Page 57 of The Hardest Hit

“Right.”

She pulled him into the bedroom and he swung her onto the bed where she landed with a giggle and legs flying upward. He pushed inside her and she moaned. He thrust harder and she dug her fingernails into his shoulder.

“God fucking yes!” she exclaimed and he grinned. He loved her enthusiasm.

Sometime later when they were both out of breath and happy, he realized he was still wearing his socks.

“What about Aiden?” he asked, staring at her ceiling.

“Motherfucker is on the warpath,” she said rolling over and sounding outraged but amused.

“Yes,” agreed Jackson. “He is supremely unhappy with the behavior of the police.”

“You need to get him to calm the fuck down. I’m getting race questions from the media and the police union is threatening to go Hiroshima if Aiden gets the Feds or the ACLU involved.”

“Well, maybe you should hurry up and charge the fucking Nazis then,” said Jackson.

Riley wrinkled her nose, her face scrunching unhappily. “I can’t. At least not all of them.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” growled Jackson, sitting up.

“Calm down, calm down,” she said, retreating from him and sitting up on her knees.

Jackson recognized the posture for what it was—defensive. He took a deep breath and forced himself to lay back down on the pillows. “What do you mean, you can’t charge them?” asked Jackson, trying to force a smile onto his face.

“Jesus, I don’t like it when you do that,” she said rubbing her arm with one hand. It was a self-soothing gesture, and protective, as it put an arm between the two of them.

“Sorry,” said Jackson, smiling apologetically. He reached out a hand and she took it.

“I don’t like it when you get that aggro,” she said snuggling back against him.

“I get upset when people attack my family. I’m not mad at you.”

“At me or around me feels the same. It makes you seem dangerous.”

Jackson hugged her a little tighter. “Sorry,” he said again. “Why can’t you charge them?”

“The lead one, Redneck Drew—”

“I’m sure he has a real name,” said Jackson drily.

“Yeah, but his official alias is Redneck Drew. It’s his social media handle and it’s tattooed on his arm. Anyway, Drew’s lawyer came in today. He’s offering information and testimony in exchange for dropping the charges.”

“Testimony on what?” scoffed Jackson.

“Don’t get mad,” said Riley.

“I’m not going to get mad,” he said.

“You’re going to get mad,” she said.

Jackson didn’t want to point out that he was getting mad the longer she delayed, but didn’t. “I promise that if I get mad I’ll go stand in the bathroom and yell at the wall until my ass gets cold.”

That had the desired effect of making her laugh. “Well,” she said, “I’m not supposed to discuss it, but I’m worried that if I don’t tell you then Aiden will go off on a legal rampage.”

“So you have to tell me,” said Jackson. “Otherwise it’s an atom bomb of police brutality and racism.”

“Right.” She sat up, chewing her bottom lip unhappily. “He’s volunteering to testify about who hired him.”