Weirdly, this made sense so I said, “Okay.”

“When chaos can result, they call me in. I rein it in but I don’t extinguish the threat. I’m not a moron. I know when I deliver a man who fucked one of these guys over they don’t sit him down in group counseling and work out their issues. But I don’t give a fuck. I control chaos. No wife or mother or kid or girlfriend or just a person on the street who was in the wrong place at the wrong time gets pulled in to make a point, carry out a threat or used as shield, then I did my job and got paid huge to do it.”

This made sense, too, and was kind of honorable in a twisted, criminal underworld kind of way.

I did not tell Raiden this. I just stared at him.

So he continued.

“That’s my work, and the way you’re lookin’ at me I see it hasn’t penetrated yet that in the natural order of things it’s good work. I got a code. I don’t hunt women no matter what shit they pull—and they can pull some serious shit—but that is not my gig and never will be. And if the man I’m huntin’ is twenty or younger, I don’t take the job. At that age, they can pull their shit outta that life, turn themselves around. I don’t ask questions. I don’t counsel my prey. I tag and deliver. The kid might be pullin’ shit, but I won’t know that and I won’t live with it on my conscious that he’s off tryin’ to find a better life and I was responsible for dragging him back in.”

Raiden went quiet.

“Is that it?” I asked, thinking that was at least something but not much of a code.

“Nope,” he answered. “I don’t do side jobs, deliverin’ shit if they know I’m headin’ somewhere, which would usually be dope or firearms, but it could be anything. I do not touch any of their business because no matter what it is it’s tainted, and that is not part of my life. I am not muscle. I gotta get physical on the capture, I do that. But I don’t inflict injury unless it’s unavoidable. I am contract only and not on any payroll. It is known wide I’m not looking for employment. Now they don’t even offer no matter how good I do what I do and they want me on their crew. As for what my crew and I do, we do one thing. The job and only the job. There is not a menu of services available. We don’t accept add-ons no matter the amount they’re willing to pay. And unless I trust a man—and there are few I trust outside my crew, Deacon and Knight—I don’t grant favors and I don’t ask for them.”

Raiden again stopped speaking.

I said nothing.

So he asked, “You got any questions?”

I shook my head but told him, “I think I need to process this.”

He studied me a moment before his eyes warmed, his voice dropped and he ordered, “Then come here and process it closer.”

My throat clogged. I shook my head, but swallowed and forced out, “I think this is the kind of processing you need to process alone.”

A look that was hard to witness moved over his face.

He understood me.

That killed too.

“Hanna, come here,” he whispered.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Why not?

“Raiden, you just told me you’re a criminal and I’m not sure I’m down with that or if I’ll ever be.”

And I wasn’t.

And that’s why this was killing me.

“I’m not a criminal.”

“You participate in criminal activities,” I pointed out. “With understanding and intent.”

“I do shit that’s considered illegal,” he amended.

“It isn’t considered illegal, Raiden. It just is,” I told him.

“And who do I hurt?” he shot back, and my mouth clamped shut because that was actually a good question. “Who do I hurt, Hanna?” he pushed.

I said nothing.

What I did was push back into the couch when Raiden leaned toward me, putting his elbows to his thighs and kept talking.

“I don’t push dope. I don’t run guns. I don’t pimp women. I don’t steal. I don’t con. I don’t blackmail. I don’t squeeze people for protection money. I do not act as an enforcer. My business never touches the lives of honest citizens. The people I deal with made their choices, the wrong ones, and I’m a consequence of those choices. I didn’t force their choices. I do not do one fuckin’ thing that contributes to their business or the shit they do. They fuck up and wander into the real world where there’s a possibility that they can make decisions that will put good people doin’ their best to live decent lives in jeopardy, I reel them back in so that shit does not happen. I’m not tryin’ to convince you that that shit always bleeds. Sometimes it’s contained, but there’s always the possibility that someone could get tweaked, panicked, do something entirely fucked up where someone innocent pays, and what I do stops that before it could even start.”

