Amazon Top 20 Bestseller!

A friends-to-lovers, STAND-ALONE, second-chance romance from NYT Bestselling Author, A.L. Jackson . . .

Nikki Walters.
Sexy. Fierce. Forbidden.
The only girl I've ever loved.

Oliver Preston.
Gorgeous, bad-boy, tattooed bartender.
The only man to hold my heart.

Fourteen years ago, he allowed tragedy to rip us apart. Now, he's back, trying to make a space for himself in my life.

A single brush of his hand, and I feel my walls crumbling. One kiss, and I'm losing all control.

The fire between us is only burning hotter.

I can feel our pasts running to catch up to us. Will it destroy or us, or will we find our second chance . . .

Release date: May 5, 2018

Publisher: A.L. Jackson Books Inc.

Print pages: 398

Sample

Prologue

 

I’d always wondered why people set themselves up for disaster. Why they put their heart on the line when they knew it would only be crushed. Why they led themselves toward the slaughter like blind, ignorant lambs.

Willingly.

I hurried down the short hall of my apartment toward the pounding at my front door. Somehow, I knew that was exactly what I was doing. Yet, there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop myself.

A storm battered the walls, and the windows rattled with a low rumble of thunder.

The door clattered with a fresh round of banging.

The knocking felt a partner to the storm—violent and unyielding yet so utterly distinct.

My heart rose higher in my throat with every pound on the wood. It was as if an accelerant had been poured directly into my blood.

It was close to two in the morning.

Someone showing up at this time of night—in the middle of a downpour, no less—should make me cautious.

If I searched myself, I guessed a little part of me was afraid, but only because I was sure of who was on the other side of the door.

He’d always been dangerous.

Dangerous to my sanity.

Dangerous to my heart.

Obviously, none of that mattered. I was drawn to him anyway.

Tied.

Nothing more than an offering.

I hoisted up on my tiptoes to peer through the peephole, and I sucked in a breath when I saw the tortured face pleading back.

So gorgeous in its hardened, chiseled way. Wind gusted through the longer pieces of his dark-blond hair, his shirt soaked and clinging to his massive body from having to make his way through the deluge that pummeled at the roof.

Quickly, I worked through the lock and yanked open the door.

Chills flashed.

A shockwave.

All brought on by the sight of him.

“Ollie,” I whispered, my spirit in an uproar.

Neither of us would ever forget this date.

It was the anniversary of the day his sister Sydney had gone missing.

That was thirteen years ago, and in all that time, he had never come to me. As desperately as I’d needed him . . . as desperately as I’d known he needed me . . . he never came.

He staggered in with a half-drained bottle of scotch clutched in his hand and kicked the door shut behind him.

He dropped the bottle to the carpeted floor, and there was no time to contemplate the thud before he was stalking my way.

Body massive.

A burly, beautiful, beast of a man.

I took a startled step back, sucking for the air his presence had stolen. Energy streaked through the room. Those big hands darted out and captured my face in the same second his mouth captured mine.

Lips and tongue and searing heat.

Liquor kisses.

My head spun and need blistered across my skin.

He groaned in misery and released the words between the manic scourge of his mouth. “I need you, Nikki. Need you in a way I haven’t needed anything in all my life. Take it away. Fuck . . . please take it away.”

If I could, I would.

It was all I’d ever wanted to do.

“Ollie.” His name was grief.

Love.

Regret.

“I need you, too. I’ve always needed you,” I told him, the confession striking the air between us with the force of a bomb. Blowing through my tiny apartment. “Why did you wait so long?”

It was a question that had him swooping me into the overwhelming strength of his arms.

He kissed me as he carried me the few steps down the hall. He kissed me when he laid me down on my bed. And he kissed me when he murmured, “You are everything I ever wished I could have.”

Desire blossomed in my body.

Full bloom.

So compelling it became its own beat, a thunder in my veins that rumbled as loudly as the storm that raged overhead.

The scariest part was the way my heart sang with the hope of it.

Because I had always belonged to Oliver Preston.

The problem was, he’d never fully belonged to me.

I owned his gazes. His protection. His regret.

But he’d never allow me to possess his broken spirit.

I knew it when he tore the clothes from my body and fumbled with his belt.

I knew it when his pants and underwear hit the floor.

I knew it most when he wedged himself between my thighs and his body met with mine.

I gasped, and he cursed, and for a moment, it was only the two of us. For a moment, we weren’t just another casualty of that horrible, horrible day.

Holding me, he moved in me. With me. He panted and touched and whispered, “You take it away. You take it away. You feel so good. So good.”

