People were counting on me, and two of those people included Raiden and me.
So I held the good times close, like Raiden Miller telling me he was going to retire at forty and he expected me to be around when that happened, pulled myself together and faced the door, not having any idea that I was about to get scorched.
The door opened and a lick of white-hot flame surged through instantly when Raiden’s eyes fell on me.
“I told you to be gone,” he growled.
I beat back the blisters and told him, “We need to talk.”
“You need to be gone,” he returned.
“I need to apologize. That was—”
He leaned toward me.
“Bitch, get the fuck outta my sight!” he roared and all my skin boiled away.
I braced against the pain. “Raiden, please—”
“Hanna, trust me, you stand there two more seconds, I’ll make you gone, and babe, you do not want me to do that.”
He’d do that. He would. He’d been physical with me before when he had a point to make. And his face told me he was not making threats.
Thus I didn’t wait two seconds.
Not even one.
I ran to the door, even though he was still in it, and my heart splintered when he got right out of my way.
He didn’t call after me. He didn’t even come out to the landing at the top of the stairs. I knew because, stupidly, when I was in my Z, I looked up.
The door was closed.
I hit the button. My baby purred, I reversed and tested her speed and maneuverability on the way home.
She did not fail me.
I did this crying.
Because a Boudreaux didn’t cry unless she was in a place she could do it.
And my baby was that place for me.
*
Eleven fifteen that night…
I was driving home from my warehouse in town. The afternoon slid by without me able to take my mind off Raiden, so I piled my SUV with finished afghans and went into town, thinking that work would keep my thoughts occupied, so I’d done it for hours.
This, incidentally, was an unsuccessful endeavor, but at least all my shipments were ready for the post.
I cleared the woods around my house and my heart started thumping when my headlights fell on Raiden’s Jeep parked in front of it.
As I drove down the side drive, I saw him illuminated by the porch light, standing on the porch, leaning against the post he’d leaned against when, just days before, he said beautiful things to me.
I looked away, rounded the house and hit the garage door opener.
I parked my SUV next to my Z and shut down the ignition. I hurried out, hit the garage door button and hustled out the side door of the garage and across the yard toward the house.
I saw Raiden’s shadowed frame rounding the house.
I stopped myself from running, but hurried up the back steps, keys in hand. I now had two locks on the backdoor (there were two on the front door too; Raiden put them in as he said he would on the day he said he would) and I had the key ready that luckily unlocked all of the new locks on my house, so no fiddling with switching keys.
Just unlock and in, and maybe, if I was lucky, I’d get in and keep him out.
The outside light lighting my way, I yanked open the screen door and got both locks unlocked, but not before I heard Raiden’s boots on the steps behind me.
I didn’t look back. I pushed in and let the screen door fall behind me.
Except it didn’t shut for two beats.
He was in.
Since any further efforts to keep him out would be futile, I left the interior door where it was, tossed the keys on my kitchen table and moved through the kitchen like he wasn’t there.
I didn’t make it even halfway.
Two arms closed around me from behind and my back slammed into Raiden’s front.
My body went stiff.
I felt his face in my neck.
“I’m a dick,” he whispered into my skin.
Men thought they could get away with a lot if they admitted that.
Sometimes it worked.
Sometimes, like this time, it didn’t.
“You need to leave,” I stated.
His face came out of my neck, but his lips went to my ear, “Hanna—”
“You need to leave,” I repeated firmly.
“Baby—”
“I crawled across a floor for you and I said one thing out of kindness and concern and you walked out on me, came back, called me a bitch and kicked me out.”
“Honey—”
“No one calls me a bitch, Raiden.”
“Give me one second—”
“No one makes me crawl across a floor.”
His arms got tight and his voice went low. “You dropped to your hands and knees yourself, honey.”
“Because I trusted you then. I don’t trust you now.”
One of his arms shifted up, his hand curling around the side of neck and he whispered, his voice thick, “Listen to me.”
With a mighty heave, I tore from his arms. I whirled, lifted a hand and shoved him in the chest, all the while shouting, “You need to go!”
His hand caught my raised one and held it firm.
“Baby, listen to me.”