Raid (Unfinished Hero #3)(42)

All this activity meant I didn’t have time to freak out about the upcoming talk with Raiden, which was good.

What was bad was that he drank and ate. He asked about the call, the rest of the calls (once he’d learned of them) and my nap. But he did not do what I’d hoped.

And that was launch right into the conversation we needed to have that included me freaking, then dealing with learning about whatever he did for a living.

So I gave it until there was only that awkward sliver of pizza left and Raiden got up to get another beer, asking me if I wanted one. I was sipping, keeping my wits about me. Raiden was taking long, manly pulls, therefore I had half a beer left and I declined.

He got his beer and was putting it on the coffee table, not going for the last slice, which I decided indicated he was done eating, so I also decided it was time.

As he was settling back in the couch, I prompted cautiously, “Raiden, you were going to tell me some things.”

He wasn’t fully back, and at my words he stopped, his head turned to me and he studied me for long moments that made me fight to keep myself from squirming on the couch with worry and impatience.

Then he sat back and spread his arms out. One he draped on the armrest, the other on the back, claiming my frou-frou, girlie sofa so thoroughly with his sexy, masculine vibe that for a second my mind blanked.

Then his deep voice announced, “I’m a bounty hunter.”

My mind came back into the room.

Was that it?

A bounty hunter?

Sweet relief swept through me.

Sure. Raiden had been right. Being a bounty hunter was unconventional.

It was also totally cool.

Therefore I grinned huge and cried, “That’s totally cool!”

He took in my grin, his face blank, and shook his head.

“No, Hanna, not the badge carrying, having arrest warrants, extension of law enforcement kind of bounty hunting. Cash under the table, getting a f**kuva lot more money kind of bounty hunting.”

I didn’t know what to do with that since I had no idea what he was talking about.

“I don’t get it,” I told him.

“I hunt fugitives and they definitely act outside the law,” he explained. “But, when I find them, I don’t deliver them to the police so they can do jacked shit, get caught, get bonded out, do more jacked shit, go on the run, get caught, then some bondsmen bonds them out again so they can do more jacked shit. I deliver them to people who are willing to pay a lot of money to have them delivered.”

This didn’t sound good, but I still didn’t get it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I said softly. “I’m still not following.”

He didn’t move and his eyes never left my face as he kept talking.

“Then I’ll explain. Right now, I got several jobs goin’, the primary one bein’ Knight’s. He’s a buddy of mine. He’s got an enemy who keeps gettin’ bested but won’t let his grudge go. Knight had some shit happen to his business because of this guy and he asked me to do him a favor. A favor he’s payin’ me to do. And that favor is find the man who infiltrated his business, injecting dope into it. This guy is doin’ a favor for the other guy who’s tryin’ to f**k with Knight. But when I find him, I won’t turn him and any evidence I have as pertains to his criminal activities into the police. I’ll deliver him to Knight and walk away. When I do that, what Knight does with this guy and the shit I give him is not my business. I just walk away. I always walk away.”

This didn’t sound good, either. In fact, it sounded worse, and the stuff before it already sounded bad.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know and was leaning towards not wanting to know, but still, I asked, “So this Knight person asks you to find someone. You find him and give him to Knight, he pays you in cash then your part is done?”

“Yep,” he answered.

“And you don’t just do this for Knight. It’s your job and you do it for other people?”

“Yep.”

“Is that legal?” I queried.

His body moved minutely. I almost didn’t catch it, but I did and then he sat there looking at me like he had been. No change, except I felt it.

He was tense.

“Strictly speaking,” he began, paused, then finished, “no.”

Oh God.

“I… you… is it…?” I stammered, pulled myself together and went on, “Are you telling me you’re engaged in criminal activities?”

The tension started pouring off him in waves, making me tense. Big time tense.

In fact, wired.

“Strictly speaking,” he began, paused, then finished, “yes.”

Oh God!

I’d put my plate on the coffee table, which was fortunate. It freed me to lift my feet to the seat of the couch and curve my arms protectively around my shins, hugging my legs to my chest.

Raiden’s eyes dropped to my posture. He closed them slowly, then opened them and looked at me.

“Told you yesterday, years ago, I tracked down my Dad. To this day, I don’t know how it came to me how to do it. We hadn’t heard from him in two years. He lived two hours away. I had no resources, no experience, no money, not that first f**kin’ thing to go on, and I was a minor. But it took me a week to find him. It just came natural, askin’ questions to the right people, bein’ smart about it, turnin’ over rocks. Same went for when I drove my ass up there and found his house empty. Didn’t know that town, didn’t know his MO. Still tracked his ass down at his bitches’ houses. Same went for me breakin’ in. Bought a lock at the hardware store, examined it, f**ked with it for hours until I figured out how to pick it. All this came natural. Some people are good with numbers. Others good with their hands. I’m good with this shit.”