Vérité

The Electric Tunnel Series

Electrified

Smoldered

Tinged (Coming Soon)

Crossroads Series

Redemption Lane

Absolution Road

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For Pam, not only my editor, but also my fairy godmother, true friend, and confidante.

Thank you for all you do from lending an ear to cleaning up my messy messes. And most of all, thank you for believing in me 365 days a year, even on the days when I don’t believe in myself.

This one—book five—is all for you.

Absolution Road is the second book in the Crossroads series, an emotional story following the life of Jake Wrigley and his path to finding absolution and love. If you haven’t read the story of Lane, Jake’s twin brother, in Redemption Lane, reading it first will enhance your enjoyment of Absolution Road.

Read Redemption Lane now!

For Jake Wrigley, the future is bleak. Some people are survivors, but he’s getting by on his bad-boy looks and charming smile. He owns a gym, gets into bar fights, and wrestles his demons with rough workouts—both in and out of the bedroom.

For Alyson Road, the future is bright. Life can only improve from where she grew up. She graduated at the top of her law class, cares for her ailing mom, and in her job, she defends those who can’t afford anyone else. Her work is thankless but honest.

Jake’s twin brother has been covering his ass for as long as they’ve been alive, but that all changes when Jake finds himself in front of the fiery public defender, his future in her hands. For the first time ever, he doesn’t want to involve his brother, finally realizing he needs to stand alone, be his own man.

Even if Jake’s never absolved of his past wrongdoings or his heart is never scrubbed of the blackness that resides there, he can do one good deed—protect the beautiful lawyer who touched his soul—until helping her nearly becomes his own undoing.

Blood was everywhere, all over my skin and clothes. Dark red liquid spilled onto the dirty floor as my head spun like the Tilt-A-Whirl at a carnival. My vision blurred and lightness faded in and out, but I wasn’t sure if it was a dream or reality.

Was I dead? Wait . . . would I never live? Shrieks bubbled up in my throat and barreled out through my vocal cords, desperation fueling my cries.

My eyes kept drooping from the hurt and the shock; I’d never been in so much pain. I didn’t know where I was or how the hell to get help, but I wanted it, wanted to live. I didn’t want to just survive, but I needed to breathe his air, live with him side by side.

But like the blood seeping from my body, the chances of him finding me were slipping. Fading. Everything became darker, and then the light came again.

“Help!” I screamed, but it came out more of a ragged whisper since my throat was now completely raw. “Help!”

My voice bounced off the wooden walls. I squinted around me, realizing I was in what looked like an old barn. I didn’t know where, though. How would anyone find me?

I’m going to die here.

Jake

The metal door clanked shut, the sound of its lock slamming into place echoing off the cold wall I currently leaned against. As I pressed my back against the coarse cinderblock, reality hit me smack in the chest like a bullet train barreling through my heart.

Christ. After a whole goddamn year of trying to get my life in order, to heal past wounds and move forward, look at where I landed.

Shit.

Did they hold mass in the slammer? Not that I was religious, but I would need someone like God on my side, because there was no way in hell Lane was coming to get me. Actually, for the first time ever, I told myself I wasn’t calling him. I’d leaned on my twin brother for two decades too long. I’d only deserve whatever wrath he served up if I called him from the clink. Again.

Forget it being fucking Christmas, he had a gorgeous wife and a cute little baby daughter, a big house in the country, a huge career, and lots of cash. He deserved to be left alone.

Me, I deserved this. I’d get to make one phone call, and it looked like it was going to be to that little wench—the same woman who landed me behind bars.

My frayed jeans tightened around my thighs as I slumped to the floor. I tilted my head back against the wall, rolling my neck. Taking a long breath, I noticed the guy opposite me—he was big, tattooed, hairy, and snarling at me.

I could fucking take him. Let him just try to approach me. I own a gym, for Chrissake.

“Jake Wrigley?” the guard yelled as he approached the holding cell. “Which one of you fools is Jake?” He shoved his key in the keyhole, eyeing me up and down. Nothing like a big-as-fuck black dude with his biceps bulging through his polyester uniform looking at me like he was thoroughly pissed.

Who shit in his eggnog?

I stood. “That’s me.” I ran my hand along my buzz cut and smoothed out my beard. “Time for my phone call?”

“Nah, man. PD’s here to see you.”

“Oh, good. Maybe he wants to go home to his family, and I’m gonna get out of here in time for the holidays,” I said, then chuckled to myself.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath, my man,” the guard said, shoving me toward the next set of locked doors.

“Thanks, Paul, I’ve got it from here,” a soft feminine voice called out from behind us.

Sweet . . . a female guard.

“That’s okay, Ms. Road. I’ll make sure he gets to the interview room. This one here’s a live wire,” he said, keeping his hand on my arm as he escorted me forward, not allowing me to turn around.

Paul gave me a little shove inside the dank questioning room. “Sit down over there, hands up on the table, and don’t try no shit. I’ll be right on the other side of the door, you stupid prick,” he said, nodding his chin toward a chair.

I pulled out the metal chair and silently wondered whether it would hold my weight. At least the guard was being lenient and I wasn’t cuffed. I might have beaten the shit out of that neo-Nazi asshole in the bar, but I wasn’t a threat to society at large.

“What kind of dumbass gets into a bar brawl on Christmas Eve?” Paul muttered to himself as he made his way out of the room.

The door swung closed, leaving me in complete silence. While I waited, I stared at my calloused hands, listening to my own breathing as I wondered how everything went from getting a little better to complete shit. Again.

I was so deep in thought, I didn’t hear the door creak open or notice anyone had entered the room until I was enveloped in a fog of perfume or body spray, or whatever that vanilla-and-toasted-almond smell came from.

“Good evening, Mr. Wrigley, and merry Christmas. Looks like I have the pleasure of celebrating with you.”

The leggy female pulled out the chair across from me and dropped into it, crossing her legs and rolling her silver pen along her lip as her gaze skated over the notes in front of her. I felt totally inadequate sitting across from the beauty in my worn-in jeans, beat-up boots, and Henley. Not to mention it’s obvious I’m a shit-for-brains with a short-fused temper. I’m here, aren’t I?