Hannah and the Hitman

Chapter 43

43

JACK

Ten minutes, and a shit ton of heavy silence later, I pulled up behind Apex Fighting Gym and into a parking spot between a concrete wall and a dumpster. We were west of downtown in an industrial area. There’d been revitalization, but it wasn’t residential. It got real quiet at night. Unless someone had a drone or tracker on Dax’s car–which I’d check as soon as I got out–we were safe from Sal finding us.

Hannah glanced around. “Where are we?”

“Big Mike’s place.”

“Dax’s dad? I thought you said he moved to Florida.”

“He did. Someone else runs the gym now but Dax owns the building. And the apartment that used to be Big Mike’s up there.” I pointed through the front window to the second floor. I glanced around to make sure no one was around. “Let’s go. ”

I climbed out, letting Hannah open her own door as I checked for a tracker. She wasn’t the woman I thought, and I was pissed. I’d opened up to her. Completely. Even fallen for her. Took her to my place, fucked her in my bed. Read romance on my couch with her in my arms. Yet, she’d been playing me all along.

Finding none, I pointed to the metal stairs that ran diagonally up the back side of the building and waited for her to take the hint. She must’ve recognized she wasn’t getting far on foot and started up them. I followed, eyeing her ass–because it was still a fucking piece of art.

“I can’t figure out how you did it,” I said.

“What?”

“Got that middle seat on the plane as me. Wait. Of course.” It was so obvious. “Reggiano got you a seat, too. All of us in the same row. He sent you to spy on me? To make sure I was doing a good job? Eyebrows and Joey Brains weren’t enough.” Fuck.

“Who is Reggiano? He sounds like a kind of cheese.”

“Like you don’t know.”

She gave me a look that would shrivel a lesser man’s balls.

“He’s Vegas mafia,” I said finally.

“I don’t know anyone in the Vegas mafia.” She held up a hand and added for clarification, “ Any mafia.”

At the beat-up metal door, I typed a code into the state-of-the-art security lock beside it. It beeped once and I yanked the door open. Reaching in, I flipped on the light switch.

This place, right down to the scent of it, reminded me of my youth. Of pretty much living here after the age of sixteen with Dax and his dad. It was a huge loft space. High rectangular windows let in tons of light, but being high on the wall, you couldn’t see out. There was one main room, a kitchen, family room, dining room combination, then three bedrooms and three bathrooms along the back.

The appliances, the cabinets, the furniture, all of it, hadn’t been updated. Dax kept this place for when Big Mike came to town, or if we ever needed it. We paid Travis, the guy who ran the gym, to have his cleaning crew keep it spic and span and in fresh sheets and towels. I hadn’t been here in over a year.

It was an instant reminder of the boy I’d been and the man I was now. How my mother had worked so hard for a better life for me. Pretty much worked herself into an early grave. How I ended up being a fucking killer. I’d looked up to Big Mike. Dax and I followed in his footsteps. From a money standpoint, it was a solid career. I had more money than I’d ever need.

But that was all I had. Until Hannah. I thought I had it all with her.

Turned out, I had nothing.

“We’re going to stay here why?”

“Because it seems a client wants me dead.”

“And me,” she reminded.

I wasn’t sure if I should believe her that Joey Brains had gone to the library and tried to kill her. Yet the idea of it, of that fucker getting his hands on her, made me start to sweat.

“You’re a hitman. Go kill him.” She pointed at the door, perfectly content seeing me leave. As if .

I went to her, circled around. “So ruthless for a librarian.”

“You said he’s a mafia kingpin.” She turned to face me. “I’m guessing he’s not building houses for the poor or reading to the elderly in his spare time. Based on what I see in movies, he probably deserves to be dead.”

I frowned. “Definitely.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Murder the guy.”

I shook my head, tsked her. “It’s not my place to do so. But I need to know why he wants me dead before I do anything.”

“You can do that from here?” she asked, raising her arms to indicate the loft.

She didn’t notice I was circling her toward the leather couch until it was too late. Until she bumped into the back of it. The other side faced the huge vintage TV and a wall full of DVDs.

“I can because you’re going to give me the answers.”

Her pulse thrummed at her neck and her gaze met mine, then away. She was nervous. And aroused. Maybe it was the couch and the past promises of being railed over the back of one.

“I don’t know anything,” she admitted.

“You know Joey Brains has a gold tooth.”

“Yeah, because he was grinning at me as he tried to strangle me.”

I eyed her neck, saw for the first time the bruising there, which made me pause. Fuck, was she telling the truth? Had he laid hands on my girl?