His fucks were deep.

Possessive.

And somehow, painfully tender.

Tears filled my eyes when he pressed his forehead to mine, and a confession fell from his mouth on a low moan, “I miss her. I miss her so much. When will it stop? When will this feeling ever go away?”

I clung to him.

Gave him my body.

If I could, I would have given him everything.

But I guessed maybe I knew better when his body went rigid and he grunted when he came, one moment behind me as he drew out my pleasure perfectly.

Knew better when he slumped to the bed and wrapped me in his muscled arms that were covered in weeping ink.

Knew it when I fell into a dreamless sleep.

When I woke in the morning and he was gone, I realized I’d known it all along.

 

 

 

 

One

Nikki

One Year Later

 

“Miss Nikki?” The timid voice hit me from behind.

I stilled where I was refilling my disposable coffee cup at the table. It was set up at the back of the large meeting room in the basement of an office building we rented out every Tuesday night.

I gave myself a moment to gather my composure after the intense session before I turned around with a soft smile on my face.

Brenna.

She stood there, nervously twisting her fingers together, the bruise around her eye finally beginning to fade. She hadn’t said a thing the entire session, but the fact that she had even shown up at all had felt like a victory.

“Hey,” I told her gently. My heart suddenly felt as if it were too big to fit in my chest. “What did you think of the meeting tonight?”

She chewed at the inside of her lip. “It was good. Everyone is really nice.”

“That’s good to hear. We want you to be comfortable. It’s a safe place.”

“I feel safe here.” She almost blanched when she said it. As if she never truly felt it or maybe she was scared to. She hesitated and then said, “I wanted to tell you something.”

I set my coffee cup aside and fully turned to her. “Of course. You can tell me anything.”

There was something about this young girl that got to me. Something that made me want to wrap her up and protect her. Hold her and keep her safe forever.

At barely eighteen with a two-year-old little boy, she’d already been through enough to last her a lifetime. Most of her turmoil was thanks to the piece of garbage who was supposed to be her boyfriend.

“I left him.”

Relief.

Sometimes I wondered how it could be so intense.

“I’m so proud of you,” I told her, not even trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. “Where are you staying?”

“My momma’s. She said Kyle and I could stay with her a bit until I get on my feet.”

“That’s good. So good. Do you need any money? Anything from me?”

I knew I was making myself too available. Offering too much. But with her, I couldn’t help it. All I wanted was to make a difference; although, I was pretty sure Kathy, the doctored psychologist who oversaw the group and mentored me, would tell me I was being a little too overeager.

Or maybe tell me I was straight up breaking the rules.

Call it a pitfall of my personality, I didn’t care. I just wanted to do . . . something.

More than something.

Truth was, I’d give absolutely everything I could.

Brenna pursed her lips. “Just you bein’ there for me that night meant everything. I don’t think I would have had the courage to call anyone else. I’ve never been so scared—for myself or for my son. You were there when we needed you most. I don’t know how to repay you for that.”

I gave a tight shake of my head, unable to hold back the moisture that rushed to my eyes. “You don’t need to repay me. The only thing I need is to know the two of you are safe. You keep my number close, okay? If you need anything, anything at all, I want you to call me.”

“I will,” she promised. Her gaze turned to the ground before she looked back up at me. Expression loaded with trust. “I just wanted to let you know.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Her nod was slight, and I gave her a small smile before she turned and climbed the steps leading from the basement floor meeting room.

Joy filled me full, and I turned back to the table and pressed my palms to it, head dropping as I pulled in a deep breath.

Two years ago, I’d taken the plunge and started accelerated online courses to get my psychology degree. Quietly at first, because I hadn’t quite put my finger on why I felt compelled to start down this path. Unsure of where I was going or if I’d stay the course.

Mostly I’d been uncertain of why I was doing it.

My purpose.

I’d finally realized I’d just wanted to make a difference.

If I could make one person’s life better, help them see the beauty of the world in the midst of so much cruelty and sorrow, it would be worth it.

Maybe I was doing it because of Sydney.

That was okay.

The only thing I knew was I wanted to pour something positive and good into the world after experiencing such a great loss.

That didn’t mean the last two years hadn’t been rough. It’d been difficult balancing all the online classes and now interning here with Dr. Kathy’s women’s program while I was still working at Pepper’s Pies, the diner my friend Rynna owned.

But after tonight?

I knew it was all going to be worth it.

With a smile on my face, I finished cleaning up the refreshment area while Kathy stacked the folding chairs.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “I am.”

