Page 30 of Stalked By Raiden

I shake my head. “No.”

“Did he touch you?”

Before I can deny it, his gaze finds my neck, and he goes rigid, his pale blue eyes darkening with rage.

“I’ll fucking kill him,” he says coldly, already starting to rise.

I grip him tight. “Don’t. I need you, Raiden.” My words filter through the haze of anger.

He kisses my bruised neck. “I’m sorry.”

Behind him, I hear another struggle. Roman still has Drake pinned to the floor.

“Go,” Roman says without looking up. “We’re good.”

Raiden nods once. Then he scoops me into his arms. I instinctively wrap mine around his neck. He carries me toward the hallway. Just before we step outside the room, one of his hands gently cradles the back of my head, turning my face into his shoulder.

“Don’t look.”

His voice is gentle. I don’t argue. I bury my face against his neck instead. His heartbeat pounds steadily beneath my cheek. Strong, certain, and safe.

It’s the first time since being dragged into that SUV that I know I’m going to survive.

⁎⁎⁎

Neither of us speaks during the drive home. The city passes by in a blur of lights. I don’t look out the window. Instead, I tighten my grip on Raidan’s hand. His grip is firm. Grounding. Every now and then, his thumb brushes lightly over my knuckles.

It’s a silent reminder He’s here. I’m safe. I cling to that feeling all the way to his apartment—home.

The apartment feels strangely peaceful. Almost unreal after everything that’s happened. Raiden guides me to the couch before disappearing into the kitchen. A minute later, he returns with a mug of tea.

“It’s hot.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

Neither of us says anything while I take the first sip. Gradually, the trembling eases. My breathing steadies. The silence stretches until one question finally pushes through the fog in my mind.

“How?”

Raiden looks up.

“How did you know where I was?”

His expression changes. Guarded.

“I need the truth.”

He sits opposite me. For several seconds, neither of us speaks. Finally, he exhales. “You deserve an explanation.”

I nod.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I wasn’t meeting a client tonight.” My stomach tightens. “I was downstairs with River, Roman, and Royal.”

“Downstairs?”

“Beneath the tattoo shop. There’s another level. We use it as our headquarters.”

The words don’t immediately register. “Headquarters? For what?”