Raid (Unfinished Hero #3)(84)

“Tell that boy I expect to see him for church on Sunday!” she called back.

“Will do!” I yelled.

I threw open the front door, the storm door that again Raiden had put the storm windows in and then I felt a whiz at my feet. I looked down and saw Spot run-waddling out.

“What the—?” I snapped, following him only to see him jump on a chair, the railing and into the basket of my bike that I really needed to put up for the winter.

Crazy cat.

“Inside, Spot,” I ordered.

“Meow,” he defied me, settling his fat booty in my basket, demanding a ride.

I hurried down the stairs, picked him up and he lost it, writhing and hissing until I could hold him no longer. I dropped him back in the basket, having to grab onto the bike to hold it steady when he went in.

He sat on his behind, looked up at me and said, “Meow.”

“I need to get home, buddy.”

“Meow.”

“My man’s coming home.”

He pointed his face to the driveway.

Gah!

I didn’t have time for this!

I ran back to the house, threw open the door and shouted, “Spot feels like a ride! Raid will bring him back later!”

“Righty ho!” Grams shouted back.

So that was where I got it.

I grinned to myself, raced back to my bike, mounted and threw back the kickstand. Putting my feet to the pedals, we were off.

“You’re going to have to explain to Raiden why he has to leave our bed and bring you home,” I informed Spot.

“Meow,” he replied to the wind blowing in his face, unafraid of badass Raiden Miller as only Spot would be.

We rode home. I stopped at the front and hefted him out of the basket. He crawled up to get paws on my shoulder and started purring as I walked up the steps.

I grinned.

Totally a crazy cat.

I pulled out my keys, opened my screen door that had storm windows, too, ditto with Raid putting them in. A fat cat in my arm, the storm door resting on my behind, I inserted the key in lock one, turned it and it didn’t do anything.

It was unlocked.

“Didn’t I—?” I started to ask the doorknob when it turned.

The door was thrown open, my hand was caught in a vice-like grip, and on a terrified scream Spot and I were pulled inside.

For the next ten minutes I felt a lot of terror.

And a lot of pain.

This was because in the foyer of my childhood home I got the shit beaten out of me by three men with one man watching.

The only thing that I processed outside the fear and pain was Spot hissing then his agonized, “Muuuuurrrrroooowww!” when he was kicked into the living room.

Finally down and almost out, on my belly, unable to move, pain searing through my insides as I coughed up blood, my arm useless and broken under me, my head was pulled back by my hair.

I gave out a tortured whimper at the additional pain and tried to force myself to focus on the man who was in my face.

“Just so you know, Heather gave you up after she watched us put a bullet in Bodhi’s brain,” he told me.

Oh God.

Oh God.

Banana, I heard Bodhi’s voice in my head.

The pain so immense, physical and now emotional, my head swimming, my eyes drifting open and shut, I was going to pass out. I wanted it. I needed it.

But he wasn’t done.

“I don’t like to lose money. You made me lose money. Now we’re square.”

He slammed my head into the rug.

And when he did, thankfully, I lost consciousness.

* * * * *

My eyes drifted open.

Something was happening.

I was in agony, head to toes.

I needed to get to a phone.

I needed the black back.

Something shifted at my side as I heard the backdoor open.

I tensed, my mouth opening to call out, then closing.

They wouldn’t come back.

Would they come back?

I scuttled and something scuttled with me.

Spot was pressed to my side.

I could scuttle no more. It hurt too much. Way too much.

I stopped.

“Hanna!” I heard called.

It was Raid. He was probably wondering why I didn’t rush to greet him like I usually did.

My mouth opened.

My eyes drifted closed.

“Jesus, f**k!” I heard barked.

I felt movement, heard boots on floor, a cat’s hiss, another one, a furry body shifting, thumping, striking, more hissing then, “Fuckin’ cat! Hanna.”

My hair was shifted off my neck.

My eyes fluttered.

“Fuck me, f**k me, f**k me.”

A hand moving on me.

“Baby, are you with me?”

My eyes fluttered again.

“Fuck me… yeah, this is Raiden Miller. I’m at 10 Hunter Lane. My woman’s been attacked, beaten badly, she’s barely conscious. I need an ambulance.” Pause then I felt him close. “Hanna, baby, you with me?”

I tried to flutter my eyes.

But it all went black.

* * * * *

My eyes drifted open.

It was dark, but there was muted light and I didn’t understand the smells I was experiencing. I also didn’t understand the wooziness I was feeling.

“Baby.”