Lead Me Home: A Fight for Me Stand-Alone Novel

by A. L. Jackson

  The fact that there’s a bit of a tan line against his tawny skin makes it seem extra firm, like a juicy peach I just want to get down on my knees and bite into and–

  He turns around.

  I barely have enough time to remove my eyes from his neither regions and bring them up to his face where I glance those damn wireless earbuds in his ears.

  He’s listening to music.

  Of course he is.

  And he’s staring at me, these beautiful, sky-colored eyes open wide in shock.

  “I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, fighting like hell to keep my eyes at his level and not at his dick, which he’s attempting to hide with his hand and even though it’s only in my peripheral, and he has large hands, his attempt is futile. You cannot hide that thing.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” he says loudly, a hint of an accent on his words, and then he takes out his earbuds with his hands, leaving his dick to hang freely.

  Don’t stare, Maggie, don’t stare.

  Instead, I gawk.

  That’s one hell of a dick.

  I swear I even see it twitch under my gaze, this long, dark meaty looking python that has me wishing this was a porno so I could drop to my knees and suck him off with abandon. I’ve never had a penis that large and beautiful near the vicinity of my mouth before but I bet I could figure out what to do with it.

  And while I’m staring dumbly at it, my key card slides out of my hands and onto the floor.

  “Shit.” I snap out of it and bend over to pick it up.

  Just as he bends over to pick it up.

  Frightened by the proximity of his giant penis, I flinch and straighten up.

  Banging the top of my head against his jaw.

  “I’m so sorry!” I yell again while simultaneously backing up, holding the top of my throbbing head.

  He’s even more dumbfounded than before, grabbing his jaw with one hand, staring at me in confusion.

  “I’m so sorry!” I say again, aware that I’m yelling and I manage to turn around and head toward the door before I can assault him again.

  “Uh, Miss,” he says just as I’m almost free, “your key.”

  Fuck!

  I turn around and see him walk toward me, that fucking dick of his swinging freely like a battle-axe, holding out my key between his long fingers.

  I slap my hand over my eyes so I can’t see anything at all, manage to grab the key from his fingers and then quickly turn and scuttle away. I’m pretty sure I mumble something like “I’m sorry,” or even “penis” as I go, but thankfully I make it to the hallway and pull the door shut.

  “Holy shit,” I mutter to myself before pushing my housekeeping cart down the hall as fast as I can, my face burning up. “Holy shit.”

  God, I hope he doesn’t lodge a complaint. Says that I’m some maid that tried to see him naked or something. There was no “trying”–I couldn’t not see him even if I tried.

  You should have tried harder.

  And I’m right. I should have. I guess it’s a testament to either how lonely or horny I am. My sex-life, my love-life, it’s all been put on the backburner ever since I moved back to Tehachapi. It wasn’t even anything great in New York, but at least then I had gone on a few dates, gotten laid a few times. Now, I’ve been a sex camel for the last year and I think it’s starting to weigh on me. Apparently strange, naked men are enough for me to lose my fucking mind.

  But he wasn’t just some average man. He was well over six feet, with hands bigger than my face and a body that looked sculpted from bronze. He had eyes that reminded me of the sky on a summer day, an accent that spoke of a refined upbringing somewhere far more interesting than here.

  He was honestly the most gorgeous, beguiling man I’d ever seen and that’s not even including his penis.

  I lean against the wall outside the housekeeping room and try and shake some sense into myself, shooting up a silent prayer. Hopefully that’s the last time I see that guy.

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  A Sneak Peek of A Stone in the Sea

  A.L. Jackson

  Prologue

  I drew in a thick, soggy breath, and my boots sank into the damp sand as I met the shoreline. Humidity clung to the dark, endless sky, a dense mist hugging the surface of the ocean that seethed in the night, a toiling mess of beauty and contradiction. I lifted my face to the stars that stretched on forever, an eternal canopy that seemed too low yet impossible to touch.

  Sometimes I wished I could reach through it to find all that had been lost.

  Lights shone from the huge house on the hill behind me, life stretching its fingers out into the shadows, seeking a way to connect with my spirit, just as the tide raced in as if to embrace me. To wrap me in its arms and pull me under.

  It didn’t matter what sea I brushed up against.

  He was always there.

  Waiting for me.

  I raised my arms out to my sides and welcomed him because I never wanted to let him go. Didn’t ever want to forget. Wind pounded at my face, the taste of salt and sea filling my senses, and I remembered exactly why I was here.

  What I was willing to protect, no matter the cost.

  One

  Sebastian

  Savannah. Fucking. Georgia.

  How the hell did I end up here?

  I propped my hand against the molding encasing the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Atlantic Ocean from the house we were staying on Tybee Island. In the daylight, it appeared peaceful and serene, a gentle rush of the tide as it staked its claim up the bank, then slowly rolled back out to sea.

  “You okay?” Anthony asked from behind me.

  The rest of the guys were still asleep, but I finally gave up on trying to catch even a wink when the sun came up.

  I jerked my attention to where Anthony leaned up against the massive island in the center of the opulent kitchen. My brow got all twisted in an incredulous scowl, all of it directed at him. Anthony Di Pietro.

