Unfinished Hero 03 Raid (37 page)

“Felt shit, goin’ over that, knowin’ Hal’s fucked up. Felt shit,” he told the yard
,
and I held my breath.

His eyes moved to me and my lungs started burning.

“Fucked up, totally, but it also felt good knowin’ I wasn’t the only one.”

I let my breath go and nodded.

“Could tell, he felt that too,” he added.

I said nothing.

He tugged back more beer, dropped the bottle to his thigh and announced to the yard,
“Gonna sleep in the guest room tonight.”

I pulled in my lips.

His eyes came back to me.

“Just tonight, baby,” he said gently. “We dredged up shit, it’s on the surface, too
close. I want you safe just in case.”

I let my lips go and nodded.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” he told me.

“Okay,” I agreed quietly.

“Nothin’ hurts you, especially not me.”

“Okay, sweetheart.”

He held my eyes a moment before he looked back to the yard.

I sat in the swing wanting to touch him, move to him, say exactly the right thing,
develop a magic touch that would erase this for him.

I didn’t do any of that
,
and not just because some of it I didn’t have the power to do.

I just sat in my swing.

His eyes came back to me. “What’s for dinner?”

“Why don’t we go into town and see your sister?”

His head cocked to the side
,
and I remembered that from when I first ran into him, how hot I thought that was,
how beautiful I thought he was doing it.

He was no less so now.

Knowing him, him being mine, it was more.

His eyes moved over me, my swing and his face got soft.

He knew what I was doing, sitting in my swing, suggesting we go see his sister.

There was nothing that would give him back what he lost.

But that didn’t mean a reminder of what he had wasn’t welcome.

“Works for me, baby.”

I smiled at him and I knew it was shaky.

He pushed up from his chair and came to me. He bent and tucked my hair behind my ear
before he wrapped a hand around the side of my head and swept his thumb over my cheek,
his eyes locked to mine.

“My girl and her swing,” he murmured.

“That’s me.”

“I love you, Hanna.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“I love you too, Raiden.”

He held my eyes long moments before he dipped his head, brushed his mouth against
mine then moved away but caught my hand, pulling me out of the swing, saying, “Let’s
go to town.”

I followed him into the house so he could get rid of his beer.

Then we went into town.

We took the Z.

Raiden driving.

Me sitting beside him.

Touched.

Hopeful.

Happy.

Chapter Twenty

Clean

Raid

Two weeks later…

Raid walked ahead of Marcus Sloan’s two men who had met him outside and were pushing
the cuffed fugitive Raid captured into the warehouse.

As Raid and the men moved, Sloan stood in the warehouse, watching.

Sloan was a dark-haired, good-looking, very dangerous man wearing an expensive, well-cut
suit.

Sloan was also a new client.

His eyes moved from Raid to the men behind him.

“Jesus,” he murmured and looked back at Raid. “What happened?”

Raid knew what he was asking. The fugitive didn’t look too good. This was due to two
black eyes, a fat lip and a swollen, broken nose.

“It took two days longer than I wanted it to take to find him. He became a bigger
pain in my ass when I found him by attempting to evade capture, so he learned what
it feels like to have his face slammed into a dresser,” Raid answered matter-of-factly.

Marcus Sloan didn’t even wince.

“Not a pleasant lesson,” he stated quietly then jerked his chin to the men behind
Raid.

They dragged the fugitive to a door off to the side and Raid knew the fugitive was
about to learn another unpleasant lesson.

“I’ll want those cuffs back,” Raid called after them and he got a curt nod from one
before the three disappeared behind the door. He looked back at Sloan. “Got somewhere
to be. You got something for me?”

“Of course,” Sloan answered and moved to a table on which a black duff
el
was sitting.

Raid moved there, too. He grabbed the handles and hefted up the bag.

“Nuisance,” Sloan stated and Raid’s eyes went to him. “Acquiring that amount of cash,”
he explaine
d, tipping his head to the duff
e
l
. “We could do direct deposit.”

“No offense, Marcus, but your shit isn’t exactly tight,” Raid replied. “I run a cash
only business. You know I gotta be careful what line items I got on my accounts.”

“And you know my business is tight,” Sloan returned.

“Not as tight as mine,” Raid said.

Sloan’s lips quirked before he murmured, “This is true.”

Raid didn’t have time for this. If he left now, in an hour and a half he could be
home with Hanna.

Still, when he pulled the handles of the duff
el
over his shoulder, he studied Sloan
,
and in case things he should know but didn’t made things messy, he was forced to
ask, “Not my business
,
but you wanna tell me why you’re contacting me and not Nightingale to do this shit
for you?”

“Things with Lee have become complicated,” Sloan answered.

Raid kept studying him, suspecting that was true.

Lee Nightingale and the boys of Nightingale Investigations were on retainer to Marcus
Sloan for a variety of purposes.

Unfortunately for Sloan, his wife became tight with not only Nightingale’s wife
,
but all the women who belonged to his crew. And if that wasn’t enough, part of that
crew included two cops and
their
women.

Something a man like Sloan would wish to avoid.