He was scaring me. All of this was, but still, I found the courage to note, “Raiden, it’s clear you’re determined to do what you do and you have your reasons, but, honestly some of it sounds like rationalizations.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “You stopped Bodhi and Heather from fuckin’ you up the ass. You let that play out, I would have stopped those shipments from goin’ out with your afghans and I would have eventually traced all that shit back to the man who’s instigating it. Now he’s gonna find another Bodhi and Heather who will likely find another Hanna Boudreaux they can fuck up the ass and she might not be as lucky as you.”

Oh my God.

That totally made sense.

“People do a lot of shit,” Raiden told me. “You’re so insulated by family, friends and Willow, thank Christ, you’ll never know all the seriously jacked up shit people can get up to. And I didn’t tell you that about Bodhi and Heather to make you think I’m on a crusade to shut down drug dealers or any kinds of other scum. The men I work for, I don’t make judgments and I don’t get involved. But when shit bleeds and I staunch the flow, that jacks up job satisfaction and it does it huge. You want it straight up, odds are Bodhi and Heather were good people who got caught up in something they couldn’t control. They were squeezed. They were forced to make a choice. I don’t know what happened and I don’t give a fuck, but I’ve seen a lot of people, and those two do not have black souls. But they jacked up somewhere along the way, felt the consequences and that’s fair. What isn’t fair is they roped you into that shit and I don’t get to feel good about disentangling people like you often. It happens enough that I like what I do enough to keep doin’ it until I have the money to quit doin’ it, kick back and have a decent life where I answer to no one and I can just breathe.”

He stopped speaking and I said nothing.

We held each other’s eyes.

This went on a good, long while as my mind turned over what he said, everything he said, and a lot of things he didn’t say.

I had to admit, all of it made sense. It was his sense because Raiden had untwisted some scary, twisted stuff and forced it to make sense, but he did it in a way that it even made sense to me.

It was what he didn’t say that penetrated, dug deep and settled with the intention of staying awhile.

Maybe forever.

As I thought this he watched my face, and I knew he knew when he sat back and ordered quietly, “Now, Hanna, come here.”

I didn’t decide to do it. I couldn’t actually believe I was doing it even as I did it.

I let my legs go, curled them under me, put my hands to the empty seat between us and crawled his way.

The instant I got close he leaned toward me and his arms sliced around me so tight my breath constricted. He hauled me to him, his hand at the back of my head forcing my face in his neck and I felt him bury his in mine.

“Jesus, fuck,” he whispered, relief dripping heavy in those two words.

I closed my eyes, and again I didn’t decide to do it, but still my arms shoved into the cushions of the couch so they could round him.

He shoved his face further in my neck and squeezed tight.

I let this continue because he needed it, and maybe I needed it. Then I couldn’t let it continue because I didn’t need to pass out.

“Raiden, I’m finding it hard to breathe,” I rasped.

His arm loosened.

“Are you with me?” he asked my neck.

Oh boy.

Oh God.

Heck.

“Yes,” my mouth decided for me.

His hand in my hair fisted and he repeated, “Jesus, fuck.”

Grams was right. She always was.

Raiden was dangerous.

And I knew I shouldn’t. She warned me to be careful.

But for some reason I didn’t understand I couldn’t stop myself from being that woman who tried to withstand hellfire.

No.

I knew the reason.

It was because I wanted to know nothing for the rest of my life sweeter than the love Raiden could have for me.

It was also more.

I wanted him to know nothing for the rest of his sweeter than what I could give him.

“I think I’m in trouble,” I told his neck.

“That feeling will fade,” he told mine.

“I think I’m scared,” I kept going.

“That’ll fade too.”

“Just saying, you might be in a little bit of trouble, too.”

His head came up, his fist loosened in my hair so mine could go back and he caught my eyes.

His were still amazing.

The relief in them was not hidden.

He’d been worried.

Raiden Miller was so totally into me.

God.

Grams was so totally right.

How did this happen?

“How am I in trouble?” he asked.

I didn’t tell him what he knew, but obviously, from what he said, refused to do anything about.