Page 38 of The Hitman
I’m in love with Jaxon Knight.
I let that truth take root deep in my bones.
If I told anyone what’s transpired since I first took this job, they’d be appalled. They’d tell me I was delusional or downright psychotic for falling in love with a hitman, but that’s not who he is anymore.
And I have every intention of telling him how I feel tonight.
I drop the bags into the trunk and slam it shut before making my way back to Jaxon. I take a couple of steps, looking around the lot and the market ahead of me with a sense of unease building in my gut.
I don’t know what it is, but something is definitely off…
My stomach lurches when I see two tall, dark figures stroll through the market.
I hear screams just before a plume of white smoke billows through the crowd. People scatter like mice, tripping over themselves in an attempt to escape as the fog thickens.
“No,” I gasp, running straight into the melee to find Jaxon and Leo.
Gun in hand, I cover my face with the neckline of my shirt and squint my stinging eyes. People gasp and cough, but the smoke isn’t taking anyone down, making me think it’s being used as a diversion.
And I’m not sure which is worse.
“Jaxon! Leo!” I shout as I’m jostled between the hysteria.
Thick, meaty hands lock around my shoulders, sending shockwaves of panic through me.
I’m practically blind, kicking and thrashing against the man who growls, “Gotcha.”
“Let me go,” I demand, still struggling in his hold.
I can’t see his face, but he’s enormous. He laughs at my attempts to elbow his thick torso as he squeezes me to his chest.
The smoke is so thick now, I can’t tell up from down or left from right.
I open my mouth to scream, “Jax?—”
The stranger slaps me hard and snaps, “Shut your mouth.”
Stars blind my vision. Blood seeps between my teeth, and it startles me just as much as it makes me want to rage.
With a frustrated grunt, he hoists me up onto his side, pinning my arms and carrying me like a suitcase.
Then I feel it.
My gun.
It’s still in my hands, but one wrong move, and it’ll slip.
“Who are you?” I grit, trying to distract him as I inch the Glock more firmly in my palm.
“A message.”
“How ominous.”
He jostles me hard. “You think you’re funny, bitch?”
“Not really. But I do think kicking your ass will be hilarious.”
With a feral growl, I latch onto his arm and bite as hard as I can.
