Oh God.

Raiden looked away and took another pull of his beer.

He said nothing.

I didn’t either.

Then I had to ask, “Did it, uh… help do you think?”

“Felt shit, goin’ over that, knowin’ Hal’s f**ked 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 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.”