Yeah, my girl, because I was a pathetic, twisted fuck who thought it was hot as hell that she’d gotten one over on me. Saved my ass, even. Threw Eyebrows across the parking garage like she was in the WWF. If she was a hitman, too, then she knew the life. My dick was hard thinking about it.

Except, if Joey Brains got his hands around her neck, she’d be dead.

“And you got out of that how? No way you could stop that guy from killing you if he had his hands around your throat.”

I wrapped an arm about her waist and spun her about so I had her hips pressed into the couch. The air sizzled around us and everywhere my hands skimmed, it felt electric.

“Are you frisking me?”

“Hell, yes.” I didn’t think she was armed, but I also hadn’t thought she was an assassin either. Especially when I’d had my head between her thighs, and she was moaning my name.

“You planning on killing me? Run me over with a car?”

I let her go. Stepped back. “Jesus, fuck.” I ran a hand over my neck. “I told you, with Mrs. Metcalf as witness, that I’d never, ever hurt you and that I’d protect you from anyone who did. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you kill me. ”

“That’s why I came to you, the fact that you said you’d never hurt me.” She spun around, eyes narrowing, hands going to her hips. It wasn’t from the Bible, so I didn’t know the quote, but it was something about a woman’s fury and being scorned. Hannah was furious and it seemed she thought I scorned her. “Except it turns out you’re a Neanderthal and an idiot. ”

“You threw Eyebrows twenty feet!” I countered. “If you’re not a hitman, then who are you?”

“You know who I am. I haven’t lied about a thing. Unlike you.”

“What did I lie to you about?”

“That you’re a hitman!”

“I told you that on the plane when you first asked me what I did for a living.”

“We were talking romance tropes. I didn’t think you were serious!”

“That’s your problem, not mine. You didn’t tell me you took self-defense classes. What are you, a black belt in Judo?”

She shook her head.

“Karate?”

“No.” The one syllable was drawn out on an exhale that would make a teenager proud.

“Explain what happened in the parking garage. Eyebrows had to weigh two-fifty.”

She pursed her lips. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“I think we’re past that, gorgeous.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “We’re at the I-picked-up-some-things-at-the-adult-store phase of this relationship.”

She blinked, then licked her lips. “You did? What did you get?”

I nodded. It didn’t escape my notice that her mind veered.

For a second. “I’m not having sex with you, you liar,” she snapped.

“I’m not the only liar, here, gorgeous. Joey Brains wasn’t at the library. Tell the truth. ”

Her eyes lit with an anger that could probably singe. “The truth? Fine. Fine! You asked for it.” She took a deep breath, let it out in an obvious attempt to calm down. Which didn’t seem to be working. I had to admit, she was fucking gorgeous, all flushed and riled. So un-Hannah-like. Or, the only time I saw her this way was when I was the one to get her there. By my touch. My mouth. My dick. My words.

I watched as she went around the couch, squatted down and picked it up. Hefted the thing like it wasn’t eight feet wide, made of leather and built back in the nineties for Big Mike, who was built like a tank. “Somehow in the past week, I’ve gotten stronger.”

She set the couch back down.

I shrugged. “You want me to tell you I’m impressed? I was there when you threw Eyebrows across the parking garage, remember.”

She stared, then huffed and went into the kitchen and to the fridge. I thought she was going to grab a soda that should be stored inside. “When I mean strong, I mean” –her arms went wide to either side of the appliance as if she was hugging it and picked it up so it was a foot off the floor– “really strong. It seems to happen best when I’m mad.”

“What the fuck?” I said, stunned. That fridge had been built in the eighties. Made to last. Built of steel. I’d tried to move it once to clean behind it. It hadn’t budged.

“My friend Brittany thinks I have a superpower,” she commented, setting the fridge back in place.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, right.”

Maybe it was my tone or my attitude in general, but she came over and poked me in the chest. Static electricity sparked between us. “You still don’t believe me.”

“That you have a superpower?” I chuckled. “Of course not.”

“You’re going to keep me here, not believing anything I say. Not about the guy from the plane trying to kill me, that I’m not a hitman or that I have newfound strength.”

I shrugged. “Pretty much.” I loved that she was worked up, because now she knew how it felt.

“So you did kidnap me.”

I nodded. “Pretty much,” I repeated.

She nodded right back, practically vibrating with anger. “You’re a lying, egotistical, blind, self-involved, murdering piece of shit. Remember, asshole, that I’d been right there with you in this, even with the sex toys. That, unlike you, I was telling you the truth.”

I reached for her and the air arced, literally a spark shot between us. Then she was gone. Disappeared.

I wiggled my fingers, my fingertips tingling.

“What the fuck?”