  Sunder’s agent, and one of the few people in this world who I actually liked.

  Even though I couldn’t look at him right now without feeling pissy and annoyed. This was the guy I trusted with the three things in this world that were important to me—my band, the guys in it, and my baby brother.

  “No, I’m not okay. There’s not one fucking thing okay with this, Anthony. Can they even do this?”

  His shoulders lifted to his ears, and he puffed out a heavy breath with a slow shake of his head. “They can do whatever they want. They own you, Baz.”

  I bit off a bitter laugh. All my life I’d worked to make sure no one owned me. I’d thought it’d be music that would set me free. Then I’d just turned around and sold my soul to the devil.

  “You know nothing right now is definitive,” he continued. “It might be another warning, but you and I both know we’re running out of strings to pull. You all made the right choice, coming here.”

  Turning around, I raked a hand over my face. “Still can’t get my head around this shit.”

  Guilt got all messed up with the aggression I’d dealt with my entire life. The two combined were enough to strangle me. Yet another fucking disaster I’d gotten myself into. Only this time it affected everyone. But what was I supposed to do? Let that pompous asshole get away with what he’d done?

  Hell no.

  My chin took on a defiant set when I looked at Anthony. “I won’t apologize for what I did.”

  He was a good guy, mid-forties, three kids he adored, a wife he adored more. Not many people had that kind of integrity in this industry.

  Hell, not many people had that kind of integrity at all.

  “I’m not asking you to. You think I don’t know why you did it?” he asked, his voice coated with empathy, and I knew in my gut the guy completely understood. He tipped his head to the side and narrowed his eyes to prove a point. “But do you really wa
nt to broadcast that to the rest of the world?”

  I attempted to swallow around the lump wedged at the base of my throat. “No.”

  He pushed off the island and began to pace, his dress shoes echoing on the marble floor. “You know I’ll do everything in my power to put enough pressure on this guy to drop the charges, but in the meantime, you guys need to take advantage of the quiet. Write some music…do some recording. That’s why you’re here. You don’t have to think of it as any other reason.”

  Looking to the high ceiling, I rubbed under my jaw, trying to keep my shit together. Right. Like this was just some kind of awesome retreat. Like we weren’t here hiding away at Anthony’s seaside mansion when we were supposed to be on our way to France for the start of our European tour.

  Scheduling conflicts.

  That’s what we’d tweeted to the world to announce the cancellation.

  And our fans were pissed.

  No, we weren’t the biggest band in the world. Our style was too dark and gritty and loud for the mainstream airways, but we had a huge-ass following, our shows selling out city after city, our songs downloaded at a rate that blew my mind.

  We played and people listened.

  But now even that was being threatened.

  When I got slapped with assault charges and they yanked the tour sponsorship, Anthony had convinced us to come here. The bottom floor had a state-of-the-art recording studio, plus Anthony figured the place was so secluded and we were so far away from L.A., there was little chance of anyone recognizing us.

  The rest of the guys knew why we were here.

  Austin didn’t.

  The last thing he needed was another cross to bear.

  Anthony pulled on his suit jacket, straightened his tie. “All of you just need to lie low for the next few weeks. Fitzgerald doesn’t want you anywhere in the public eye. Not until Mylton Records decides if they’re going to pull the label or not.”

  “Thought they ate up the punked-out drama.” It was all a sneer.

  It was good for image. That’s what that greedy bastard Fitzgerald had said when he signed us, practically salivating at the mouth when he found out I had a record about ten miles long, and not the music kind.

  Anthony curled up his own sarcastic grin. “Oh, you know how the saying goes, Baz…it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt. You start beating on industry execs and the industry is going to take note.”

  Yeah, and I’d do it again. Without hesitation. I’d always protect my own just like I always had. Scum like Jennings didn’t deserve their next breath.

  “You know this band has taken on a lot of heat, Baz. First your father, then Mark, and now this.”

  I tried not to flinch with the impact of hearing Mark’s name, but it was there, like a bolt of fiery lightning. I ground my teeth against the pain. Couldn’t even begin to go there. Not yet.

  It was too raw.

  Too fucking raw.

  After Julian, I knew that kind of wound didn’t heal.

  On an exhale, Anthony set an almost pleading expression on his face, like he knew whatever he was getting ready to say was going to be met with resistance. “Just do what I ask for once, Baz. Stay here and pretend like this is exactly where you want to be.”

  This was the last place I wanted to be.

  My voice was hard. “I’ve never run from shit I have to face.”

  “You’re right, my friend. You just run the opposite direction…head first into it with fists flying. You need to take a step back and rein yourself in. I mean, God, Baz, you beat an executive producer to within an inch of his life.” He took a step forward and set his hand on my shoulder. “I know you, and I know all of this is killing you. But you’ve always stood up for everyone else in your life. It’s time you stood up for yourself and took some time to deal with what’s going on inside of you. Because if you don’t? You’re going to end up losing everything that’s important to you and there won’t be a damned thing in this world I can do to stop it.”

  My guts got all tied up in a hundred knots and nausea coiled in my stomach.

