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

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.





2





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.