Raiden Ferrara

I shouldn’t even care about her, let alone tell her to come with me but the words left my mouth before I could stop them. And now she stood there, trembling just beneath the layers of dirt and blood and cold air. 

Her hair was a tangled mess around her face, strands clinging to her cheeks like wet ribbon. Her eyes, red from crying, rimmed with the kind of panic you can’t fake, met mine briefly then flicked away.

That single glance told me two things: she didn’t trust me.

And she knows she didn’t have any other choice.

My gaze swept over her frame again, this time slower, more precise. Her right hand was wrapped tightly against her chest, fingers stained with dried blood. Her left wrist, cuffed. The metal hung awkwardly, catching the light every time she shifted.

But it was her foot that made me squint. The way she stood, off-balance, trying to stay upright by putting weight on her toes. It was swollen, no question. Possibly fractured. Every muscle in her body was strung tight, holding her up purely by force of will.

And still… she nodded. Barely. But it was enough.

I gave her a slight nod back and turned. She followed.

The smoke ahead of us thickened, curling up into the sky. My men were already gathered by the cars, weapons still drawn, standing at attention before the remains of the house crumbled. The fire cracked through the trees like a scream swallowed in flames.

The moment we stepped out of the forest’s edge, she faltered.

Her injured ankle gave. Her balance shifted and I moved before she even hit the ground.

My arm caught her mid-fall. She tensed in my grip, every muscle locked in terror. For a second, I thought she’d scream. But she didn’t. She just froze, her breath hitched, sharp and audible against my chest. Her pulse thundered under my fingers. Her skin was soft, too soft for someone who had just climbed down a wall of ivy and run for her life. I shouldn’t have noticed that but I did.

Was she scared? Or was it something else?

I didn’t ask.

Instead, I adjusted my hold and lifted her. She didn’t resist. Maybe she couldn’t.

Her breath stuttered when my arms closed around her but then her head dipped slightly, like she was giving in, not to me but to gravity. To survival.

She smelled like smoke and blood and pine. I carried her the rest of the way.

Billy glanced back, eyes darting from the girl to me. He didn’t say anything but his brows lifted just slightly, you serious?, before he quickly masked it with indifference.

I ignored him.

“Bring a first aid kit,” I said, my voice low but sharp enough to draw obedience. One of the men nodded and moved without question.

The girl flinched at the command. Her head turned instinctively toward the burning house. The flames reflected in her wide eyes and for a second I thought she might break but she didn’t.

Her expression shifted. From fear… to something else.

Relief.

She looked at that fire like it was the first thing that made sense in days.

I placed her gently in the back seat of the black SUV. Not beside me, across. Close, but not close enough to make her feel trapped.

She didn’t speak. Just sat there, hands in her lap, shoulders drawn in like she was trying to disappear.

I sat back, elbows on my knees, watching her.

“Raiden,” I said. “My name.”

She didn’t react at first. Then, slowly, her eyes lifted to mine. A flicker of something passed between us. Recognition? No. She didn’t know me. Just the name. The anchor of it.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” I added. “Neither is he.” I nodded to Billy, who now stood by the door with the first aid kit in hand.

He stepped forward slightly to grab her hand. “Billy. I’m the one who usually talks sense into him.”

Her body jerked back.

Billy stopped.

Her eyes were wide again, every inch of her posture suddenly screaming one thing: don’t touch me.

I raised a hand between them.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Whatever they did to you... it’s over. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

She didn’t move but she didn’t flinch again either. A small victory.

Billy exhaled, stepping back. He gave me a look, part question, part warning but said nothing. That alone said enough.

I turned back to her.

“Let me see your hand.”

She hesitated. Then slowly, as if her arm weighed more than her entire body, she lifted it.

The bruises were already deepening, angry purples and greens beneath the skin. Blood streaked her fingers. Her knuckles were raw.

I reached for her gently as she tried to pull away, then stopped.

I touched her skin. She was trembling but not because of the cold.

I could feel her pulse beneath my thumb. The way her breathing shifted, uneven and shallow, like she didn’t know whether to run or lean closer.

When I brushed a fingertip over one of the deeper cuts, she hissed. The sound went through me like static.

Soft skin. Warm skin. Hurt skin.

Her name came back to me, unprompted. The way she’d said it earlier in the woods, just once, barely above a whisper.

Blake.

I looked at her again.

What the hell were you doing out here, Blake?

Billy must’ve been wondering the same thing. But neither of us asked.

“Get someone to cut the cuff,” I muttered to Billy without taking my eyes off her.

He nodded and disappeared toward the next car.

The girl, Blake, looked down at the metal still clinging to her wrist like a brand. She didn’t say a word but I could see the way her other hand tightened in her lap.

This wasn’t just bruises. This was trauma that hadn’t even begun to settle.

I leaned back, folding my arms but still watching her. Her breathing had steadied now. She kept glancing toward the door like she expected someone to drag her back out of it.

No one would.

Not while she was in my car.

Outside, the flames swallowed what was left of the farmhouse. Smoke rolled into the sky, thick and final.

The engine hummed beneath us as the convoy prepared to move. Blake turned her head once more, toward the fire. Her eyes followed it for a long, quiet second. Then she looked away.

And I looked at her.

I had no idea what the hell she was doing here but she was here now and for some reason… I wasn’t letting her go.