  He squeezed my shoulder and tossed me a wry smile, doing his best to lighten the mood. “Come on, think of this as a vacation. Just keep your dick in your pants and your fists out of assholes’ faces, and everything will turn out fine. I’m heading back to L.A. and I promise you I’ll take care of this shit with Jennings, but I can’t do it if you’re here stirring up more trouble.”

  Trouble.

  I almost snorted.

  That shit followed me wherever I went. Didn’t matter if I was here or in L.A.

  Anthony’s phone buzzed, and he swiped his finger over it and read the message. “My car’s here.” He tucked it in his suit jacket pocket. “I’ve got to get to the airport. I’ll keep you posted on everything.”

  He grabbed his briefcase, adjusted it on his suitcase, and pulled it behind him through the large, open living area toward the double doors leading out front. He paused in the foyer and looked back at me.

  “If you can’t do this for yourself, then do it for the band. But know they love you, Baz. Don’t doubt they understand why you did what you did even better than I do. None of them want to see a repeat of Mark. I’m not sure any one of you would survive it. And since Austin’s your family, then he’s their family, too.”

  Feeling like he’d just drop-kicked me in the stomach, I stood there in silence and watched Anthony walk out the door, the thought of losing Austin enough to weaken my knees. That kid was my life. My responsibility.

  Sucking in a breath, I forced myself to move, turned around, and plodded up the large curved staircase so I could hit the shower. I froze when I rounded the top and found Austin huddled on the top step, fists gripping handfuls of light brown hair as he rocked with his head buried between his knees.

  “Austin.” I grabbed the railing to help myself kneel down in front of him. He’d just turned eighteen—was all legs and lanky body—had the same greyish-green eyes as mine, and his hair was shaggy and just as messy as the warped emotions that skewed his enigmatic thoughts. He was good, through and through, but held a heart so full of self-hatred he could see none of it.

  He’d taken the blame that was mine and I’d spend the rest of my life erasing it from him.

  “Austin,” I called again, quieter this time, tugging at one of his hands that ripped at his hair. “Stop.”

  He shook his head almost violently. “It’s my fault.”

  I grabbed him by the outside of his head, forcing him to look at me. “No. It’s not. It’s not.” I dropped my forehead to his, pleading with him to believe it for once, my voice rough and shallow. “Not your fault.”

  Two

  Shea

  Dim lights filtered down from the high, exposed rafters of the old historic building, and flameless tabletop lamps flickered from the tall round tables and secluded high-backed booths. The yellowy glow clung to the dingy air, casting everything in a dusky fog. Still, it felt almost as if the night was set on fast motion, a projector beaming blips of indistinct faces and muffled voices through the packed bar, these stolen moments spinning by so quickly as people sought the reprieve found in this special place.

  The cavernous room was always dark and seemed to hold a mystery, like a million secrets had been told here and the walls protected them in the safety of their arms.

  Never had I imagined I’d come to make this place a piece of my own. The many grueling years spent priming and molding and shaping me for one singular goal, and yet my path had led me straight back here. Irony.

  But I learned early on some things are much more important than any ambition.

  I wound around the tables set up on the hardwood floor and made my way back to the gorgeous antique bar that sat like an island adrift in this sea of revelry. The massive oblong made a full circle, and besides the times when the stage was serving its purpose where it was positioned at the very far end of the colossal building, the bar commanded the focus of Charlie’s.<
br />
  I leaned my elbows on top of the dark polished wood. Even though I was tall, I always felt inclined to lift up on my toes, as if to match the lift of my voice. “Hey, Charlie,” I shouted over the din of the noisy room, “I need a gin and tonic and two amber ales.”

  Charlie’s back was to me as he hustled behind the bar. He reached up to grab several hurricane glasses from the bar racks suspended on chains from the high ceiling.

  Over his shoulder, he shot me a crooked, bearded grin. “You got it, darlin’. Give me a sec to fill your last order. You’ve been firing ’em at me faster than I can fill ’em.”

  “That’s because the place is packed tonight. I can’t keep up, either.”

  With a short shake of his head, he spun around and began mixing drinks in front of me. “You keep up just fine. This place hasn’t run so smooth in years…not until you came back to me.” He sent me a wink and slid two drinks my direction, which I quickly arranged on my tray. “I was five minutes from shuttin’ this place down until you came and rescued it.”

  I rolled my eyes at him affectionately.

  “Oh, aren’t you the charmer.”

  Always the charmer and always completely full of it. Charlie’s had been a staple in Savannah for years, and he’d never been anywhere close to shutting it down.

  Really, it was Charlie who had done the rescuing.

  That charmer who scrambled around the gorgeous antique bar? He was also my uncle, my mother’s brother. He was the only one who had been there for me when I didn’t have anyone else to turn to, because everyone else had turned me away. He never once told me it was a waste or called it a mistake. He just encouraged me to live my life…on my own terms…terms that everyone else had previously tried to set for me.

  Charlie stepped back and wiped his hands on a towel before he ran it over the bar top, eyebrow quirked as he cast me a teasing smile. “That’s why you love me, Shea Bear.”

  The soft spot I’d always held for him glowed with the pet name he’d used for me since I was a little girl.