We flipped off the lights and headed up the stairs. The darkness was thick as we made our way to the ground floor and let ourselves out the front door and down the steps that led to the sidewalk.

The Alabama air was muggy and thick, the summer night sagging with humidity.

The area was pretty much deserted this time of night, the street flanked by two and three-story office buildings that had been around since the beginning of Gingham Lakes.

The drone of cars echoed in the distance, and Kathy’s heels clicked on the sidewalk as she headed for her car, which was parked at the curb in front of mine. “Good night,” she called.

“Good night. I’ll see you next week,” I hollered over my shoulder as I rounded the front of my old car to the driver’s side.

She paused at hers. “You did well tonight, Nikki. Really well. The women feel comfortable with you.”

I looked back at her.

It was funny how I was always the first to laugh. My first instinct to tease and play. But when it came to this, there was nothing but somberness on my face. “I hope so.”

A soft smile graced her face. “They are. It’s clear you’re doing this for all the right reasons. Because you want to be here.”

As soon as she said it, she slipped into the front seat of her car and started it. Her headlights cut through the darkness.

I was grinning as I opened my car door and started to slip behind the wheel, only to pause when my attention caught on a small, folded piece of paper tucked under the windshield wiper.

I snagged it, jumped inside, and started my car, only then unfolding what I expected to be a coupon or announcement or sale.

My heart stuttered in my chest.

Deep dents were made in the paper in scratchy letters.

 

Don’t forget about me. I’m coming for you.

 

Dropping the note, I grabbed on to the steering wheel. My attention darted all around, eyes squinting as I searched the shadows.

There was nothing.

No sign of life other than the brake lights illuminated at the back of Kathy’s car as she waited for me to follow.

Dread settled in my gut, and the tiny sheet felt as if it weighed a million pounds as Brenna and Kyle’s faces filled my mind.

That little punk.

He thought he could scare me.

He thought wrong.

 

 

 

 

Two

Ollie

 

What the fuck was I doing? I knew better than this. So much better than this. But I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop myself.

Not when it came to her.

Call it a sickness.

I didn’t care.

It was after ten at night when I inched my car up behind her, and that pissed me off, too.

The girl traipsed across the deserted parking lot.

Alone.

Wading through this shithole like a sitting duck.

A tremor of anger ridged down my spine when my gaze moved over the area.

The lot was hidden at the back of the run-down apartment building, like it’d been designed that way specifically for some lowlife to take advantage of the defenseless and vulnerable.

Space nothing but a blanket of darkness except for a couple of dingy, dull streetlamps that barely leaked light in small pools onto the pitted pavement.

Two dumpsters lined the far end, motherfucking shadows dancing out from behind them and across the asphalt like they were restless, eager to become a player in a horror story.

With her head down, she walked toward the exterior stairs of her apartment. She didn’t even notice me since she had her attention all wrapped up in her phone that she was staring at in her hand.

Didn’t know which was worse.

That, or her other hand being clutched around the handles of this huge-ass bag, just swinging it along at her side like she was begging for it to be stolen.

My chest clenched.

Reckless girl.

Reckless girl who was wearing these tight red pants and some flowery, flowy blouse that I’d expect to see some grandma wear.

How the hell it still managed to get me hard, I didn’t know, but there I was, shifting in my damned seat.

Light brown, honeyed locks tumbled a few inches below her shoulders, her hair messy and wild and untamed.

Just like her personality.

As eager as her heart and as bright as her spirit.

Motherfucking sunshine.

The girl was tall and so goddammed skinny. All sharp edges and waif-thin lines. I had to remind myself I liked curves and big tits and handfuls of ass.

Nikki. Fucking. Walters.

The bane of my existence.

Hands gripping the steering wheel, I angled my car right behind her. The spray of my headlights struck her like a spotlight, making her jump about two feet off the ground. She spun around, hand with her phone going up to cover her heart.

Her mouth gaped open in shock.

Well, at least she noticed me.

I rammed the gear of my old Mustang into park and threw open the door, feeling all kinds of pissed off that this girl didn’t seem to have a defensive bone in her body.

Self-preservation nonexistent.

She just stood there like a deer caught in the headlights, two seconds from being run down and unable to move to do anything about it.

Hankering for a confrontation, I jumped out.

The fear in her expression transformed the second she realized it was me.

Her eyes were an indigo-blue, like a cracked-open amethyst crystal.

Her own brand of indignant anger burned through the center of them.

Hurt and a fucked-up sense of loyalty.

God damn it . . . I knew better than this.

But with her, I didn’t know how to stop myself.