Hannah and the Hitman

Chapter 20

20

JACK

I liked this.

A quiet table in a pizza place in Coal Springs.

With Hannah.

The woman who I fingered a little while ago in the back of the library. Whose hot little pussy was perfection. Wet and snug and eager to be filled. Whose taste I licked off my hand like a popsicle.

While she was usually shy and reserved, when I got my hands on her she was so responsive. Uninhibited. The real Hannah came out to play.

And only for me.

After she locked up, we walked to her favorite restaurant, only a few blocks from the library. It wasn’t a five-star establishment. It didn’t even have tablecloths. Our sausage and jalapeno pizza sat on a little stand that took up most of the space between us and the paper plates, napkins, and our sodas.

“You keep looking around,” she said, her voice laced with worry. “I know it’s not fancy, but it’s got great pizza.”

The tables were bolted to the floor and were covered in wood grain linoleum. The metal chairs had red pleather seat cushions. The tile floor was a little sticky. The music being played was vintage 80s. There was an equally vintage Pac-Man arcade game in the corner next to the restrooms.

The scent of garlic permeated the air from the pizza the teenager who worked the counter had set between us. He called Hannah by her name and Hannah waved to the guy in the back making the pizzas. She knew people in this town.

Hannah tucked her hair behind her ear and reached for another slice. She’d already had two. I loved how she wasn’t eating a fucking salad. No, she was putting away the slices as if cheese was a major food group. I found it amusing and endearing because she wasn’t trying to be anything but herself. Every minute with her and I liked her more and more. That didn’t even take into account how she came for me, almost as if she were surprised by how I could rouse that kind of pleasure from her body. I had to wonder if any guy had gotten her off before.

“Gorgeous, I don’t want fancy.”

“Says the man wearing a fancy suit and drives a fancy car,” she countered. Her cheeks were flushed from her orgasm and, unlike at her parents’ house the night before, her shoulders weren’t up by her ears like earrings.

“I have fancy,” I said. “Doesn’t mean I want it. ”

The slice was by her lips, and she held it there. “You’d rather have a beat-up car?”

I wiped my mouth with a paper napkin I pulled from the metal holder on the table. “I sound like an asshole complaining about being financially secure. I’m not. What I mean is, my life’s pretty hectic. Simple and not fancy is really appealing to me.”

“Your job is hectic?”

I nodded. “Maybe it’s time for a new job.”

I’d never really considered that, until now. That maybe what I thought was normal–because no one else would think the life of a hitman was normal–wasn’t any fun at all. I didn’t have any hobbies. No friends besides Dax. The people I worked with, I killed. I knew the doorman of my building by name, but I was a big tipper at the holidays.

Hannah’s normal was open, friendly. Simple.

“Hi, Hannah.”

Hannah looked up at the woman who called to her. Her timing was fucking fantastic because I didn’t have to lie to my girl about my work. She approached our table. The smile on her face made her seem pleased to see Hannah, but her shrewd, maneater gaze was squarely on me. She wore a white t-shirt, but no one paid any attention to it since her ass was practically hanging out of a pair of tiny Daisy Dukes. She was attractive. Any man with decent eyesight would agree, but in a desperate sort of way.

“Hey, Paige. How are you?” Hannah asked, her tone lacking any kind of enthusiasm.

“Good. It’s been a long time.”

Hannah nodded. “It has.” I had to wonder if there was a reason for that .

“Who’s your friend?”

“Jack,” she replied, nothing more.

“Jack,” Paige parroted, drawing the one syllable out. “What are you doing with Hannah?”

As in, Hannah’s fine and all, but I’m a much better option.

“Eating pizza,” I told her. Making her come all over my hand. Whatever the fuck Hannah and I did was none of this woman’s business. Other than distracting Hannah from talking about my work, she was worthless to me.

Paige laughed, which made her tits jiggle a little too freely in her v-neck shirt. She was wearing a bra, but she could have paid more for extra support. “What do you do for a living, Jack?”

“He’s a mortician,” Hannah piped in.

Paige blinked, as if her brain couldn’t process that answer. Her smile slipped. “Mor–mortician?”

I shrugged and picked up my drink. “What can I say? It’s an underrated profession. Plenty of job security. Plus, I like wearing suits.”

