Kristen Ashley - Raid

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.

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 duffel 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 explained, tipping his head to the duffel. “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 duffel 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 ensure 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.