Page 1 of Hannah and the Hitman

1

JACK

“Flying commercial is bullshit,” Jorge grumbled, eyeing the row numbers along the overhead bins.

Jorge was also known asEl Cejas, or Eyebrows. He was built like a keg of beer, all barrel-chested and squat and had a dark, furry caterpillar for a unibrow. I’d spent years dealing with guys like him–and his partner, Joe, who followed me–and pretty much ignored them. Today it wasn’t so easy to do. Not on the packed commuter flight to Denver.

“Isn’t this the plane type that crashes?” Joe asked.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. His nickname? Joey Brains. Not because he was smart, but because he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

I wasn’t too thrilled about this flight either, but complaining or saying a trigger word likecrashorbomborpeanut allergywasn’t going to get the private jet we were supposed to be on fixed.

“It’s your boss who wanted you to go to Denver with me,” I reminded Joey Brains. “Would you rather still be in the desert sweating your balls off?”

He grunted in what seemed like agreement about the sweaty balls, although I didn’t want to think about his. Or if they were sweaty.

Me? I’m Jack Hollister. My job? Hitman.

I just finished a hit for their boss, Sal Reggiano, the mafia head in Vegas. I’d taken out Tony the Tuna Shemansky. Who came up with those nicknames? Besides skimming a few mil off the top of their racing venture, he liked to dope the horses in ways I didn’t like. I didn’t give a shit out about the debt, but he got a bullet to the brain because of his animal cruelty.

Since this had been my first job for Sal Reggiano, I wasn’t going to argue when he wanted two of his men flying back with me to start working with his son, Paul. Maybe Paul was tired of sweaty fucking balls because he moved to Colorado to spread their business into new territory. Since I was also from Denver, I did a bunch of jobs for him on a consistent basis. He was a decent guy, all things considered.

We’d be flying Sal’s private plane right now except it broke down. Now I was flying in coach with them. My name wasn’t Joey Brains. I knew when to keep my mouth shut and deal.

Did I like any of this? Fuck no. But Tony the Tuna was dead, I got paid a shit ton and as soon as we were back in Denver, I’d be rid of Eyebrows and Joey Brains. Tomorrownight, I’d be on to my next job. The hitman business was booming.

When Eyebrows found his row, he dropped into the aisle seat. After glancing at my ticket to confirm, I settled into the other aisle seat in the same row. With a wince, I shifted my ass and moved the seat belt, then sighed. The thirty-something Black man in the middle seat beside me gave me a chin lift, then went back to a game on his phone.

“I’m in C. You have A. I’m not sitting at the window,” Eyebrows said. “You are.”

“No fucking way,” Joey Brains countered. “You take it.”

“Why doesn’thetake it?”

Eyebrows meant me.

I frowned. Annoyed as fuck. I took in the line of people waiting behind Joey Brains, more and more impatiently by the second.

“You’re holding everyone up,” I snapped at the two of them. “Sit your ass down. It’s a two-hour flight.”

Eyebrows stood to let him in, grinning like a sibling who got to ride shotgun instead of being stuck in the backseat.

“Getting capped in the knee would be less painful than this,” Joey Brains grumbled as he slid over to the window, accidentally pulling on a woman’s hair in the row in front of him as he went.

If I’d had my gun on me instead of having to put it in my checked bag, I’d have shot him myself to find out if he was right. This was flight 265. I couldn’t even kill a guy with my bare hands with this many witnesses. Especially not Eyebrows or Joey Brains.

Boring.

The sooner we got back to Denver, the sooner they’d be out of my hair. I felt like a babysitter. I closed my eyes, thinking a nap would make the flight go faster.

“Excuse me, I think that’s my seat.”

My eyes popped open at the soft voice. All that filled my vision–thank fuck for a narrow aisle–was a perfect ass. Right there in my face. Jean clad. Round. Full. The perfect peach. Wide hips that itched to be gripped hard while… holy fuck. What the hell was wrong with me, getting a semi on a plane for another passenger? Notanypassenger, this passenger specifically, who it seemed had the middle seat between Eyebrows and Joey Brains.

“Sure, doll,” Eyebrows told her.

She moved back so he could stand. Unfortunately, all that did was bring his crotch right in my face.

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