She took in the one I had on today, but her gaze was now more repulsed than interested, even if it was bespoke. Fine by me. I drew hard on the straw, taking a big swig of soda.

“Good seeing you, Paige,” Hannah said. “I don’t want to rush you off, but Jack’s got to finish his meal and get back to those dead bodies. God, I hope he washed his hands after that last embalming.”

I swallowed wrong and tried not to cough as Paige stormed off. I didn’t have plans to murder anyone tonight, but the night was young enough to create a body count.

Hannah picked up her own drink and put the straw in her mouth. I tried not to imagine her sucking and swallowing like that on something else.

“Jealous, gorgeous?” I asked. Why the fuck did the possibility of that make me hard?

She sucked in a little more soda, then set the glass down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The snooty way she had her nose in the air made me laugh. After a moment, she added, “She’s interested in what’s in your pants.”

I shrugged, uncaring. “The only woman I want interested in my dick is you.”

My dick really wanted to get to know Hannah better, but it wasn’t in charge here. I had to play the long game with her.

With a sag to her shoulders, she seemed relieved. As if I really would go after Paige while having a meal with Hannah. Hell, or in general. I remembered that she’d said her ex had cheated on her, so the reaction was valid. But I didn’t appreciate being lumped in with the guy. I’d have to prove myself to her and that would take time.

“I’m not sure if you think so little of me or so little of yourself.” Either way, I didn’t like it. “We’re going to have to work on that.”

She waved her hand as if the topic was worthless. “Deep seated issue.”

Obviously.

“Paige was the head cheerleader way back when,” she explained. “Got the guys.”

I looked out the front window of the restaurant even though Paige was long gone. “She seems like the type who peaked in high school but hasn’t realized it yet. ”

Hannah laughed and picked up her abandoned slice. “That’s a really good observation. Accurate, too.”

She grabbed the hot pepper flake shaker from the empty table beside us and shook some spice on her slice. After a few bites, she asked, “Are you really a mortician?”

I shoved a bite into my mouth and dropped my crust on my plate, which she reached across and snagged. I had to finish chewing to answer. “No.”

Relief made her practically wilt in the chair.

“What’s wrong with a mortician?” I wondered. There really was job security. It wasn’t like they were going to run out of customers, especially if I kept working.

“Dead bodies.” She picked up her red plastic cup again and had some more soda.

“Squeamish?” I asked, at a loss. It was my job to make dead bodies, like employees at McDonalds made hamburgers. They were the final product I was paid for.

With the shake of her head, her hair slid over her shoulder. Hair that I knew felt like strands of silk between my fingers. That I knew she liked having tugged.

Remembering her pizza, she took a bite, chewed.

“I got pretty close to dying a few months ago,” she admitted. “I’m all for staying alive.”

Oh shit. Her brain tumor. Panic made my stomach feel greasy and not from the mozzarella. I didn’t know anything about brain tumors, but yeah, those things were usually fatal. I’d never have met her. I was saving the world by killing the people I did, but her loss would ruin it.

I doubted she would see the difference between the two.

I saw it clearly. It was quick, my feelings for her. My protectiveness was fierce. I’d do anything to protect Hannah. To keep her safe. Not only because I was a selfish asshole and wanted her all to myself, but because she needed someone on her side. Someone to have her back. Hell, to hold her fucking hand. It didn’t seem like she had much of that these days.

“Your brain tumor.”

She nodded.

I talked all the time with Dax about death. Big Mike had made it simple: some people needed to be taken care of. Bad guys needed to be eliminated. It meant nothing to us. But sweet, innocent, very naughty Hannah dying? I clenched my teeth.

“Will you tell me about it?”

She sighed and set her slice down. Wiped her fingers on her napkin. “I was getting headaches. Then weakness in my arms and legs. My doctors weren’t sure what it was, so I had an MRI and there it was.” She tapped her head with her left hand.

“At dinner, your mother mentioned you had surgery.”

She nodded. I doubted she knew she was shredding her napkin into little bits. I knew she wasn’t meeting my eyes because this was tough for her. Fuck, she was strong. A fucking brain tumor. FUCK. I wanted to round the table and hug the hell out of her. Instead, I reached out and took her hand, the remainder of the napkin dropping.

