Page 8 of Hannah and the Hitman

“On the flight from Vegas over a woman’s shoulder.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I’d think a woman who reads kinky shit’s gotta be down for some fun.”

I thought of the mysterious and sexy librarian and wasn’t thrilled with Dax talking about her that way. Even if he was probably right. Fuck, was she really awhore in the sheets?

Right now, I had to think with the right head and not the one in my pants. I watched Thorndyke move around his kitchen. The fridge door opened. Closed. He wasmilling around, bottle of water in hand, while he talked. After another thirty seconds, he dropped his cell on the counter, scratched his balls, then headed toward the balcony.

“Two mil for this guy?” Dax asked.

“Yup.”

“Steep. What’d he do?”

“Trafficking.”

Dax’s chest emitted a dark rumble. He felt the same as me when it came to that shit.

This was one bad fucker, and hard to access. He had bodyguards and serious security measures. Bulletproof glass on his penthouse windows. But there was no security watching him when he took a nightly dip in his hot tub.

This was the narrow window I needed, lasting at most, a few minutes. With one squeeze of the trigger, the world would have one less bad guy in it, and I’d be a few mil richer. I didn’t need the money. I was flush with cash because all I did was work. Same went for Dax. Except, if we didn’t work, what else would we do? Take up doubles tennis?

The idea made my mouth quirk as I eyed Thorndyke through the scope.

We weren’t “made” like Sal Reggiano–or the King of England–where the only way to get out of the job was death. We could quit and walk away from the life. But “hitman” on a resume wouldn’t get me any jobs besides pest and vermin control and I didn’t look good in coveralls. Besides that, what would I do? Learn floral arranging? Take up golf? Go on a bike tour of Tuscany?

We were both vigilantes because we wanted all the badguys dealt with. Me? I wanted them dead. Ones who deserved to be removed from the earth. Pedophiles. Warlords. Rapists. Murderers. Crooked politicians. Maybe even Little Miss Librarian’s cheating, self-absorbed ex.

My constant thought since she told me about that was who the fuck would cheat on her? If she were mine, I’d cut off anyone’s hands who touched her. And I’d talk dirty and give her the pounding she craved. Knowing her pussy wasn’t getting the attention it deserved was a fucking shame. While I’d take care of her every desire, I wasn’t boyfriend material. I didn’t date. Didn’t do relationships. And my sexy seatmate screamed long-term.

She had a job, a consistent paycheck from Coal Springs Public Library. That was what the barcode sticker on the front of the book we’d been reading had said. Coal Springs was nestled in the mountains above Denver, which meant she was also a small town girl. She probably had a house with a picket fence. A dog she rescued from the pound. A mother who probably made meatloaf and lived down the street.

She also had a very naughty mind. I felt a smile tug as I remembered the look on her face when she found out I knew what she was reading. Or the answers she gave me about how she would want a guy to fuck her.

I love how Colin is focused on Mia. He’s into her and is obsessed. He can’t keep his hands off her. It’s something on my sex list.

“Shit,” I muttered. My dick pressed against my pants as I remembered.

“What?”

I focused back through the scope, saw that the targetwas beside the hot tub with the interior lights were enough for me to see him.

I wasn’t going to tell him about my hard-on, especially during a job.

“Thorndyke dropped the robe,” I said instead as explanation.

I glanced away from his low-hanging balls and hairy ass to save my eyes, letting the guy climb in without an audience. My hard-on was long gone. “Kill me if I ever get a gut because I doubt he can even see his micro-dick.”

Thorndyke closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the edge of the tub, savoring the hot water and the last seconds of his life.

Dax grunted. “Good thing I can’t see that far in the dark.”

I focused through the scope, settled into the task. Took a deep breath, exhaled. Pulled the trigger.

I stood and started to disassemble my rifle.

He pushed off the wall, tucked his hands in his pockets. “I’m starved. Pancakes?”

“Yeah.” When my gun was back in its case and we were headed across the roof for the stairwell, I asked Dax, “Do you know what a TBR is?”

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