And,
considering how Sloan felt about his wife, Raid could see him adjusting business practices
in order to keep her relationship with her posse healthy.

Messy for Sloan, not messy for Raid.

Therefore acceptable.

“Right,” Raid muttered before he cocked his head to the side and finished, “Appreciate
the business.”

He was about to turn to leave when Sloan locked eyes with him and remarked, “Enjoy
your welcome home from Hanna.”

Raid’s body strung tight.

“Come again?” he asked low
,
and Sloan shook his head.

“Don’t mistake me,” he said quietly.

“You want me to ask after Daisy?” Raid queried, returning the perceived threat and
referring to Sloan’s wife, a woman Raid did not know personally
,
but a woman Raid and everyone in Denver did know Marcus Sloan would not only change
business practices for
,
but he’d also kill and die for.

“That was not my point,” Sloan told him.

“I suggest you make your point,” Raid demanded.

“It’s a lovely town you live in, Miller, but you don’t get there through your personal
magical door no one else can get through,” Sloan replied.

“You think I don’t know this?” Raid returned.

Marcus Sloan held his eyes then stated, “I’m happy for you. It would be easy for you
to go the way of Deacon. Lose yourself in the job, feel nothing, want nothing, get
up and exist through the day doing what you have to do then go to bed with nothing
to look forward to when you wake up in the morning. The walking dead with handcuffs
and brass knuckles, existing until your luck ended or your skills dulled and the hunter
became the hunted. Instead, you found something better. Now you have something in
your life that’s important, something you didn’t have before. My point is, take advice
from someone who’s lived the life much longer than you. Take measures to
e
nsure her protection.”

Since Nick Sebring’s visit, this was something that had been weighing heavily on Raid’s
mind.

His crew, however, were constantly out on jobs.

He needed to make a priority of getting them all free for long enough for a sit down.
The longer he stayed in the job, the more enemies he could make. He needed a man in
Willow at all times to keep an eye on things.

It wasn’t only Hanna. It was his mother, Rachelle and Miss Mildred.

The time had come.

“Point taken,” Raid muttered.

The door opened and one of Sloan’s men came out. He walked close enough to toss Raid’s
cuffs to him. Raid caught them and the man moved back to the room, shutting the door
behind him.

Raid shoved the cuffs in his belt at the back of his cargoes and looked at Sloan.
“We done with our counseling session?”

Sloan gave him an amused smile and nodded.

Raid moved toward the exit.

“No, actually, I’m not,” Sloan called after him.

Raid stopped and looked back, brows raised.

“Hopefully, it won’t happen. If it does, more advice. Make a statement, Raid. Make
a statement no one can miss. Am I being clear?” Sloan asked.

He was
,
and Raid didn’t like what he was being clear about.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to Hanna,” Raid rumbled.

“No, likely not, but if it does, pray for her strength. But make
your
statement clear,” Sloan shot back.

Raid’s blood ran cold.

“You know something I don’t know?”
he
asked sharply.

“I know this life. You’re the man I think you are, you now have a new number one priority.
See to making sure everyone knows exactly what that is and what you’d do if they don’t
take that seriously.”

Jesus, the man had another point.

Raid didn’t concede it this time.

He clipped, “Now are we done?”

Sloan nodded.

Raid moved again toward the door
,
and while he did he heard a man’s chilling, agonized cry.

As he always did, Raid just kept walking.

* * * * *

Hanna

“I’m going
,
Grams!” I shouted as I hustled down the hall.

I went through the backdoor, pushing back the screen door that Raiden had put the
storm window in the week before, the day before he left on a job, and saw her sitting
outside under one of my afghans.

She turned to me.

“When does he get home, child?” she asked and I smiled at her.

“He called an hour ago saying he’d be home in an hour and a half.”

“Then you get home to your man,
chère.
Tell him I said, ‘hey’.”

“I’ll tell him,” I assured her then asked, “Do you want me to help you inside?”

She looked to the waning sun. “Gonna stay out a while longer.”

“Grams
—
”

She looked to me. “Just a while longer, precious. I’ll be okay. Eunice is coming over
later.” She waved her hand at me. “Shoo. Get on that bike of yours and go home.”

I smiled again, dashed to her, gave her a kiss on her wrinkled cheek then dashed back
to the house calling, “See you later!”

“Tell that boy I expect to see him for church on Sunday!” she called back.

“Will do!” I yelled
.

I threw open the front door, the storm door that again Raiden had put the storm windows
in and then I felt a whiz at my feet. I looked down
and saw Spot run-waddling out.

“What the
—
?” I snapped, following him only to see him jump on a chair, the railing and into
the basket of my bike that I really needed to put up for the winter.

Crazy cat.

“Inside
,
Spot,” I ordered.

“Meow,” he defied me, settling his fat booty in my basket, demanding a ride.

I hurried down the stairs, picked him up and he lost it, writhing and hissing until
I could hold him no longer. I dropped him back in the basket, having to grab onto
the bike to hold it steady when he went in.

He sat on his behind, looked up at me and said, “Meow.”