Lead Me Home (Fight for Me #3)(109)

The heart I thought I no longer had thrashed at my chest, my teeth clenched just about as tight as my hands were clenched on the steering wheel.

I barreled around the corner, and the old house came into view.

There were a million memories here. I could get lost in them. Stuck like I’d been.

But I realized when Sammie had stood there in the hall, I couldn’t change the past, no matter how fucking badly I wanted to.

I had nothing but this moment and the future.

Nothing but Nikki.

Swinging into the rounded drive at the front of the house, I rammed the brakes and jumped out, not bothering to shut the door when I thundered up the rickety porch steps that had seen far better days.

I pounded on the door and then began to pace, roughing a hand over the top of my head as I waited.

As seconds ticked.

As I felt myself going insane.

I couldn’t let this happen.

I couldn’t let someone hurt her.

I promised I’d protect her.

That I wasn’t ever gonna let anyone hurt her.

I could hear the car coming up the road, and Seth’s cruiser rolled into view right when Nikki’s mom swung open the door with a smile on her face.

A smile that slid off the second she saw me.

“Oliver Preston.” She looked around, spotting the approaching patrol car. Worry took hold of her expression.

“What are you doing here? What’s going on? Is Nikki okay?” Each word came faster than the last, panted pleas winding into her tone when she stepped outside.

Anxiety fisted my throat, and I pushed the gritted words through it. “I was hoping you could tell me that. You haven’t seen her?”

She shook her head, and there was no missing the glimmers of fear that streaked through her expression when Seth stepped from his car.

Her brow pinched with confusion. “No . . . I haven’t seen her for a couple of days. Sammie called a few hours ago, wondering if she’d come by, but she didn’t say anything else.”

Apprehension trembled her voice, and she reached out and grabbed my arm. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I need to find her.”

“What’s happening?”

“Where’s that piece of shit Todd?”

The question knocked her back a step, and her brows twisted into a knot. “I . . . I don’t know. Heard him leaving late last night. I don’t think he’s been back.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I fisted my hands in my hair, searching for the air. Desperation climbing.

“Does he still stay in the trailer in the back lot?”

Warily, she nodded.

I spun around.

Seth caught me by the arm as he came up to the door. “Where are you going?”

I ripped my arm away. “To find Nikki.”

I bounded down the steps and ran for the trailer that sat a little more than a quarter mile back from the house.

“Ollie,” Seth shouted from behind me. “Wait, man. We need to let the warrant come through.”

I didn’t even stop to ponder it. I pounded the heel of my fist on the door.

Nothing.

No movement.

Holding on to the railing, I leaned back and lifted my leg.

“Fuck, Ollie, you can’t just bust in there.”

“Watch me.”

There was no way I was sitting idle.

Waiting.

Not when waiting meant we could be running out of time.

I slammed the sole of my boot into the door at the side of the flimsy knob. The old wood splintered and gave. Nothing holding it together.

I wrenched open the door, flying inside.

The place was a disgusting mess. Dishes piled in the sink, garbage everywhere.

Decay and rot.

Silence hung in the air.

Vacant.

Ominous.

A stark emptiness echoing back.

Still, I couldn’t stop myself from pushing deeper into the rat hole, rushing down the short hall and throwing open the door to the only bedroom.

The sight bent me in two.

Pictures.

Everywhere.

All of them were of Nikki.

Baby pictures.

Ones of her as a little girl.

A few with Sydney as a teenager.

But it was the current ones that sent panic sloshing through my system.

There were a bunch of Nikki at the diner.

Some outside of Olive’s.

One of her walking up the steps to her apartment.

Motherfucker.

Her apartment.

It was him. It was him.

My eyes darted around for anything else, and I started to push out of the room, when my sight snagged on something in the closet.

The sliding door had barely been left open a sliver.

A floral box.

A box.

Anxiety gripped me everywhere, and my movements slowed as I edged forward. Slowly, I slid the closet door open farther. The lock had been broken, the lid ripped off, the contents tossed aside as if someone had frantically dug through it to find what was hidden underneath.

A groan climbed out from my soul.

Agony.

Sydney’s bracelet.

It was there in the middle of it as if the asshole had needed to hold it.

Sick and deranged and twisted.

“Oh God,” I whimpered, unable to stomach it.

Sickness clawed, and I was clutching my head, trying to see through the web of darkness that spun through me.