Her gaze lifted to mine. How had I considered her innocent even moments earlier? She’d experienced so much, and I could see it in her eyes. She hid it well, but I noticed.

I was starting to see her.

“It’s called gamma knife radiosurgery. It’s actually radiation, not surgery, since they didn’t cut into my head or anything, but she calls it that anyway.”

I squeezed her fingers. She tried to pull them away, but I wasn’t letting go. Not now, not ever. “You had radiation?”

She nodded. Oh fuck.

“Like for cancer?” I realized what I was feeling was panic. I didn’t know anything about radiation treatments other than people who were really sick got them. Ignorant of me not to know more, but I was pretty much healthy, never had to go to a doctor–other than a few years ago when I broke my finger hand fighting with a German bomb maker–and never had to wonder.

Until now. Now, I wanted to know everything.

She shook her head. “No. Not cancer. It was a benign meningioma. But yes, it was a kind of radiation where they aim gamma rays at the tumor and blast it. It took a few hours, and I was awake but totally out of it.”

She was offering a simplified version of what happened. Maybe it was because I was freaking out and wanted to make it out to be less than it was. Or maybe she didn’t really want to talk about it much.

Even what she shared sounded like fucking hell. And had been rough, totally manhandled her earlier with my need to see her come. I’d shoved her up against a row of shelves and finger banged her. I could have hurt her.

I was a selfish asshole.

She was fragile. Precious. I had to be careful from now on.

I quirked my lips. “Sounds like you were a superhero fighting a villain.”

She quirked hers right back. “I spent the night in the hospital and went home. My friend Brittany, she lives across the hall, stayed with me a few nights, but other than a few headaches, that was pretty much it.”

“What about your family?” I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like what I heard.

“My sister was away at a trampolining training camp in Texas. My brother lives in the Springs but had a prayer chain going.”

I had no idea what the fuck that was, but it didn’t sound like it helped Hannah in any way whatsoever. It seemed like she had scientific breakthroughs on her side more than divine intervention.

“The night I was in the hospital, my parents came to visit. Since the radiation wasn’t that big of a deal and I was back to work after a few days, they pretty much moved on.”

I was picking up on a theme. Her parents were dicks. They didn’t seem to even remember Hannah because she came across as uneventful, unlike her crazy siblings. Even her very serious ailment had an uneventful fix. Not a big deal was a lie. Maybe she used those words to devalue what happened to her. Maybe because she hadn’t been cut open or had to stay in the hospital more than a night or that her recovery was fast that it really wasn’t a big deal.

But it was a big fucking deal. It was eventful. It was just… quiet. Maybe if she’d had an alien burst out of her stomach, then her parents might care more.

I craved uneventful. Wished it for myself. Not a fucking brain tumor, but a quiet life.

“And now? Is it gone?” My voice was a whisper, almost afraid of asking the question because I was petrified of the answer. I didn’t want her to die .

Totally fucking ironic.

I held my breath.

Her slim shoulders shrugged. “I’m fine. The tumor shrinks over time to nothing.”

That was it? She was fine?

She set her free hand on top of mine. “You look panicked. Don’t be. The panicking part of it is over.”

I didn’t like that answer. Not one fucking bit. Especially since that meant there was a stretch of time when she’d been freaking the fuck out. Probably alone.

I stood, not releasing my hold on her hand and went around the table to kneel beside her. Fuck the sticky floor. Cupping her cheeks, my eyes raked over her face. Her confused eyes, her pert nose, those kissable lips.

“I’m allowed to fucking panic when my girl says she had a fucking brain tumor.” My thumbs caressed her soft cheeks.

She swallowed. Those dark eyes flickered with emotion. Interest even. Maybe, hope. “Your girl?”

Over pizza and 80s music, I started to fall for the one woman I needed to stay the fuck away from. But I wouldn’t. Not a chance. Big Mike had been correct. The right woman was worth it. Except his wife had been killed. Hannah had been sick and almost died. I didn’t even want to think about losing her. All I knew was that she was worth it.

“Damn straight. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you were going through all of it. But I’m here now.”